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The rap-tap-tapping awoke him from his dreamless slumber, which jerked him up from his bed and his pillow, wiped the drool from his mouth, and force him to role up to his feet, with a blink. It was rare to get a visitor, much less one at a late hour as this, when the sun wasn't even up and the stars had hidden themselves - or so a glance out the window told him.

The rap-tap-tapping at the door didn't end lightly, either. No, with a harder thump of fist on wood, and an indignant sound behind it, the lizard was forced to his feet and grumbled to himself while making his way towards the door to unbolt it, pull it open, and stare up at the shaggy mess that glared down at him.

"For'se?" The growling creature asked, a beast of shaggy yellow and brown fur and a bestial muzzle. It stunk to high heavens, and not the sweet musk of scale or dry scent of even a human - no, it was the rich, unwashed odor of beast.

"Mmm?" The lizard asked, eloquently, eyes still a bit bleary, and adjusting slowly to the dark. The lizard was clad only in the tight pants, laced up the front and laced over the groin with a protective codpiece - even a lizard could worry about a low blow. "Can I help you?"

"Are you For'se?"

The lizard gave a nod.

"Good." Yellowed teeth gleamed in the flickering light of half-burned candles. With that, the beast pulled high a once hidden cylinder-gun, and leveled it with the snout of the ornery kobold of dark scale and yellow eye.

The gun roared and sparked, the light blinding to both eye and ear in the stone build room, but the spark, brilliant as the sun in the dark, was enough to throw off a sure aim - and for a slippery lizard to jerk to the side, though lost in a spin with the round sliding across and shattering a small budding horn on the side of his skull. The pain was immense, and sent the small beast reeling from the blow, but it was not a killing blow.

Dancing, stumbling, falling backwards in the dark room, the small dragon-man did well to get clear, as the gun roared again and again, a second, third, fourth shot tracking his movements, but the element of surprise was lost. The lizard ducked down and skipped up onto the bed, and reached beneath his pillow, and whipped a small blade out at his foe - who grunted, the small weapon burying in the lower bicep. Not the cleanest of throws, but enough.

A second blade was in hand, and as quickly as it was lifted, the beasts met, though three hundred pounds separated the two. Lunging in, and attempting to crush the smaller opponent, the shaggy furred gnoll leapt in, bringing both hands down to crush the skull of his scaled foe, only to meet air and a quick slash along his side, opening him up and making breathing difficult. Another jump slashed his back, only to kick, and crunch into the ribs of a lesser foe. The lizard spun, and bounced off of the stone wall, painfully.

"Better than I thought." The lizard gazed up, panting and coughing, as he fought for breath from battered lungs. Each breath was an ache, a pain, a needless touch of agony that burned deep. A rib was broken, at best. "Not good enough, though."

Looking up, the kobolds eyes hurt, his head throbbed, and he felt a grin slowly press to his mouth, as the shaggy gnoll came up closer, the hyena like face drawn into a snarl. The face was malevolent, the snarl bitter, and the laugh dark. He stepped over the kobold, who stared up. The gun was raised up, aimed down, and the hammer cocked back on the cylinder gun. A bullet was primed - and ready.

But not ready enough for a quick leap and upwards stab. An upwards stab that struck true and painful, between spread legs. It was a strong stab, a sharp upwards jerk and twist, and it ended the fight, the gun falling free, from the hands of a stunned, shock-taken hyena-man. The kobold twisted to the right and got out of the way of the falling beast, who landed with a shudder, and clutched himself, painfully. The knife was lodged in against the pelvic bone - and would hurt very much to pull free.

"First lesson of attacking a kobold." A wheezing lizard spoke, while beginning to calmly pull his belongings together into a leather traveling case. He paid little notice to the gasping beast, and instead, simply withdrew his free dagger and quickly dressed. "Never announce your attacks."

Pulling up the cylinder gun, which took two hands for the small reptile, he glanced it through and tucked it into the case, and slung the case over his shoulder, while stepping over to pull up the message pouch from the hip of the beast. Inside was a simple bounty poster, marked with a red skull. Simple, neat, and clean - a bounty of one-thousand sovereigns for the kobold, dead or alive.

"Lesson two: Make sure the target is dead before gloating." Stepping back, ten sovereigns were tossed to the writhing creature. "For the healer's trouble."

And through a window, For'se, Gentleman Adventurer left.

It was a warm evening in the marshlands, on the river-city of Denne' Runo. Walking Undamod Way, the limping lizard made his way from the shouting and yelling that came from the whereabouts of a now unpleasantly awoken inn. Limping, and clutching his side, the lizard dressed in a button shirt and slid his gloves on, while moving quickly, as the shouts grew angrier behind him. He slid into shadows and ducked down side streets, pulling his pistol belt on and tucking it behind a jacket, which gave him a more reputable air than being half naked in the street.

Not that it helped much.

He wasn't bleeding, to his relief - no blood from mouth and jaw, which meant no punctured lung or ruptured organs, though the kick still sent aches and pains through his battered torso. It was a shame he could not take his rapier with him from home, but the weapons laws were rather strict in this shady city on the boarder of Vojislav and Putheran. A trade city, as well as a city on the opening of a miles wide river, the place had a reputation for shady sorts to exploit, and those seeking a different life to make it to.

Built on the ruins of an old elven city, long since conquered as remnant of a once proud and now defeated race, the city had age and charm and hints of magic to it, something an investigative kobold could find if he followed his nose; but the place was also thick with trouble, from the old Dwarf Quarter, to the manors in the Elven Gardens, each place was dark and dangerous in it's own way. The Monster Quarter, also known as Beast Lane, was the most dangerous, and easiest to get through if one only kept their head down.

It was that way that the lizard made his way, for there lay the factories, and the job he had been paid to do.

Ducking into an older tavern, open all night with cheap prices and unsavory cliental, where the stink of unwashed mammal could rise up and clog the snout, the limping lizard entered, ignoring the stares of the bleeding and broken horn, or the fact that the lizard simply looked like a dragons droppings. He paid little heed as he moved into the back, into a darker room, to recover his strength. A half-orc bouncer gave a grunt, and waved the little lizard through.

There were always places for the dark-friendly denizens to go. He moved down the stairs, to a place of low water, and dark whispers - a place of tryst and treat and tricks, where blood might wash with semen and other scents, darker scents. And here, knowledge could be bought, for a price. The little lizard moved in, past the twined bodies of human and lamia, and past the quiet converse of darkened elves. A neutral ground, they would not draw blade on so small a foe. It was beneath them.

Underestimating a kobold was always the game the little lizards liked to play.

"I need to talk to Abby." The bleeding lizard spoke, while glancing up at a pale, water-slick half-man, who gazed with large eyes and gasped out wordless sounds. The Herald, the ear of the creature of the great darkness. One could hardly tell if it was real, or simply a projection into the mind. With the creature in the dark water, one could never tell.

FOR'SE.

The voice struck his mind and sent him reeling, crashing into a box and nearly sending him into the water - where he'd be a quick meal, or turned into something not entirely alive. He clutched the edge of the under-docks, and shuddered, the voice slithering across his mind like a thousand tendrils, probing and prodding and leeching from his thoughts, making him feel hot, and cold, slimey, and used.

Some people even paid for this.

"Abby. I need your help."

I AM AWARE.

"I was attacked not more than two hours ago. A Gnoll, using a Cylinder Gun. Aimed worse than a sober dwarf, but still hot me once."

FORTUNATE YOU SURVIVE, YOU ARE USEFUL.

He shuddered again, his head throbbing, worse than the impacted round against his horn. He rubbed at his temple, his vision throbbing as he stared into the dark waters, and could feel six glowing eyes upon him, staring up from the deepest depths.

"Your confidence is stirring."

The water stirred, and he watched a great tentacle rise up from the water, a sign of the attention of something very old, very powerful, and very, very dangerous. It flexed, performing a slow, arcane rhythm through the air.

"The bounty was a thousand sovereign, marked with a red skull."

YOU HAVE ENEMIES IN MANY PLACES. SOME BECAUSE OF WHO YOU ARE. OTHERS BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU DO. RED SKULL IS AN OLD MARK, SIGN OF AN OLD FACE. WHAT IS THIS KNOWLEDGE WORTH TO YOU?

"What do you want?"

YOU KNOW WHAT I DESIRE FROM YOU. YOU WILL PAY IT WILLINGLY.

He simply hated having to pay the price for knowledge. The tendril slid in - and grasped the throat of the kobold, and drug his snout to the tip of the water. And he shuddered, as what seemed a thousand more tentacles came in, and enclosed him, shrouded him, covered him. He quivered and grasped and fought for a moment, as his thoughts were grasped and probed and pulled at, memories tugged and stolen away, to return battered, changed, different, but in ways he couldn't recall. It was a violation of self, in the harshest form. But it was payment, and payment had to be paid.

And he lay on his back, gasping for air, staring up at the old cavernous ceiling of this darkened, forbidden place. Soaking wet and a foul taste on his tongue, from the slime of the tendrils themselves, he stared up, head spinning and throbbing, and thankful he couldn't remember all of what had been. He never could tell what he had paid, but the memories, what experiences might have been had. Each payment was harsher than the last - but the knowledge was worth it, valuable facts to complete his mission.

Sometimes it was coins. Other times... other times a favor owed.

THE RED SKULL IS GRYOWO, HIS MINIONS ARE MANY. A DANGEROUS FOE TO HAVE MY FOR'SE. A COUNCIL OF TWELVE SERVE HIS NEED. HE WAS ONCE MORTAL, NOW A MOVING CORPSE. YOUR JOB HAS RUN AFOUL OF HIS PLANS. BE AWARE, BE WARY. DO NOT GO ABOUT RUINING YOURSELF, I STILL HAVE NEED OF YOU LOYAL KOBOLD.

And the mind withdrew from a mind far smaller, and the troubling fog cleared away, leaving the dark kobold shivering, feeling violated and troubled, but knowing several more secrets about the city than had been held before. He clutched the box he had been placed on and slowly sagged down, to crawl inside of the box and curl up, shivering, and falling into a darkened slumber, away from the pain and coldness that had gripped him.

It would fade. And at least this time, there were no troubling dreams.

Standing at the outskirts of the great wrought-iron gates that separated factory from the outside world, an unnoticed shadow moved across the face of the bare stones. Clad in a long jacket and scarf, with boots tucked tight and a lock-pick held in teeth, the creature moved quietly, up an outer drain rail and slowly up the face of the tall, smoke-belching factory.

The sun had set upon another day, and this was the night to face adventure and excitement. Thankfully, his ribs only gave a dry ache now, and his skull no longer throbbed, though the bandage did give him away if anyone cared to stare. Pulling higher, he paused at a great open window, to gaze in upon the factory below, where the slave shift worked, in a droning, monotonous manner, with the hopeless look of abused souls wishing it all to go away.

A pitiful sight, and one that would not stand.

It was not the fact slavery existed that so troubled the descending lizard, who clung to the inside of the wall with rope and tail and slowly moved to the floor below. It was not the fact that it happened in such deplorable positions, either. No, he mused, as he climbed up a set of stairs, to reach the overlook of the guards, who kept vigilant eye on the burly creatures beneath. No, it was the fact that choice was gone, the choice to improve oneself, to make oneself better than your surroundings. Slavery was not a horrible place to be, if one could improve and survive and strengthen yourself from who you were before.

He knew this from experience.

Clinging to the underside of the riveted walkway, the kobold moved slowly, trusting in training and balance, in strong grip and quick movements to take him along the rusted underside. He paused, now and then, to hang a small satchel of powder, one of fifteen that he carried. It would not do much by itself, but packed at certain weak points, it would provide amazing results.

He finished his climb, and glanced up, before darting into the supervisors office at the end of the walkway, and held back, unheard or unseen by the dwarf who was stationed inside. A dwarf smelling of ale, whiskey, and the scent of loathing of his position in society.

A supervisor always held the keys to the slave coffle, it was simply not done any other way. And, hanging from a large brass ring, the keys lay just out of reach, near the watchful eyes of the dwarf, who looked over reports and grumbled to himself - an idle tug of his beard showing any real movement. A great axe lay beside him, Dwarvish make and heft and possibly with just a hint of enchantment to it, it was an heirloom axe, for the Dwarvish clans didn't make them quite like that any more. The kobold moved quietly across the floor in either case, and moving in closer.

The butt of the pistol was raised up and held at the ready, the scaled one gripping the barrel of the gun and making sure the weapon was unloaded - he didn't need to shoot himself to put an end to his career! Raising the gun high, the brass gleamed in the glowing light of the enchanted rods around the room, which made reading no challenge - even for a dwarf. Pushing closer, the kobold raised himself up high and felt the world go still, before the weapon crashed down across the back of the dwarves skull.

Which elicited only an indignant grunt.

Six more whacks across the head made the grunt into a groan, and the dwarf slid onto the floor, a sizable knot in the back of an extra tough skull. The skull wasn't broken, but the headache would be massively unpleasant in the morning.

Hefting the axe over his shoulder, the kobold hopped up and pulled down the keys to the slave coffle, and leaned back with a bit of a grunt. Phase one was completed, now for the more difficult phase two.

There was a count of eight guards on the upper tier walkways, each armed with a cylinder rifle; as well as an emergency whistle that they'd blow before firing on me, or one of the slaves below. Ten patrolled outside, which had been easy for one kobold to slip by, but would be a pain in the scaley rear end for a kobold leading a coffle of slaves to move through. The deep barracks were relatively unguarded but task-masters stood between them and freedom, as well as walking between the lines of the machines. Lastly, the destruction of the factory would raise up a city wide alarm. This would lead to being fired upon, or worse, the slaves being executed in a riot atmosphere.

To put it bluntly, it was going to be fun.

Hefting the axe over his shoulder, and standing atop the desk, overlooking the great window, the kobold quietly tied a rope around the great wooden file holder, and grasped a rope, while taking in a long, deep breath, ready for an adventurous night. With thanks, the northern side of the factory was covered and dark, and gave him opportunity to plan his route of attack.

And so, with a flick of his match and the lightning of his personal pipe, For'Se took a long breath and leaned down to drop the match onto the outer catwalk, near the small twine of cloth that had been laid out, just above the last bag of explosive powder. He counted, fifteen seconds would run down before the first explosion, and he ducked himself out the window, and swung low - using the rope with a hand and pistol in the other, and took aim down below.

At the first explosion, his gun roared, a round lodging into the skull of the first taskmaster. At the second, with all eyes up, he dropped down and took aim on a second. Pandemonium began to rush through the guards, who couldn't identify where the explosions were coming from, until the walkway began to collapse down, a pop leading to another section. Their panic was thrilling, and another round took another slave-master down. The lifted eyes of a sorely abused lizard-man caught the attention of For'se, who tossed him the keys to the chains at his throat. It didn't take an alchemist to figure out what he had to do.

Dropping the axe from the sling on his back, For'se slid the axe to a burly looking scaled lizard, whom shouted a whoop and took up the hefty weapon. It understood, it knew what to do, and the beast set to breaking what chains couldn't be quickly unlocked. The time of liberation was at hand.

"Go. Free the others!" For'se shouted, moving between the men of scale and lizard blood, who tore at their chains, as the first sight of liberation came about. Rifles cocked up above - but another explosion in the timed manner made flighty ones panic. Panicking lead to wild shots, which did little but stir and make agitated the slaves below.

"Go! Free your bretheren!"

Some fought. They fought chain and threw them into the gears, others rushed the stairs, some falling dead, others roaring a challenge on sight of fallen brother. The men on the upper tier had little chance though - perhaps that was the blessing. Their deaths were quick, thrown into the machines below. Blood ran thick, and would be a terrible pain to get out of the gears.

Un-needed death was always a shame; but the kobold didn't think twice, as he reloaded his pistol, and set to keeping the doors from being reached by survivors. Thankfully, there were none to alert the guards outside; who wouldn't start investigating for some time.

Of course, phase three would be a little more difficult.

Of the initial eighty slaves, seventy survived. This, counting those drawn from the deep barracks who had been roused from exhausted slumber. The excitement stirred them from lethargy, as did the heat from the machines, which provided them with ample excitement. Hunger was prevalent, and a quick raid of the larder and captured of the cook allowed many to fill hungry belly and thirsty throat. They did well, and looked quite hale for their work, in the eyes of For'se. Of course, there were few young present, a sad state of affairs - low birth rate and infant mortality always was a sad factor amongst egg-layers.

But at least these scaled ones would know freedom.

A city on the river, each factory was within a few dozen yards of the docks, at the furthest. To the chagrin of For'se, and the anxious creatures of scales and chains, it would be a harrowing run. The riflemen were deadly accurate on the docks, not to mention the potential of raising alarm. The other option was to rush through the front door, but that would lead to trouble in town, as well as everyone of the slaves captured or turned into handbags. Neither was a fulfillment of the contract.

"The water is not too far." The small lizard spoke to the larger - he perched upon a series of crates, packed with parts and woodwork. All were heavy. "But we may run afoul of several guards and patrols along the way. The risk is high, but some of you may survive. It will give a fighting chance for you to escape up the river, into the free lands."

"You free us, you lead us, who are you?" The axe-wielder asked. To For'se, it was obvious this was an elder, who remembered the outside, life beyond factory and chains. Chief of the tribe, if nothing more. "Why do you help Muddy River Clan?"

Why indeed. For'se shook his head, cheek tugging up a bit in irritation. Question, question, question, when freedom shrunk by the moment.

"Because I felt it was the right thing to do. Come on, get what you can to use as a weapon. We can move out." The kobold hopped foot to foot, feeling anxious energy running through him. It wasn't what he wanted to be doing, standing around and arguing when action could be had.

"Boxes?"

He grunted, looked down, and kicked the box once. Looking up at the gathered, a bit of an idea crossed his snout, and he looked to the one who spoke, one of the younglings that had the fortune of surviving the harsh conditioning. Eyes met, and a smile crossed a kobolds snout - something tricky and sneaky something positively bold.

"Boxes."

The simplicity of the plan was brilliant; and the simplicity meant fewer chances of making a mess of things. With one lizard inside of a box, two others could lift and carry it, after dumping the contained merchandise out. These boxes then were carried out to the docks, where they waited, stacked and heavy, for a transport to take them up the river. In the dark, it would take many hours for the crates to be ready for transport, as they didn't start until first dawn.

No, not until eighty boxes lay on the dock, stacked two or three high. They faced out wards, and only a keen eye would notice the lids were held open from the inside, not nailed shut, and the two lizard folk stood, tired, and waiting for the boat to arrive. A boat that wasn't due for a pick up - a boat that would find the boxes much lighter, as their contents slid out into the darkness of the night, and many shapes swam under the river, and slowly north, against the flow.

And sitting back, atop the factory, a kobold sat, sucking from a pipe. His head hurt, and his body was exhausted, but he felt content.

Content, to turn to the streets and walk up into Monster Quarter, to move into the quiet underground, where bodies moved in orgiastic tandem, or talked and dealed in the deeper darkness. It was past this, that he walked, to sit on the edge of the docks. It was relaxing down here, cool and dark, and reminded him of places in the ancient dragon blooded memory.

And the comforting sensation of an old friend touching his mind, like a thousand fingers, slippery and wet, massaging his brain and helping sooth his thoughts. And for some reason, he couldn't quite understand, the kobold didn't resist the grasp of the tendrils that withdrew from the water, and pulled him in...