The Elders spend the next few hours going over the happenings of the festival, Ortik shares that his tail suddenly stopped aching in the middle of his ritual to commune just before the feast was to begin, so hopefully whatever ill omen has passed them by. This of course was met with several jibes about his age however he was quick to point out his much higher Racial level than the others, meaning that even at 50 years old he'd still probably outlive most of them.
Racial levels work differently than classes or jobs, each day after your status is unveiled you get a small portion of experience just for having lived another day, by luck of birth, some people get more while others get less. There are many ways to gain extra for a day or even permanently increase what you receive for the rest of your life, but these opportunities are few and far between. These levels grant statistics the same as class levels, but also improve your individual longevity and move you closer to an evolution of your race.
For a Kobold, this means moving towards their draconic lineage, evolving from a Kobold to an Emberscale Kobold for this particular clan. These evolutions come with varying benefits, from higher gains in Ability Scores each level, to racial Abilities, Affinities, and more.
Ortik was lucky in his youth to acquire and consume the core of a flame sprite, raising his level significantly, though it also nearly killed him. He still hopes he will make it all the way to 50 again and be the first Greater Emberscale Kobold in the clan in over a century.
With the meeting ended and little better to do, several of the elders follow Korse back to the Hatchery afterwards, always up for a bit of entertainment, even if Korse has eliminated the pastime of wagering upon the hatchlings, though to be fair without the goading and encouragement to fight amongst the themselves, the Culling’s toll has lessened since the prohibition was put in place.
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After arriving back at the Hatchery Korse retrieves the hatchling from one of the minders, having spent much of the morning chewing on her keeper's tail, Blonc barking out a laugh as he sees her hanging off the frustrated woman.
"Well little one, it's time for you to meet your brothers and sisters." lifting her up and carrying her over to the enclosed and inset stone pen that functions as a nursery, roughly 5 by 4 meters with one wall full of nooks and small caves for them to nap in and a small puddle just deep enough that they probably won't drown. The pen teems with small red and black forms of the other sixty hatchlings of this clutch. Some crawling around chasing each other, others wrestling and gnawing on each other's scales, or splashing about in the puddle. "Now don't be too timid, they'll only bite a bit."
As she was lowered down into the pen it becomes evident how much smaller she is than her kin, not only were they larger to begin with, but have also had weeks to put on weight, none of them shorter than 36 cm and many of them nearing 40.
Many of the clutch appear fascinated by the new addition, they've spent weeks getting to know each other and suddenly someone new is here, what started as cooing and gurgling at her quickly shifts into one of the larger males scampering over on all 4 aggressively, apparently keen to display his dominance.
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The larger hatchling quickly pounces on her, knocking her over and pressing her down with his superior size and weight, as she falls to her back under him. Going in to bite her exposed belly he quickly finds himself in an unfortunate situation, with a pair of claws stuck in his nostrils and yanking his head to the side away from her scales as he lets out a yowl of pain.
"Hah! she's got him now" bellows Blonc, "never seen a youngling think of doin that before!"
The scuffle continues, the larger male rolling off of her to pull his muzzle from her reach and a bit more leery of his target than before, circling around her and looking for an opening he tries to catch her tail with his teeth, only to have it pulled out from his reach then get slapped by the same appendage in his face, the scutes along her tail narrowly missing his eye.
"Oh, I like her!"
This continues on, the runt seeming ahead of her sibling every step of the way, hooking legs with her tail, poking the thin membrane over the ears, head butting, at one point even tripping him then standing on his head until eventually the male backed down, only to quickly get pounced by many of the other siblings, literally kicking him when he's down.
"She's going to be one to keep an eye on, haven't seen one like that since Korb. Damn those gobbos." Blonc spits as he says the last, "You think she'll be your pick this year, Korse?"
"She's definitely in the running, I had thought it'd be that big one, but so far he's just big, not anything special yet."
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The next few months proceed as much the same, the hatchlings grow at an impressive pace, though the little female lags steadily behind, while her siblings are getting stronger and faster, she still fights dirty. The others mostly let her be, knowing that they will just end up worse off than she will, though occasionally they will still gang up on her, but planning like that is not particularly the hatchlings strong suit so it is not a common event.
Between fights getting out of hand or an unlucky escape attempt, there are 4 less hatchlings now than there were, still doing quite well all things concerned. Korse has taken to the runt quite well, and she follows him like a little salamander whenever he takes her out of the pen, which he probably should not do at this age, any of the others would wander off and get stepped on.
The hatchlings begin walking around this time at about 3 months old, the next few months of their lives will likely be the most dangerous, as it is much easier to fall and crack your skull while upright than at a crawl and they have a habit of trying to run before they learn to walk, or fall, properly.
The clan has also seen a little upheaval, a group of adventurers seeking "treasures beneath the mountains." for some reason the daft surface dwellers think that the clan must be hiding down here since there's all those traps, this sort of thing happens every few years, and every few years the chief has to send a group up to talk to the humans at Whatzakt along with an elder or two, usually Ylst and sometimes Brewer Aldr, never Blonc though, he'd declare war out of sheer boredom by the time they finished saying hello...
A few threats to stop selling the town their stone and ore and their mayor usually straightens things out soon enough. Either that or they get past the warning traps and Master Trapcrafter Bolst gets a few levels when they find the real ones. This was one of those years, half the group ended up doused in acidic slime while the rest tripped a pitfall when they retreated, they may have been able to survive the fall, but the stone spikes at the bottom were liberally coated with a particularly nasty paralytic from a centipede found in the deep caves.
Overall Bolst was quite pleased with himself, all those times poisoning himself to level [Poison Resistance] proved well worth the effort.