The crowd had fallen to silence. Every monster was unsure if they were seeing what they were actually seeing. Maeve threw her head back and despite the reek of garlic in her nose shouted, “KIP HAS WON THE CHALLENGE!”

All the monsters in attendance, from the lowest goon to the largest droog cheered at the startling upset. Davorin was surrounded by cheers of his failure as he lay shrunken on one knee. He turned to look at Kip behind him. Kip was standing so they were at eye level.

Kip huffed, puffed, smiled and said, “Good game, ay?”

Davorin said nothing. He merely stood, took two steps forward and turned into bats. All his bats flew out of the skylight, escaping into the cold light of day.

The banshee floated down, her feet stepped on the ground and she reached down to pick up Kip’s fist.

“Still stink like garlic, love,” Kip murmered.

“Better than how you smell all the time,” The banshee whispered to him, they both kept smiling as the banshee addressed the crowd.

“Let’s hear it for Dark Lord Kip!”

“Dark. Lord. Kip!” The crowd cheered.

“Dark Lord Kip!” The banshee yelled.

“Ah, so you do know how to hold someone’s hand.” Kip said.

“Dark. Lord. Kip!” The banshee wailed, then to Kip whispered, “My love language isn’t physical touch. You know that.”

“DARK LORD KIP!”

“No, right. It’s ‘gift-giving.’ What a convenient love language to have, ay love?”

“Shut up, I’m making you look good. You need the help.” Then to the crowd, “One more time! DARK. LORD. KIP!”

“DARK LORD KIP!”

And for a single second, Kip basked in the glow of the people chanting his name

Deep on the greens of the Fierce Forest, in some tiny crook of wilderness, was a hidden grove. When invaders or adventurers, if you’d like, passed through the area, they were likely to miss the grove. It was wholly unmarked and largely unknown to the newer residents of the Dark Lord’s domain. Were anyone to pass upon the tiny grove, they would notice three headstones in the center, surrounded by red spider lilies that Azami was kind enough to help maintain. One was a white headstone, hugged tightly by unbreakable vines, all dotted with poisonous thorns. The second was the repurposed masthead of a ship. A siren with fangs and tears in her eyes. The third was a simple wooden cross made out of two sticks tied together. This was a place of mourning. A place of quiet. A place that Davorin had not visited in at least fifteen years.

The bats coalesced into one distraught Davorin. He approached the gravestones and sat down on the ground in front of them, his hands on his knees. He looked up at the sun, covering it with his hands. His body was sensitive to the sunlight, so he didn’t get out much. That was what he told himself. That was why he idled away with his goons in the upper floors of the castle, waiting for some intruder strong enough to reach the castle so he could get squashed by Davorin.

But the truth was in front of him. If he left Castle Inversa… he would either visit the graves… or not visit the graves. And that was a choice he could not make.

“I thought I might find you here,” A voice called behind him. Davorin need not look back. He’d heard wings flapping from miles away, too lost in thought to realize they had been approaching him.

“Jymba,” Davorin said.

Jymba did not approach, he stayed on the edges of the grove, “It’s been a long time since they’ve been gone, hasn’t it?” Jymba asked.

“The little twat won.”

“He earned it.” Jymba said.

Davorin let out a breath, “I suppose so.”

Jymba watched Davorin’s normally quaffed hair, shaggy after the fight, rustle as he shook it.

“He won fair and square,” Jymba said, “Using your rules.”

“How can I face any of the denizens of the dark now? How can I face him now.”

“I’m not even sure when you’ll face him again.”

Davorin shook his head, “Abandoned us. Abandoned us and left a plumber in his stead. How could he do this?”

Jymba stayed silent.

“He did not tell you anything? Said not a word where he might go?” Davorin turned back to look at him. The old dragon was in his human form, resting idly against a tree as he shook his head.

Davorin stood up, “Why don’t I believe you?”

Jymba could see through Davorin’s cold red eyes, “Why are you so afraid to ask the real question that troubles you?”

Davorin flinched, “Answer it then.”

“Ask it then.”

Davorin and Jymba stared at each other. Jymba gave a soft smile that meant to put pressure on his colleague.

Davorin said, “I’ll challenge the little rat again. I will eviscerate him. I’ll tear his head off. The location needs to be mutual. I gave him the edge last time...”

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Davorin,” Jymba said in a soothing voice that only pissed Davorin off more.

Davorin scoffed. Then he took a deep inhale, “I was foolish to go easy on him. He took advantage of my generosity. Next time…”

“Davorin there are more important things for your rein.”

“Not to me.”

“There is one positive to Kip’s tenure as Dark Lord.”

“What?”

“It got you out of the castle.”

There was a devastating silence between the two. Davorin looked over at the three gravestones. He went over and rubbed the top of the masthead, “This place was meant to be a haven for the damned.”

“It still might be.” Jymba said.

Davorin scoffed again, but this time it felt forced to him, “You like to act so wise, meanwhile you breast your cards better than anyone.”

“I can answer if you’d like,” Jymba said.

“Go on.”

“You are still wounded, I think.” Jymba said, “Still not fully healed after your battle with the Ducervi. Kip, he’s fresh. His naivete, under a different name, is optimism.”

“That’s not what I asked and you know it.”

Jymba’s smile was large and toothy. His belly rustled as he chuckled and he said, “You are not brave enough to ask the right question. Maybe I am not brave enough to give the wrong answer.”

And with that, Davorin turned back into bats and flew away, back down to his room in the Castle Inversa.

“New powers.” Azami said with wonder.

Kip shook like a leaf as he examined his scroll. He was staring at three choices, while Stormbristle, Azami, and Zeke stared over his shoulder. His level now read ‘3’, and he was being granted new abilities.

Stormbristle nudged Kip with his snout, “You’re going to need what makes you strongest.”

“I understand that, Storm,” Kip said, “But fact of the matter is, I’m exceptionally weak. As much as I need to use some levels to hone my strength, I need to spend a little more time getting stronger physically. For now, my strategy needs to rely more on evasion and cunning.”

The three choices read:

* Tiny Horns: Charge attack does double damage (Req. for Curled Horns)

* Fiery Breathe: Cast Firebolt once per hour without mana) (Req. for Fiery Blast)

* Wings 1: Fly for three wing flaps and glide for 20 seconds. (Req. for Wing 2)

“Woah.” Zeke said as he looked at Kip’s new potential abilities.

“I know,” Kip said.

“Which will you choose, My boy?” Stormbristle asked.

Kip looked through the three choices, “I”m… not sure.”

Azami shook her head, “Treat this decision with care. Most dragonlings don’t ever get this far.”

“They don’t?” Kip asked.

Azami shook her head, “They’re numbers, Kip. They die quickly. Many stay level 1 when they die. So few make it to their draconic traits and the strongest kobolds rarely make it to level ten.”

“Come on,” Zeke said, “It’s gotta be horns. Trust me, Kip. These things are awesome. Hard to get through doors. That’s the one problem. Sometimes bigger guys grab them. But the charge attacks are unreal damage-wise.”

They mulled it over as things most of the monsters hung out in the labyrinth. The post fight glow burned into a festive flame. It was rare for there to be so many people from different floors mingling with each other. Everyone began talking and some even started drinking. It was the Duergar. The Duergar had started the drinking but the idea spread fast to the other races.

Kip let out a sigh, “Did you all know I was afraid of heights?”

“You never ride on Swiff,” Azami said.

“You threw up before I lifted you to my shoulder,” Zeke said.

“First I’m hearing about this,” Stormbristle said, “Although you did once ask me how I ‘could stand it up there’ while I floated two feet above you. So there were signs.”

“It’s most Kobold’s dream to fly. We look up at Jymba or some dragon that occasionally passes above and grow ambitious. But me, I’m terrified.”

Kip pressed the option for Wings 1.

“Kip, I think you pressed the wrong option, buddy.” Zeke said, “Unfortunately, there are no do-overs. That’s why I got two tails, now.”

“It wasn’t an accident Zeke. I pressed ‘Wings.’ Even though I’m scared… I want to be able to show all the other Kobolds… the ones who are still level one, that they can get their wings too. Even if it means only gliding for a little. Even if it means bringing a barf bag.”

Azami smiled, nodding along with the young Kobold.

“Say… growing wings isn’t painful is it?”

Azami, Stormbristle, and Zeke all exchanged glances. Kip smiled at them, then his face cracked and he doubled over in pain. He howled as the wings grew in. Nubs peeked out from his back and ripped through his clothes. Then they sprouted feathers. That was more painful than the nubs. It felt like two hundred pricks of a needle but they were starting from the inside of the skin. Kip shouted naughty words as the pain continued but eventually the wings had grown.

Kip huffed in pain, “Amazing. How do they look?”

Davorin walked up from the floor. Kip looked over, “Davorin!” Kip scuttled after him on his tiny feet. Davorin had a knapsack slung over his shoulder and stared at the little critter coming by. “Davorin, look!” He showed Davorin his wings.

Davorin stared at them, unperturbed.

“I got to level 3 after winning the fight!”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you! Oh! I have something for you!” Kip said as he reached into his messenger bag, he took it out, “It’s the book that fell into the trap! It got mangled a good deal but my workshop is in a hidden room in the labyrinth so I was able to sneak away and rebind it! Some of the pages are missing but you said you already read it so…”

Davorin picked up the book and examined it, “You did this… after I tried to kill you.”

“Davorin, we both want the best for this domain. Every member of every floor wants what you want. They just want to be treated with a little dignity as well. If… you can spare it, of course. But… you’re still one of our strongest and I can’t do this without you! What’s with the bag?”

“You’ll have to do this without me.”

“Pardon?”

Davorin put on his large brimmed hat and his sunglasses, “I am leaving to find the Dark Lord. I shall check every crevice and nook and frankly, cranny if I have to. Although I doubt the dark lord is in a cranny. But I will return.”

“Well… I honor you on your journey! When will you return?”

“I may not challenge you again for two months. In two month’s time I shall return and challenge you again and… show you no mercy and kill you. Ta-ta, Kip.”

And with that, Davorin turned into bats and flapped away, leaving Kip shaking in his boots at the sudden threat.

Kip looked up as Davorin disappeared into the horizon, “You don’t think he means it, do you?” Kip asked Azami.

“Yes, Kip. I think he means it. Or maybe he thinks he does.”

“Well… He called me by my name! That’s an improvement, I suppose.”

Kip turned around, admiring the party, “Now… let’s enjoy the party! Let’s drink, party, make some mistakes! Maybe one of us will hook up with an ex tonight!”

“None of my exes are here” Stormbristle asked.

“Mine neither,” Zeke said.

“All of my exes and future husbands are dead by my hand,”

“Yeah. Still, maybe one of us will hook up with an ex tonight!” Kip said giddily.

“KIP!” Somebody called to Kip. Kip turned and saw Baraz Bloodchin, the Duergar miner, appear. His face was bloodied and he staggered forward. Everyone at the party turned to see the commotion. He collapsed, his life escaping him with every breath.

“Kip…” Baraz repeated, “A troupe of intruders have made it all the way to the Underdark.”

“But…. but…” Kip stammered, “Impossible! We were all here! Guarding the entrance!”

“Not just that, Kip..” Baraz said, “Their symbol. Carved into their armor… banners… it’s a two headed Stag!”

Kip’s red scales paled. The Ducervi had entered the dungeon.