In the middle of the Salty Sea lies Candy Island. This island is a wondrous place where chocolate grows on boughs of trees and sugar compose the lofty peaks. The rivers that carve these lands flow with citrus instead of freshwater. The forests bear the sweetest fruits, from mangoes, apples, and cherries to durians, lanzones, and rambutans. The fields hold host to various delicious plants such as peanuts, roses, lavender, cinnamon, and sugar cane. These lands are rife with sweets.

The candy kobolds call this island home. Marzipan make their flesh, and sugar crystal make their scales. Soft gummy feathers grow around their necks as they grow up, covering their heads and necks in a fuzzy coat. The tribes one belonged could be traced from the color of their scales. Those who belong to the tribe of Vetlu often sport butterscotch scales with green apple gumdrop feathers. Cherry red scales and blueberry gummy feathers feature prominently on those who belong to the tribe of Juzma. Those belonging to the tribe of Eprarme groom purple grape scales and orange tamarind plumage. Those of the Mizike tribe worry about scales of brown coffee and feathers of lavender. The tribe of Iskra is blest with cyan mint scales and yellow lemon fuzz. Those that had been born in households between tribes will inherit one flavorful color from each of their parents.

They have lived on this beautiful island for generations, untouched by outside influences. They have arrived on this rich island so long ago that the surviving tribes no longer remembered it. Legend has it that it was the gods that had molded them from the sweet earth. Their gods had created the five tribes to their image. They had built many impressive monuments, ziggurats and monoliths, for their gods. Upon the walls of their structures were detailed the personalities of their gods and the prayers to be said to them.

Zarvo the Sour is said to have her whole being be made of sour lemon candy. Mists of zest spill from her maw, and a rain of citrus continually dripped from her wings. She bore claws and fangs that burned all that she touched. She was worshipped as a god of water and rain, and the kobolds prayed to her for rain dry times and clean water during wet times. She was the one to give Eprarme and Iskra their tamarind and lemon feathers.

Ketoskoi the Hot is said to have body engulfed in flames. In his veins flowed hot sauce hotter than the sun. It is said that it was in his breath where the first kobolds were cooked. The sun is said to shine because Ketoskoi bequeaths it a drop of his blood everyday so it may shine bright and hot. He rests during the winter months where the world is cold. The kobolds give plenty of sacrifices to Ketoskoi in winter to make him strong enough to get through the next summer. He was the one to give Mizike and Iskra their scales of coffee and mint.

Sevnais the Sweet is said to have a body made of braided cinnamon branches. She has acacia trees for branches, and honey is said to flow through her veins. Many legends tell of her governance over nature, designing the many trees and plants which bear fruit on the island. She is worshipped by the kobolds as the one who brings abundant harvests from their fields, forests, and plantations. She is also worshipped as a fertility deity, and her symbol, the acacia fruit, is sometimes taken as an aphrodisiac. She is the one to give Vetlu and Juzma their apple feathers and cherry scales.

Metalio the Cold is said to be a serpentine being made of ice that encircled the entire sea. It is said that his body stretches from the ocean to the heavens above. He is the one to tether the moon to the earth, and the tides are said to be his body dipping in and out of the ocean. Sacrifices are offered to him so that his hold upon the heavens wouldn't weaken. It is said the earthquakes and tsunamis are caused by him losing grip on the moon. He is the one who gave Juzma and Eprarme their blueberry feathers and grape scales.

Yorda the Strong is said to have a body like a mountain. Their arms were of a substance harder than rock, and inset their eye sockets was a pair of stairs that glowed brighter than any other in the sky. They were said to pull the world across the cosmos. They were the one to cause the days to turn and the years to pass. It is said that all the other gods nursed on their teats and acquired an infinitesimal portion of their divine strength. The kobolds worshipped them for their strength and often prayed for them to grant them a portion of their divine power. They were the one to give Vetlu and Mizike their butterscotch scales and lavender feathers.

All the kobold tribes have lived on this island for generations in harmony. Little conflict between them occurred, but it's all about to change when the invaders came to shore. They're strange people coming from distant lands with flesh made of meat. Where everything on the island oozed with sweetness, the blood of the invaders are laden with salt. They have come to the island not to trade but to steal the treasure borne here.

The kobold tribes tried to repel the invading force, but their weapons were no match to the might of their of their adversaries. Where they bore spears, swords, and daggers crafted from the finest fruit woods and sharpest crystals, their enemies brought with them weapons made from iron and steel. Such items had never been discovered on the island before and it was a slaughter. Their weapons, harder than any other substance that could be found there, cleaved through their defenses like a raindrop through the air. The air stank with the sweet scent of spilled blood.

The invaders waded through their home, razing their homes to ashes and setting fire to their forests. They didn't try to understand the kobolds. As they plundered their home beneath their feet, they sneered and insulted them while waving weapons crafted from substances the natives could scarcely understand. They called them "kobolds" after their folklore of little goblins that ruin masonry. They called them so and forced them to call themselves so, and in the years that passed by, the name to their race as given by their gods was lost.

Their tribes were shattered with the assault of the invaders. Vetlu was first to fall. Most of their settlements lay near the sea, vulnerable sea invasion. They were decimated, losing all their able-bodied fighters. All that was left was the women, children, and infirm. Some of them had been captured to turn the invader's wheels of industry. The tribe of Juzma managed to receive most of those that had escaped the terrible fate, and the others were small pickings for the other tribes.

One by one, the invaders felled the tribes. Juzma then Eprarme then Iskra, they had failed against the assault of the invading force. Their wood and crystal weaponry were no match to their metal. The last tribe, Mizike, had seen all the other tribes failing against the oppressive force of the invaders. The gods had heard the kobold's pleas. The kobolds have given copious prayers and sacrifices for the gods to ravage the invaders with storms, disease, and earthquakes, but even with their intervention, they hadn't deterred the relentless invaders.

Mizike and the surviving members of the other tribes retreated to Ketemite, the sacred city of their gods. This was where they've built their largest ziggurats and monoliths so that their gods could see and hear their pleas. They've huddled up their remaining forces to make the city a great bastion against the invading force. Mizike dissolved the remaining members of all the other tribes into their ranks, creating the new unified tribe of Temeshingka.

The invaders had come to plunder and steal. The foreign substances, metals, iron and steel, they boggled the minds of the kobolds. They were harder than any crystal that could be found on the island yet not a bit brittle. Instead of shattering when hit too hard, the substance would bend like a piece of taffy. The substance was scarce, nonexistent on the island, especially gold. This revelation angered the invaders.

They had come to steal the riches endemic to this island. They searched far and wide, high and low, yet they couldn't find an ounce of precious metal. Acres upon acres of fertile land, perfect for growing a number of crops and trees; boatloads of sugar, salt, and spice could be exported everyday; crates upon crates of coffee, cocoa, and herbs could be brought overseas; but not a bit of gold, silver, or platinum. This had put the invaders into a fit of rage.

They had burst through their sacred city of Ketemite, the last bastion to koboldkind. It had stood stalwart for a year or two against the influx of invaders, but that was the day that it would fall. The city burned, and its streets were sickly sweet and disgustingly sticky. The gingerbread and whipped cream that composed their temples were set ablaze, creating great columns of black smoke that could be seen for miles. They broke apart their great monuments, the ziggurats and monoliths, brick by brick and stone by stone, destroying a crucial link to their gods. Their high priests were taken and sold overseas as slaves. The surviving kobolds had to flee, flee further inland into the dark rainforests and craggy cliffs where the invaders were surely unable to follow swiftly.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

The kobolds had become lost and hopeless. Without their temples, their gods had become distant. They swear they once could hear their roars over the wind, but now, the winds carried not a note of their cries. The kobolds had been utterly beaten. Their weapons and implements were inferior to whatever the invaders had brought to bear. Their beautiful island home was being defiled by their vile designs. The forests and fields of fruit and spice was being cleared to make way for farms not worked by invasive hands but by kobold hands slaved under fear and force.

They had no guidance. Their priests have fallen. All their sacred treasures have been destroyed alongside the destruction of Ketemite: their sacred texts and artifacts, all fed to vengeful flames. They had to flee further inland, and some resigned to fleeing underground. They had to flee into the wet rainforest that covers the inner reaches of the island whereupon the forest floor gathers little light. There, the invasive force wouldn't be able to follow them as far.

Their gods were appalled at the fate befalling their dear creations. They wished to incarnate and tread alongside their followers, but they feared that bringing their whole being down below will only exacerbate the problem or simply destroy the island. Zarvo and Sevnais had to be restrained by their fellows lest their presence send the jungles berserk and rain acid from the sky. Their gods went silent as they plotted in their divine realm while they sent storms and waves against the invaders to set them back and test the waters. They looked and thought for many years, but a plan that would help their creations against invasion hadn't come up yet.

One evening when the kobolds came around a large bonfire. Every week, they would light a fire and bask in its light and heat. The purpose was so that the kobolds could socialize and lift each other's spirit, but their spirits could only be lifted so high before the weight and gravity of the situation would bring everything down.

"Uaghsuah!" One of the kobolds broke down as he drank his booze, sitting in front of the fire. This was Eilu, one of the foremost scouts of Temeshingka. He was part of the groups who looked out for the movements of the invaders upon their land. The things they have seen had broken their hearts.

Where their homes had once stood, there were farmlands being tended by enslaved kobolds. They tilled the fertile land for the cultivation of flax, jute, and cotton. Their invasive masters only looked at them pitilessly as the kobolds worked upon their stolen lands. The kobolds were miserable, working under the heat of the sun with their backs filled with wounds from whips. They could hardly recognize each other as their bare flesh was exposed as their scales and feathers had been pulled out to be sold. Their eyes were glazed over, their souls longing to leave their vessels as they oftentimes looked up to the sky and wait for the invisible hands of their gods to take them away.

Calm now, Eilu," another kobold comforted him. She was an often partner to the grieving kobold.

"I will not be calm," Eilu cried. He threw his flagon, still half full with booze. "This predicament, I can't take it anymore. We can't keep hiding like this. They keep moving forward, mowing more of the Great Forest. Soo, there would be nowhere else to hide."

"Shh, now. Surely, the gods will find us a way," she said. "They have blest us with frequent storms these years. I'm sure they're finding a way."

"Oh don't you talk about the gods that, Kikirike," a kobold remarks. "They might be looking for a way to get us out of our predicament, we might be dead before they ever find a solution."

"Oh don't you start, Velu," she growled.

"Start what? It's been years, Kikirike. Twelve years now, and the gods haven't found a solution that will turn the tides to our favor," Velu answered. The booze dripped from his lips.

"Oh," Kikirike was silenced. She couldn't rebut that.

"Forget the gods. What we need is to get off the island," another kobold butted in. This one was Lorvan.

"And how do you reckon we try that? We can't even get close to the shores without getting impaled!" Akime shouted, spitting into Lorvan's direction.

"It's noted. I don't have a full plan yet," Lorvan merely nodded at Akime's contribution.

"Oh you and your plans. It's like they ever work," Akime remarked.

Lorvan's face scrunched at that remark. "They work alright, and the high priests have commissioned me many times," he defended.

"The high priests aren't here anymore."

"Don't remind us," Kikirike said.

The conversation around the fire quietened. Their topics had brought the fire low and they'd rather not take more jabs at their hope. They slowly drank away the sorrow's in their hearts as the twilight came to pass.

"What we need is a hero," Eilu suddenly said.

"Pardon?" Kikirike asked.

"A hero, Kikirike. A hero strong and brave enough to send the invaders running back to where they came from," he elaborated.

"Where on the island would we find that," Velu replied. He was very much interested in what he was about to say.

"I don't know," Eilu sighed. "I just know that we need one."

Lorvan took a sip from his flagon before contributing. "Well, our hero needs to be more than just strong and brave to fight back the invaders. They'd need to be smart too. The invaders can be ingenious."

"So strength of Yorda, bravery of Ketoskoi, and ingenuity of Metalio. What else should our hero need to have," Kikirike said.

"Well, if we're going to have him have one blessing from each god, then they should also have kindness of Sevnais and determination of Zarvo."

As they talked about the qualities the hero should possess, their gods overheard. The seeds had been planted in their minds. This, this was what they need. The solution that might just solve the problem at hand. The talk of a hero spread across Temeshingka. An image forged from their collective imaginings began to form. Their gods planned and prepared for the coming and christening of their hero.

On the third day, they called upon one of their devout followers. This one was named Ridire and the tribe had been grooming her to become a low priest of their gods. When she fell asleep that night, Ketoskoi carried her sleeping soul into their divine realm. There, she dreamed of their meeting.

Ridire stood on an octagonal platform floating in a sea of light. The glow of the sea below filled her vision with blinding shine. Rising from the waves of the sea were the silhouettes of their gods. They stood before her like great judges. She fell to her knees as she realized the situation she was in. She groveled before them, giving apt reverence to their divinity.

"Rise, Ridire."

The gods commanded her to rise and her eyes met once again with the gods' visages. There before her, steeping into the water, Zarvo the Sour. Her citrus wings were splayed open, dripping a sour rain. Her very presence imbued the liquid light with her citric essence, dying it a profound yellow.

Beside her stood Ketoskoi the Hot. Red burning fire streamed out his eye sockets whilst patterns of red, black, and orange danced on his skin. The sea in which he was immersed boiled in his presence, creating a column of white glowing steam that veiled his glowing form.

Sevnais's braided form stood by her fellows. She appeared less like a creature and more of a mountain of green rising from the sea. Her eyes could barely be spied upon under the cover of thick green and braided branches. A sweet fragrance wafted from her, from the numerous flowers blooming on her boughs and the many ripening fruits hanging from her branches.

Metalio looped around in the air, made aloft by mysterious means. His form glittered as it rose in and out the liquid light. His icy scales reflected the gleam of the shining sea below him. His sapphire blue eyes bore down upon the mortal in their midst. Many pairs of arms lined his length, and arms that resembled pincers jutted out the back of his neck, gripping a facsimile of the heavenly moon.

Yorda stood stalwart behind all four of them. They stood twice as tall as all of them, only exceeded by Metalio's length. They were a rocky mountain bare of any vegetation. They bore limbs that could be mountains by themselves. Their eyes glowed with the same intensity as the summer sun, glowing like stars... No, they are stars. Glowing molten rock could be spied upon the rims of their behemoth eye sockets.

"I--," the words were stuck on Ridire's throat. She didn't quite know how to address the gods. "It is an honor... to meet you."

Ketoskoi nodded at her words. "Do not trip on your words, Ridire. We have chosen you as our direct emissary on Candy Island."

"We have heard your pleas," Zarvo added. She spat caustic vitriol with every word. "We have plotted for thirteen years for naught, but tonight, we have prepared something that should surely alleviate your situation."

"Oh," joy rose from what Ridire had heard. "What kind of plan do you have in mind?"

Sevnais chuckled as she relayed the plan to her. "We plan on giving life to a hero!" Her message was brought to her not by voice and noise, but through the fragrance of her flowers. It entered through her nose and Sevnais's words were clarified.

"This hero shall straddle the limit between mortal and immortal, allowing for feats usually beyond reach for mortals," Metalio's cold icy voice added. It sounded like the howling wind and cracking ice. "This should be a great boon for the crusade they would need to go on."

Yorda wordlessly raised one of their hands and showed to them a large glowing orb. The hue of its glow constantly shifted between white, orange, yellow, and green. It glowed like a star in their grasp. The power of the glowing sphere could be felt even from where Ridire had stood. The world wobbled as the smell of alcohol bulldozed through her.

Metalio spiraled around the great orb. His arms carefully gestured around the sphere without touching it. "This," he began. "This is the heroic spirit that we have prepared. Ketoskoi's blood, Zarvo's zest, Sevnais's sap, Yorda's milk, and three of my scales. All it needs now is a vessel."

"And that is why we have called you here, Ridire," Ketoskoi said. "We have brought you here, Ridire, to tell us of our plan. To set this plan into motion, you must listen carefully to what we are about to say.

Make a statue from marzipan. Sculpt it to the likeness of your race; give it scales and feathers too. Once it is done, prepare a pan of crema de fruta and set it before the statue. Beseech our names, and we shall give your hero life."