There are many things that a traveler needs to be wary of when taking a road trip. One such thing is never traveling alone.
Snaklu often breaks the rules, and he does so now, wearing his traveler’s attire and carrying his more performative gear in his backpack. The kobold’s steps are jaunty but quick as he walks through the wilderness in the dark of night. After all, they were born into the dark. So no pesky bandits or monsters would catch him off-guard.
Of course, the night-time vision of kobolds is quite limited, and he doesn’t account for the tenacity and desperation of some bandits. This lack of forethought becomes abundantly clear when an arrow lands on the ground by his feet.
“Yipe!”
He falls, landing on his butt, and before he can fully stand, there are three figures, each twice his size, running rapidly at him.
The kobold drops his bag, pulling his dagger free with a flash and holding it out before the three burly fellows.
“Well, well, well, what have we here?” One of the bandits says, his bow drawn and arrow pointed toward Snaklu.
“Looks like a dandy little dragon to me,” a second points out, a club patting on an open palm.
“One with a heavy purse,” says a third, using his staff to thread the straps of Snaklu’s bag and lift it up.
“I have nothing for you!” Snaklu squeaks. What’s in that bag will do you no good!”
“Oh, we’ll be the judge of that,” says the staff-wielder, sliding the bag close to his chest. He pulls it open and starts yanking out garment after garment.
Snaklu spins, his feet moving in an elegant and jaunty dance, hands thrusting forward.
The bandit drops the bag and falls to his back, bellowing out in a raucous fit of laughter, rolling about the ground and leaving his weapon behind.
“It’s a caster!” shouts the club bandit, swinging his weapon low.
Snaklu ducks underneath, rushing forward and reaching forward to grab the club-wielder’s thigh.
That’s when a fourth bandit, hidden behind the clubber and wearing a camouflage suit, rises up and throws a punch. The halfling’s bandaged fist sinks deep into Snaklu’s stomach, lifting the kobold into the air for a moment.
“Goooahaa!”
Snaklu falls to his knees, clutching his stomach, tears welling up in his eyes and hissing.
“Not so tough when you actually throw hands, are ya?” says the smaller bandit.
The bow-wielder picks through some of Snaklu’s belongings, lifting a particularly frilly dress. “Looks like the little lizard ain’t lying. It’s just a bunch of frilly outfits!”
Wheezing, Snaklu looks up toward the halfling standing before him. “I’m n-no merchant,” he groans. “I’m a dancer.”
She cracks her knuckles, flashing her missing-toothed smile. “Is that right?”
“Yeah,” he says, rubbing his stomach. He flutters his eyes towards his aggressor. “If you spare me, I can put on a performance for you.”
The staff bandit gasps, finally pushing himself up and wiping the laugh-strewn tears from his eyes. “Fat chance we’re lettin’ you do that!” he says. “You and your sneaky dance magic will make you get away. If you ain’t worth nothin’, you ain’t worth livin’!”
Snaklu plants his hands down on the ground and bows his head low. “Please, I beg of you—through bruised stomach, I have learned my lesson! I am easily pliable to your ways, stronger and smarter entrepreneurs.”
“There’s only one entrepreneur around these parts,” a gruff, growling voice says. It’s more monstrous than the others and emerges from the shadows.
Snaklu glances up to see the wonder of this voice, only to have a giant axehead fall near his face, the metal so polished as to show his shocked reflection.
The kobold trembles, gripping the ground, but then he wraps his fingers around the shaft of the weapon and pulls himself up, his chest pressed against the pole. “Oh, you must be the leader of this band. So cunning you are. Please, allow me to thank you for sparing my life.” He speaks with a soft smile, his eyes hooded and fluttering, holding back a gasp as he sees the leader.
Standing a head taller than even the burliest of the bandits is a hyena-man, a gnoll with a wild and spotted mane and a muzzle turned into a wicked grin. He hardly wears a stitch, save for a harness for his axe and a battle kilt.
“My, my,” the kobold says, his eyes drinking into the beast of a man standing before him. “A tailor to cover your mountainous muscles would cost you a fortune!”
The gnoll reaches a paw down, grasping Snaklu’s tail and hoisting him up with as much effort as a child with an apple. He holds the kobold up high, staring through glowing eyes at the kobold’s attempt at flattery. However, at this juncture, Snaklu’s trembling is all but apparent.
“You wanna flatter me?” the bandit leader asks.
Snaklu gulps, his arms dangling down underneath him. “I certainly, ah, hope it’s working, master bandit. After all, I have something to offer that your compatriots forgot.”
Leaning so close as to keep their snouts only a mere inch apart, the bandit narrows his gaze and growls, his breath hot and heavy, making the kobold’s head spin as he breathes. “And what, exactly, is that, you runt?”
Snaklu boldly laps his tongue at the wet nose of the bandit leader, tilts his head, and says. “My body, of course.”
The gnoll snorts, but then he tosses the kobold, catching Snaklu draped over his shoulder, an arm catching and squeezing him.
Snaklu hisses at the stomach pressure on that giant muscled shoulder, but he has little time to consider his pain, as the captain says. “Pick up the stuff. I’ll be busy the rest of the night!”
The bandits grumble and mutter, but none among their crew would dare say anything against their leader when he has his mind and other body parts set on a goal.