A village deliberately founded ON TOP of a kobold burrow, with the manor of the village lord covering to entrance to the burrow itself. But it isn't what people think. The village cared for the kobolds. Especially since the lord was saved by these beings when they were a small child being chased by monsters. -- Anon Guest
Gratitude has many aspects. A simple "thank you" is just the most common one. Sometimes nothing more than a meaningless sound since it it spent so often. Sometimes, it's a herald for gifts. Once, it preceded something grand.
"The land for your palace is beset by Kobolds, m'lady," said the appointed seneschal. "Shall we send in sappers and barrels of smokepowder?"
"No," she said. "Fortify the entrances you find. Set up temporary shades and feasting tables outside. I would parley with their Balaur." The new lord smiled at her seneschal's confusion. "We're going to make peace, and welcome them as fellow citizens. I owe them."
"M'lady?"
A long time ago, in these very lands, there'd been a village. A humble little place of wood and reeds. A cluster of little farms and a meeting hall adjoining the pub. Ash, now. Gone to dust and then some. Even the graveless bones of those farmers had become food for something else. But there had been one survivor. Through various adventures and at least one grand deed, now become the Lady Vivi Brokeplough.
One survivor, saved by a pack of Kobolds.
As an even smaller child, she had fed them her unwanted vegetables. They repaid her by calling their warren down on the raiders. And in a week, Vivi was the only Human left in the vale.
The Balaur at the time understood that Vivi needed other Humans to look after her, and the warren helped her get as far as the next town. She never forgot her loyal cluster of "trash dragons"[1]. Whenever she could, she spent kindness on the small, often silly creatures.
Now she could repay it in full.
Balaur was a word few had bothered to translate. Many took it to mean 'leader'. Some took it to mean 'dragon-like'. Vivi knew it meant mine director, and thus showed every respect. Including, greeting them with the offering of a meal.
The best that a Lady of title and land could offer.
A whole roasted ox, stuffed with wild boar, stuffed with ducks, stuffed with quail, and honeyed cake spiced with the best she could purchase, and soaked in rum.
"As you sheltered me in my need," she said to the Balaur, "I wish to shelter you now that I am strong. I will welcome you to my house, when it is built, as you once welcomed me in your warren. My castle walls will protect your warren from threats above, as your warren traps will protect my lands from threats below. We share in all, fortune and misfortune, as one."
Balaur Ziggvon crunched gratefully through a quail ribcage as they listened. "You're clever. And strong. We remember you from the last life we lived. You were small. Now you are big. Since you protect us, we name you our Dragon. Since we live together, we will work for and with your people. Our tribe is your tribe. Your tribe is our tribe. Through fortune and misfortune as one."
The Lady Vivi Brokeplough is on record as the first Lord of a truly communist society, where even the lord of the land shared bed and hearth with Kobolds. Or, for that matter, anyone who needed a bed or a hearth.
[1] Often used as a slur against Kobolds, some take it as a compliment. Even a trash dragon is still a dragon, after all.
[Photo by cubicroot XYZ on Unsplash]
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