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Solethania

It Sounded Better In My Head

Letters From Draconia

Letters From Draconia

December 29, 2018 Rinsland

Sir Avell Norclair,
Off. The Ivory Guard,
Mikayis, 2nd Frathes
Somewhere in Eastern Mountains,
Draconia Major

Dearest Sister,

It has been some time since last I wrote, as we have joined the Draconic Armies proper. You may recall, if my previous letter arrived safely, I mentioned the color of these creatures to be quite uniformly gold, the littlest of them to be called Kobolds, and the largest Dragonborn. Their faces are deeply angular and reptilian, not unlike old Wizard Nevell’s pets from our childhood. However, now that we have somewhat integrated into their grand army, I was shocked to learn they are not all of a singular color. Indeed, their coloration is that of what they call a clan or family. Each clan not only has a unique coloration (the one we were introduced to being the unimaginatively named Gold Clan) but temperament as well. In the two months of travel through these war torn lands to reach our assignment, I have determined the metallic colors to be the more friendly and amiable of the lot, while the more painterly colors are more alien, violent, and aloof.

Thus, dear sister, it was with great dismay to learn we had been assigned watch upon the snow covered mountains of Eastern Draconia Major with the White Dragonkind, or Clan White as they call themselves. We are assigned to guard these tall mountain passes with them, as the mountain climate here is not unlike our own, and we have great experience fighting in the kind of conditions that may arise. Of all the Clans I have met so far, none are like Clan White. They are, from what our helpful Gold Clan Kobold guide said, “The smallest in number of all the clans” because “The Queen is still young.” What the age of the Queen has to do with the size of the clan is quite beyond me, and I never had the opportunity to ask.

The members of Clan White are, like the gold coloration in Gold Clan, aptly named. We were met by a Dragonborn Sorcerer named Ethinon, and his cohort of Kobolds. Ethinon is a full head taller than I and almost twice my width, giving him a deeply powerful appearance like he could lift a golem by himself. But despite his immense size and number of Kobolds with him, we didn’t even notice they were there until we were nigh on top of them, so well and effortlessly were they blended into the snow. Their scales are a shimmery white, like freshly fallen snow, their tongues black, and eyes as deeply blue as the delphiniums in your garden. These creatures walk like ghosts, and we nearly lost sight of them traveling to our new fortification line. Their mannerisms are that of apex hunters, constantly stalking unseen prey.

But worst of all, dear sister, is what we learned very soon after setting up our encampment. The Kobolds of Clan White are cannibalistic. They eat their fallen in ritual meals, and turn the skins of their dead into leather pieces of armor. One of my men learned this horrific fact when he politely inquired to a Kobold about the similarity of its armor to its own scales. The Kobold apparently spent no small length of time regaling the poor man about the bravery and exploits of all the deceased Kobolds that made up this grotesque suit as if it were some form of great honor to wear their skin to guard his own.

Were it not for the greater Enemy we are so gallantly and dutifully fighting in the name of Eghrodro, I may have just turned our group around right then and there and come home, and gladly let the Dragonkind and the Demons and the Tieflings kill each other off.

However, it is not all terrible here, on the sunny days the view is stunning. I believe I can almost see the Midder Sea from our vantage point, and the mountains themselves are very much like the ones you and I explored in our youth. And you needn’t worry, and tell mother not to worry overmuch, for while there is some occasional fighting, it is much quieter here than it is nearer Ixubexo. I eagerly await any news of home and civilization you may care to send my way.

Your Brother,

Sir Avell Norclair
Off. The Ivory Guard


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