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Yellow Floating Bud
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They were staring at him. They were staring, and Kelis knew why. It was only a couple of hours earlier when they'd decided that they'd let him tag along. "Hey," the elf had said with a laugh, "if he's willing to take a sword for us, why not?" They'd all joked. He'd laughed, too, just wanting to fit in. He turned to look at them again, and they looked away now. The dwarf was praying to his chosen deity and staring firmly at the ground. Kelis understood.
He looked over to the corpses of the orc warriors that had charged them. Of the dozen, he had apparently felled no less than eight by himself. He had known, of course, that he was capable of such things, but somehow, it just never quite sunk in; it seemed like a lie that he simply pretended to believe, but times like this, he had to face it straight-on. He remembered what he did, but it was more of a dream than a memory. Was it really him, the humble little kobold with a little spear? It had to be, for the first died when he'd climbed up its chest, claws digging into its thick skin, to bury that spear in its eye.
The second was attacking the halfling, he remembered that specifically: the halfling was the only one who had been honestly nice to him since the start. Had he really made that noise? It was somewhere between a hiss and a growl, and the thought of it coming from his throat seemed too unreal to contemplate. The second orc's throat had deep tears in it. He remembered now; his spear had proven too slow, stuck in the monster's belly, so he used his hand...
Kelis looked down. His hand was still covered in blood. They'd laughed, earlier, about how they weren't sure that kobolds even had fangs. He'd shown them, though. He'd shown them his. They certainly weren't laughing anymore.
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