Morros could not remember is birth. All he had was a faint, hazy image of a shattered eggshell with pristine white orbs surrounding him, unhatched, and being covered in slimy goo. When they are first born, Kobolds in his tribe are separated into small batches of similar-aged Kobolds; for Morros, he shared his batch with seven other Kobolds. Over time the Kobolds in his batch grew and developed different likeness and abilities. There were Kobolds with wings, which in their batch was two: Yoonqual and Epryus. These winged Kobolds learned how to fly and master the usage of ariel combat. When they were two, Morros’ batch was tested for magic to see if they had any potential as powerful members of the tribe. Usually, the chances of a Kobold with magical capabilities are slim, however in his batch there were only three, including himself, who did not contain any magic and so did not go through the Draconic Rite of Passage. Morros had a very strong draconic bloodline and so was expected to have both wings and powers yet did not and so was considered a disappointment by his peers.
Kobolds of close blood relation emit a distinct pheromone so that they do not mate and commit incest with each other. Morros discovered two of his members, that being Lipiec, an elder brother who did have wings who was three years Morros’ senior, and his aunt Platone, whom, like Morros, also lacked both wings and magic. All in all, Morros was a run of the mill Kobold who never stood out, he only spoke when spoken to, and never did anything not expected of him. He was just there. A regular Kobold, a nobody.
It was a Saturday afternoon, not Kobolds keep track of time or dates when they had a mining lesson. Part way through the lesson, one of the teachers, a particularly grizzly Kobold who had a deep cut above his right eye, was getting frustrated at the lack of attention paid at the lesson and so he got out a large oaken staff and rapped the wall harshly so to attract their attention through noise. However, what attracted their attention was not the rattling of the staff but more so the noise that came after; a cacophony of cracks and the sounds of rocks them smashing into one another. They were standing on a trap placed by another Kobold tribe long ago.
The teacher uttered softly, "Whatever you do, don’t move".
But just as he said that, a Kobold with wings, Yoonqual, pushed hard against the surface of the rock and flew upwards. The sudden change in pressure resulted in the entire floor giving way and collapsing in on itself. The Kobold party of twenty-seven dropped down, with the exception of the Kobolds with wings having taken flight, and they dropped about fifteen metres before coming to a stop.
Slowly and carefully, Morros picked himself up off the floor, using a nearby fallen boulder to support his weight as he looked around. They were in an enormous cavern, with stalactites and stalagmites reaching out across the floors and ceilings, like a large stony hand trying to grasp around him.
Yoonqual flew down into the cavern, laughing and teasing the Kobolds without wings. Morros broke into a run out of the cavern, trying to avoid the senseless comments. Yoonqual pursued Morros through tunnels in the cave, using his lantern tied to his belt to see. The tunnel came out on to a ledge which was barely enough room for four kobolds to stand on. Beyond it the cavern opened up into eternal darkness, making Yoonqual’s lantern like a candle in the dark. Yoonqual stepped on to the ledge, curiosity striving him forward as to where Morros had gone to, his gleaming yellow eyes searching about for any sign of crimson Kobolds. Suddenly, from behind, he heard the strike of a match as the ledge flared into life as a torch, held by Morros, illuminated the surroundings. ‘I wonder where you’d got to, you yellow-bellied measly little worm’ sneered Yoonqual. Morros stood silently, his head held low, desperately trying not to react to what had just been aimed at him, in order to escape more insults.
"Saying nothing are we?", Yoonqual attacked Morros with words again, "Well, guess what. Keep saying nothing. You’ll always be a coward, a miserable maggot. You’ll be a nobody, a nothing, you’ll never be anything except a disgrace to Kurtlemak’s name, what d’ya say to that!"
A dark red vision clouded Morros sight for a second as fury and rage filled him as that last insult struck near his very fears of being forgotten. Endless insults and petty violence done to him over the years from people like Yoonqual swelled up into a massive cloud which possessed him. Whether he was controlled by Kurtlemak from heaven, or something far wicked in hell, Morros did not know, but regardless of what it was, in a singular motion Morros drew his long, curved knife and whipped it upwards, hewing of Yoonqual’s left wing. The next few moments happened in seconds. A glint of steel, a flash of silver, a tearing noise, a spurt of crimson, the smell of blood, blue scales and Yoonqual’s expression morphing from surprise to shock, to anger to pain and to agony as he realised what had occurred. He took a few staggering steps back, and then, he fell. The blue-scaled Kobold tumbled down the cavern, down, down, down. Not even having enough time for a final thought before he came to a sickening thud with the rock below, staring upwards, his eyes still open. Back on the ledge, Morros crawled forward, peered down and saw a wing flutter down like a leaf in the wind, till it came to rest, covering Yoonqual’s eyes, his blue face still stricken with realisation. There was no need to check the body to see if he was alive.
Morros felt triumph first. There would be no more insults, no more pain, there wouldn’t be a Yoonqual and thus Stama would be his. Then a great sadness struck him. There could not be any more insults. He would never have him there, bullying him. There would not be a Yoonqual anymore. And then nothing, emptiness. He said nothing, there was nothing to say. Morros carefully stood up away from the ledge, sheathed his dagger, and fled back to the tribe. Yoonqual was never seen again. The tribe knew what happened to him, it was the same old story: an overconfident flyer being too headstrong and attacking a group of adventurers. No-one questioned where Morros had been that day. No one thought to look on his blade, now coated with a pale reddish colour and the hint of a blue scale. No one really knew what events had unfolded that day apart from Morros. And like that, Yoonqual was gone.
