Snarf ignored the shadow as it passed over him. If the dragon was hungry, there was little a kobold and an adolescent drake could do to keep themselves from being dinner. He thought he knew this dragon, though. Besides, he had his own and Glurp’s dinner to attend to.
He was ladling rabbit and mushroom stew into a pair of shallow bowls when he heard a discrete cough from the edge of the clearing. He looked up to see a seductively beautiful kobold vixen. Snarf sighed, an affectation he had picked up during his time with the druids of the High Forest. Fortinilax might have extensively studied the mating habits of their two-legged cousins, but they kept forgetting to include clothes when they shapechanged.
“Hey, ho. Well met. Stew?” Snarf greeted his former mentor. He started rummaging around in his pack for a third bowl. Glurp bounded over to the newcomer and gave them a sloppy lick with his long tongue. The dragon might look like a kobold, but they still smelled like a dragon.
“Um, urm, that is not necessary,” said the dragon. Snarf knew that Fortinilax only ate fish and other sea creatures. Not having his target know they were being teased took most of the fun out of it. Most, not all.
“Suit yourself.” Snarf put Glurp’s dish on a flat rock. He sat on a larger rock and began to eat. The dragon had come to him, come out of his territory into that of another dragon. They must need a favor. Taking the shape of a comely vixen was the young wyrm’s way of trying to soften Snarf up. They would get to their point sooner, rather than later.
The kobold/dragon sat on a third rock. They looked distinctly uncomfortable. Sitting naked on a rock with sharp ridges would do that. So would asking a favor of an apprentice you had dismissed in a fit of pique two years previously.
“How have you been?” The dragon made an attempt at an alluring kobold smile.
By the gods, thought Snarf. They must really be desperate if they’re trying to make small talk.
Glurp, having finished his meal, settled himself at Snarf’s feet. Snarf decided to have mercy on the wyrm.
“Did you need something? Or were you just passing through? How is Malista these days?”
“Still as likely to shred me with their claws as ever. You know I would not venture into their territory if it weren’t important. I am surprised that you have done so. If they caught you here, they would dissolve your body with their acid and deposit your head outside my lair, just to rile me.”
“Thank you for that image. So you are risking your shiny bronze hide just to say hello?”
“Oh, no, no. I need someone to go on a mission for me, someone I can trust.”
“Someone from a degenerate species more akin to a rat than a dragon?”
“You know I did not mean that. I was perturbed. You cannot hold me responsible for some inconsequential remarks made in ire. A kraken had just sunk one of my ships. I am still sure that Krinoc was responsible. Or maybe one of the Thayans. Alternatively, ….”
“What do you want, oh glorious and infallible dragon.” Fortinilax was as deaf to sarcasm as they were teasing. But if Snarf had not interrupted them, they would have spent hours describing their enemies, real and imagined, in detail.
“Hmmm? Oh, yes. You need to go to the Conclave.”
“The Conclave? As in, a once-in-a-millennia gathering of all of the dragons?”
“Well, certainly more often than that. There was one not more than sixty years or so ago. And this Conclave is just for the dragons of Northwest Faerun. The Thayans seem to be on the cusp of unearthing a fantastic Netherese artifact in the Anauroch Desert. We think that this artifact would help them conquer all of this region. The Conclave is to decide our response.”
“Couldn’t a flight of dragons just wipe out the Thayans before they find what they are looking for? Why dither about?”
“It is not that simple. A direct conflict with the Thayans would inevitably lead to casualties, even deaths. No dragon would take that risk without a guarantee of a suitable reward. Besides, many of us think that this is a squabble amongst lesser races, nothing to do with us. They do not want us to interfere. The Conclave is an effort to reach a consensus between the local dragons. If that cannot be achieved, at least the different factions and their members will be identified.”
“And why aren’t you going yourself?”
“This Conclave is not truly…official. A true Conclave would be called jointly by an ancient Red and an ancient Gold, both pledging safe passage for attendees. This Conclave is being organized by Carmanitil and Sarmanta. Neither are ancient, neither gold nor red. They are the self-appointed leaders of the interventionist and the isolationist factions. Their control over dragons in their own factions is questionable, especially that of Sarmanta over the isolationists. Not bothering with the antics of lesser races is not exactly a strongly unifying sentiment.
“No, I have too many mortal enemies amongst dragonkind to be safe. Maybe at the Conclave itself, but not approaching or leaving it. I need to send an emissary. I am certain that many others will be doing the same. Only the most fervent or powerful will attend themselves.”
“Why do you think that I’ll be safe when you wouldn’t be?”
“Of course you will not be safe. You will be in peril every moment. But it is doubtful that you will come to any harm. You are not important enough to risk disrupting the Conclave just to eat you. You are much more likely to be fed false information to bring back to me.”
“I see you have as much concern for me as you ever had.”
“Of course, of course. Nothing has changed. Now, you must depart immediately.
Snarf lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, another affectation he had picked up from the druids. Humans had such expressive ways of showing annoyance.
“Alright, alright. When and where is this meeting?”
“There is an amphitheater in the Spine of the World, north of Mirabar. It was built by giants but has been abandoned for centuries. The Conclave starts a ten-day from today.”
“A ten-day! Mirabar is hundreds of miles from here. Glurp and I don’t have great big dragon wings.”
“Of course not! Do not worry. I have planned everything out. You are a couple of walking days from Waterdeep. Check in with my shipping company there. They will put you on a clipper to Luskan, even provide you with cold weather gear. I will have a drake, a full-sized one, fly you from there to the Conclave. You should make it with time to spare.”
“And my marching orders?”
“Marching orders? I just told you to head to Waterdeep. If you prefer to march rather than walk….”
“No, I mean, what are my instructions, oh literal one?”
“Of course, of course. Well, first and foremost, do not make any commitments on my behalf. These dragons have centuries more than you of experience in negotiations. Anything they get you to agree to would certainly turn out badly for me. Your task is to observe and to bring me any resolution for my consideration.
“It does not need mentioning that we are steadfastly against a Thayan incursion. It would cause a war that would unleash unfathomable devastation and suffering on the common inhabitants of these lands. Not to mention that, if the Thayans were to actually succeed, my businesses would be eradicated.
“That said, I would prefer to avoid direct conflict if possible. The arcane magicks released by both sides could cause a calamity to rival the destruction of Netheril itself.”
“Fine. I’ll do it. On one condition.”
“A condition. Hrmf. So be it. What is your condition?”
“Put on some clothes the next time you visit.”
Den of the Red Wolf 