Foid the Kobold

Give it a centruy or two and Foid will likely be talked about with the likes of Boblin the goblin and Maze Walker

— Jasper Cameron, Leader of the Bronze Ravens

Unlike most folk heros and legends we know just about everything there is about Foid, if only because his adoptive father, Hrothgar Rumrunner, has a habbit of writing every night in his journal.

Year of the Black Harvests, First Twin Moons after Midsummer

It is with a heavy heart that I write today. We did indeed find the previous adventuring party that had been sent out into these parts. They had set themselves up quite well in the caves they had been hired to clear. While the kobold clan was dead it did little good. The corruption that has blighted much of this world has spread to here as well. These so called saivors had been feasting on the kobolds that they had killed.
"Tastes like gator" one of them said as they extended an invitation to us to share their fire and the "bounty" of their conquest. As if any goodly person would partake in cannibalism. Belmourn and Tyrmourn quickly dealt with the Fallen heroes, while I prepared to lay all those here to rest, to be judged by whatever gods may take them.
It was in the back room of the cave that we found the worst desecration of all, in what one could call the hatchery. All the eggs had been smashed open and the contents presumably consumed by the damned souls sent to this place before us. Truly it is good that I gave them their last rites before seeing the hatchery, for I do not know if I would have been impartial otherwise.
All hope was not lost, perhaps, for as a small blessing we were able to locate a single surviving egg in the chamber, tucked among stones and blankets near the rooms firepit, and significantly larger than any other we found and colored an odd almost charcoal color. I convinced my companions that we sould bring the egg with us, that some small bit of life and hope could be salvaged from the death and evil here.

Year of the Black Harvests, First Darkening Moon after Midsummer

My companions question why I still carry the egg, but even Eol, our dour ranger has admitted that we have had a stroke of luck since saving it. I have attempted to protect the egg by inscribing it with what protective scripts I know, but I am no glyphwarden. Still, even my dreams have been more calm of late, as if the various gods of judgement and death are pleased with this outcome, the saving of a life yet to be. Shifting can be felt within the egg, I think it shall hatch soon.

Year of Black Harvests, Fae Moon Darkening

Foid has only been hatched for 2 week now, but already I think he has reached his full growth. He learns uncanny fast. We have made some simple leather for him from our hunts, and to my dismay the others have even crafted him some rudementary wooden weapons, which I think Belmourn did to humor the child. And child he is, for already he has started to pick up simple words and phrases, learning more from us each day.

Year of Black Harvests, Autumn Equinox

Our luck finally came to an end as we made our approach to civilization today. Bandits accosted us about a week out from Narrow Cliffs. I dont know where Foid disappeared to for the first bit of the fight, but he saved Tyrmourn from a nasty wound, plunging a dagger into the calf of one sneaking up behind him before vanishing back into the shady undergrowth and lobbing well placed pinecones at the remaining bandits until the fight was over.

Year of the Stone Raven, Vernal Equinox

Foid has been a true blessing to our party these last few years as our path has led us west across the sea. He has picked up skills that none of us could have taught him, I know not from where. With how likeable our curious nephew is I'm sure he has no trouble getting strangers to teach him things. He is more at home in cities than any of us, it seems, though that should be no surprise, as at his small size he can slip through even the densest crouds with ease. While no match for any of us in terms of raw strength, he dances about the battlefield with a grace rivaling most dancers, putting his rapier to deadly use. He has some small proficiency with magic, I think because of his strange origins placing him more on the draconic side of his race, which could also account for his larger size. (He stopped growing at nearly 3 and a half feet, a true gaint among kobolds)

Year of the Stone Raven, Autumnal Three Moons

We discovered a rather curious bauble today. Similarly sized to my fist it was a beautiful metal raven in flight crafted around a central pillar of some wood I have not seen before. It was not until Foid started handling it that we realized it was a basket hilt for a sword or rapier, perhaps the only one I had ever seen of such a small size. Yet no blade accompanied it, a mystery for another time perhaps.

---

It has been near a decade since father died and the rest of my uncles retired from adventuring. As I look down at my buckler, crafted from the clan crest of his shield I think back on the good times we had, and all that I learned from Hrothgar and his friends in the first dozen years of my life. I still visit Belmourn from time to time. I think it does him good, for though he is nearing the age where others in his clan would go looking for "one last fight" I hope to spend another decade or two dropping in on him.
I still hear his voice, now, as I check my gear. "Check once before you put it on, once after its on, and twice when you take it off, a broken strap or torn boot can trip you as easily as a bandits leg, and you get stabbed just the same either way." Not that I wear boots, and in theory the magic of my armor should keep it from the normal wear and tear one would expect. It pays to be cautious though.
Two raven flew overhead, and the companion I had been sharing this branch with took wing after them, signaling my quiet moment of reflection was at an end. The Queen of Crows does not take kindly to those who prematurely remove her servants from the world.