The tavern roared with activity. The ambience created by pouring drinks, casual conversation, and occasionally a fight or two kept steady since Rughoi and his band arrived an hour ago and hasn't stopped since. This small village outside Traeton was as large, as beautiful as he had hoped, and also claimed some of the largest kobold communities on the continent. Perfect for the plan he was about to enact.

"Hey," he whispered to the bartender. "I've just had a terrible day. My employer, he's a dracon, tied me to a rack and beat me after I dropped a sack of apples after half a day of work." The bartender looked at him sympathetically, then passed him another flagon and turned to another customer. Rughoi was pleased to hear him relaying that rumor to the eager listener. If all goes to plan, his followers were saying roughly the same thing to anyone who'd listen.

Hours passed, and they were pleased to discover that the conversations have changed. No longer were weather, harvest, and possible mates the subject of many a chat, but now dracons and their supposed hegemony passed from mouth to ear. Time to act.

"Everyone!" Rughoi shouted, standing up from his seat. That at least got everyone's attention. "We are all tired, having worked a long day in the fields. At the end of the month, a fat dracon sitting on his haunches will count all we've worked for, and how much will he return to us?"

"Half!" was the dominant answer.

"Should we accept this heavy tax, while we toil in the fields and they don't?"

"No!" came the reply.

"Then let us, today, declare no! No, to the dictators! No, to the oppressors! No, to the dracons! The kobold blood is strong, and should never bow!" Uproarious cheer rang out in the large hall, and Rughoi sat down, smiling to himself. The revolution has begun.

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Krakas shook in fear at the dracon woman's plea. "This sounds uncannily like something my son would do. I pray to Nasha it's not him."