Rebat didn't know what to do. Here he was, supposed to at this time be speaking with the grand prince of Hekaga, only to find himself in what appears to be a house of ill repute, surrounded by dracon ladies. He gulped, looking up at the three as they slowly encircled him, with light teases on their tongue and a dangerous look in their eyes. Mazdak had shouted them down, but they continued to stare at him, as if he was a slice of meat. "A rag . . . and I'll be on my way," he croaked, not sure whether or not he should bow. Perhaps not this time. He nodded to the women, in a sort of half-bow way. That seemed a good enough compromise. 

Traveling long distance in the endless sands left marks on a weary kobold. Rebat gingerly wiped himself down with his rag, letting the wool pick out the hard-to-reach spots between his scales. Every time he did so, grains of sand came tumbling out, likely stuck there for multiple days. Still, they indeed left their mark. Reddened skin, worn raw and roughened in the unforgiving climate. At the end, though, he decided that this was nice. It had been years since he felt clean. His old landlord, back in the days of the dracon, had never cared much for his tenants and their cleanliness. Then, Rughoi sent him into battle after battle, with nary a rest between. He set the rag down and felt at the slit in his neck. He now felt ready to speak with the grand prince.