A few moments earlier.

  “Dovima, you can’t do this. Without you to lead us, we kobolds in service to our Mistress Bonpricha will be in disarray,” I say with enough exposition that The Audience knows what is going on.

  She places her hand lovingly upon my cheek as she pats it gently, my words failing to dissuade her.

  “Oh, my dear friend,” Dovima comforts me sweetly as she leans closer to me, ”You have been a faithful second-in-command for so many years, but now is the time for you to consider if you will fill my position or follow me. This will be my [Grand Exit] as I devote myself to a new Emperor, and I can no more resist its call as I can make your choice for you.”

  I found myself conflicted, for Bonpricha was both powerful and fair. Yet I, too, had personally witnessed the words of the Dramatis Personae and knew how the balance of power would shift in time. To abandon Bonpricha simply felt like a betrayal, and yet also so completely natural that I felt ashamed of how simple a decision it would ultimately become.

  I moved aside as [Stylists] brushed up Dovima’s makeup and made small adjustments to her outfit as they fussed over her.

  “Don’t tarry too long, my friend, as I would be saddened if you were long from my side.”

  With a heavy heart, emotions warred within me as my true self experienced life while I waited for a new Role to find me. Other kobolds around me had already taken position, some within choirs while others moved around in the background with various props. Perhaps I would have no part in what is to happen, and so I watched and waited.

  Dovima strutted out towards the fight between the dragons and the four adversaries. The battle looked complex, each side wielding esoteric powers that were difficult to predict. With passive indifference and poise, Dovima causally advanced past startled and curious hydras that almost failed to notice such a small and fragile creature in their midst. Surprisingly, none moved to snatch her up as the snack that she was, and with uncanny timing, she arrived into position to make her introduction precisely when the enemy shifted into phase two of the fight.

  “Fear not, as I, Dovima, will save you in style.”

  Even from this distance, I could hear her words as clear as day.

  “What is Dovima doing?” a small and curious kobold child beside me asked.

  “Going out in style,” I answered as I felt a Role descend upon me. I could feel my muscles relax as my purpose became clear. It was my point to be the side character that explained all the mechanics of the fight to The Audience who had a limited understanding of what was happening, and the young kobold beside me to be the curious and ignorant sod who prompted the questions for my exposition.

  “Woah, how is the enemy missing?” the young kobold asked with surprise and joy.

  “See the stripes of her outfit, how they are each of a different color and not parallel to one another. She is giving the enemy the ol’ [Razzle Dazzle], as the enemy is unable to correctly predict her size, speed, and heading, and thus, cannot accurately aim. Her [Plot Armor] saves her when the enemy guesses correctly, in which case another kobold dies in her stead, which only serves to further confuse the enemy that perhaps the attack missed.”

  “What are those missiles of sorts shooting out of her at the enemy?”

  As I watched, explosions of light shot out of Dovima, each one launching something at the enemy, and where it struck, massive damage followed.

  “That would be one of our [Fashionista’s] signature attacks, [Prêt-à-mortar]. You may notice how she is losing fabric from her outfit with each attack, but her [Wardrobe] is well stocked to supply her with more outfits.”

  I spare glances at the rack of clothes next to me and witness one outfit after another disappear.

  “And what are those boils upon its body where her attacks land?” my little protégé asks.

  “Those would be her [A-blisters], which can be countered by wearing the latest fashion. See how the enemy has no clothing at all? Quite the gaucherie these days,” I comment with dry disapproval.

  “Why is it now writhing in pain?”

  “Such would be the effects of [Haute Torture], which is a manifestation of the shame the enemy feels for being so outclassed.”

  I spare more nervous glances at the clothing rack as fewer and fewer outfits remain. I can also feel a disturbance in The Story, as if it is becoming exhausted for The Author’s limited understanding of fashion puns and a compulsion to move on with the narrative. Such an existential understanding of the universe causes a moment of profound horror, but my Role quickly settles back over me and smothers the screams trying to escape my soul.

  With rising concern, I look at the dwindling supply of outfits, and my eyes catch a certain pattern on the cloth therein that I just know will be the [Closing Outfit]. A perpendicular pattern of intersecting lines of color leads me to understand the outrageously dangerous finale that Dovima has planned.

  “No, don’t do it, it is too frumpy, and dare I say, passé!” I shout to a friend and leader who cannot hear me, and would not listen besides. I know where this is going, and nothing I can do will stop it. As the last outfit comes up, I hear Dovima scream a defiant cry of challenge.

  “Liberty!”

  The kobold choir quickly transitions to match with similar outfits, with most of the instruments changing to bagpipes. With one final act of stubborn defiance, Dovima lifts the front of her skirt to flash the enemy.

  “What just happened?” the little kobold asks?

  “She’s gone to plaid!”

  With her outfit of such a color and pattern, her skin also takes on the plaid coloration. The enemy too appears the same. Within an instant, both disappear into nothingness, as if they had teleported far away into the distant, cold, and uncaring reaches of space. So too followed the choir, the last note seeming to cry out in terror before being suddenly silenced.

  “Woah,” the little kobold uttered with wonder and respect. “How many eggs will it cost to bring them back?”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Too many,” I responded as I looked down at the lad with a tear in my eye. “Far too many, considering the fight has only just begun. But this is our place in the universe, to fight and strive in our own way to protect our world and our way of life. It is better to die on our own terms than to flee and struggle for another breath and another meal. Some day, we too will face our final death with no eggs to fall back on, and in that moment, we must be brave like they were if we are to face our ancestors with heads held high.”

  The little kobold looks down, his face stricken with contemplation as he searches for his own answer. Eventually, he looks up at me with renewed confidence on his face.

  “Don’t worry. When I grow up, I’m going to be just like you and do my best to make my troupe proud!”

  My gut twists in dismay at how the little lad unwittingly uttered a [Red Flag]. Without hesitation, I jump out in front of him, pushing him to the ground as my body covers him. At the same time, an errant bit of shrapnel from an attack somewhere slams into my torso, ripping my flesh and causing me to bleed out.

  A moment of confusion passed, and then a sad kobold child was kneeling over me with tears in his eyes. With my consciousness fading and my breaths faltering, I summon forth the willpower to give one final [Line] in order to make my resurrection cheaper.

  “Tell my wife I-”

  I cough up too much blood to finish my dying request, but it was enough that I tried. And with that done, I finalized my decision as I slip into The Void.

  “Next!”

  The Egghead in front of me shouts, and slowly, I shuffle up the line. Sure are a lot of dead kobolds these days, and every queue is jam-packed as more shuffle in from the Material Plane. The Egghead looks just like a kobold, but his head is encased in an egg, one with holes for his glowing eyes to see out of. Rumors move through the crowd like wildfire as we idly wait, with some rumors hinting that these Eggheads are somehow related to an authority figure that the Emperors themselves answer to.

  Naturally, I participate to pass the time and to help strengthen the rumors, as certain kobolds have Blessings that can suss the truth from the embellishments, and rumors are only as strong as the number and status of people that know them. Some are clearly far-fetched, like how a thousand [Cultists] attacked the leader of the Adventurer’s Guild on the road with an army of monsters at their beck and call. I know that the attack in question did happen, but there were no enthralled monsters, but the rank and file are a bit behind the times when it comes to solid intel. There were also grumblings about the pay and hours that some kobolds had, and indeed, some flights have it better than others.

  “Next!”

  Finally, my turn arrives. The Egghead sorta mutters as he halfway speaks to me and to his paperwork in his hands.

  “Let’s see here. Name: Dovima. Oh wow, a named kobold! That will look good on my performance report. Blessing: [Fashionista]. Don’t see that very often. Job: Troupe Leader of the Eternal Pretenders. Wow,” he exclaimed as his eye orbs focus on me for a moment, “I don’t think I have ever had a Troupe Leader before. I might just earn myself a five minute coffee break if we still had coffee! Role: [Redacted]. Umm, “he continues as he looks at me with his eyes squinted with uncertainty, “I don’t know what to do about that, maybe we can just ignore it for now. Cause of death: Plaidification. I don’t even know what that means, please wait while I look it up.”

  The Egghead pulls out a very large book from under the desk of his kiosk and flips through it.

  “Paladinification. Plaquification. Platonicus Zonification. Ahah! Plaidification. Subject must have been wearing plaid and-” he sorta cuts out for a bit as he mutters too softly for me to hear. “And yadda, yadda, yadda!” he finishes as he slams the book shut and tosses it over his shoulder. “Okay, well, it is eligible for a reward point, do you have a punch card? Oh.”

  He reaches out with his hole puncher and punches a hole in my awaiting card, completing it.

  “Oh, lucky you! A free revival. How auspicious for you. It seems like you know the drill then, are there any changes you would like to make while you are here?”

  With the Egghead finally acknowledging me as a person and not just another number in queue, I get a chance to speak.

  “Yes, I would actually like to change my troupe affiliation. I would like to be assigned to the Troupe of the Crossroad Wayfinders. You can probably expect that to become a trend.”

  “Um,” he starts with uncertainty and nervousness in his voice. “I don’t know that I have heard of a flight-affiliated Troupe Leader switching to another troupe before. This is all highly irregular. Please hold on while my supervisor assists me in providing you with the best quality of customer service I can provide.”

  I just level an unimpressed stare at him as he finishes his spiel with an extra helping of corporate bullshit and politeness. Eventually, another Egghead comes over, this one with a suit and five o’clock shadow on his egg.

  They go back and forth, with the supervisor appearing rather irate, but otherwise becoming increasingly more alarmed and understanding as the nature of the situation becomes clearer.

  “My apologies, Ms. Dovima. Your request is unusual, but not without precedent. I need to consult the manual just to ensure that all procedures are followed to perfection so that you have the best possible experience with your new life.”

  More word-noises of the bullshit variety followed, but eventually, he pulled forth an ancient tome, and with a great breath, blew the dust off it despite there being no hole in the egg where his mouth would be. He moved as if to lick his thumb, and then he daintily flipped through the pages until he landed on one of particular significance. He cleared his throat before he spoke by rote.

  “Do you, of your own free will, and without coercion, renounce your Job as Troupe Leader of the Eternal Pretenders to join the Troupe of the Crossroad Wayfinders, which will surrender all benefits of your affiliation to the former and will adopt those of the latter, for which you are not guaranteed to be granted the same Job in your new troupe, with the full knowledge that this action is irreversible and non-refundable?”

  “I do.”

  “Then make it so in a manner appropriate for your Troupe.”

  With a flourish, I summon forth a fancy hat, the appearance of which changes constantly, but none-the-less remains fabulous. Currently, it is a black tricorne, and upon seeing that the kobold behind me is also from my flight, I pick that one as my successor.

  “You are the captain now,” I exclaim to all present as I place the hat upon said kobold’s head.

  Without missing a beat, I hear a “You are the captain now,” as the hat gets passed further back in the queue, with that same phrase repeating time after time.

  I turn back to the supervisor and see a bead of sweat appear on his eggy head.

  “Excuse me!” he shouts to get the attention of the masses as more “You are the captain now” exclamations continue in the background. “By a show of hands, how many of you are looking to change your affiliation to the Troupe of the Crossroad Wayfinders?”

  “YO!”

  A chorus of shouts answer him as thousands of hands are raised into the air.

  I hear the supervisor Egghead audibly gulp as he puts a pinky finger near his mouth and the thumb of the same hand near his ear hole. After a while, I heard him speak.

  “This is Supervisor [Redacted], I am going to need help down here to sort this out. Uhuh, uhuh, yes sir. Did you say a [Used Wagon Salesman] will be sent to deal with this?” His body trembled as he continued his conversation with some unknown entity. “Understood sir, I will comply.”

  Shakily, he lowered his hand, only for his other to come up and wipe the brow of his Egghead.

  “Listen,” he said as he leaned in close to the normal Egghead managing my kiosk. “You have done such a fabulous job, I am rewarding you with the privilege to take the lead on this prob- er- opportunity that has presented itself before us. You hold down the fort and I will go to The Backroom to check on the Egg Timers.”

  With that, he shamelessly skedaddled, and a nervous but otherwise bright-eyed Egghead looked me in the eye as he prepared to handle the “opportunity” before him.