My grandmother's birthday was earlier last month, and then I tried working on something for her, like I do for some of my other friends. While she's not much of a gamer, she does listen to my stories about RPGs and game prep. Here's Anton (left) and Rorka (right) delivering a cake, likely to a dragon. I messed up the angles and perspective pretty poorly, but I am happy with how the colors came out. As usual, if you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear!

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Just as soon as particles of light entered through the open-air window, Rorka opened her eyes to the warmth of the slowly rising sun. The kobold gave a steady yawn, the air of late autumn brought out a laze in everyone, but Ms. Quivvataal had work, that for an important person. As she dressed herself in shabby clothing, something dishearteningly easy given how small she and her kin were, the sound of birdsong greeted her long ears. Putting a bit of haste in her actions, she left to check on her workmate.

Down the stone corridor, Rorka gave a small sigh as she neared Anton's "liar". Simply put, Rorka was not a fan of the bright blue kobold. Most of his sentences always ended in some sort on innuendo and his swagger competed greatly against her subdued nature. She closed her eyes and reached to knock on the wooden door to his chamber, noting it to be a bit softer than last time, and quickly recoiling upon hearing a yelp. Her fist lay on Anton's muzzle.

"Yowch, Roach!" Anton said, startled, with a hint of annoyance. "I like it rough, but not in that nature, hun." His usual nature returning quickly as he rubbed where Rorka bumped him.

"Oh, Anton! I'm sorry, I was lost and didn't see you open the door!" she began to stammer and quiver. Rorka may have trouble connecting with Anton, but she wasn't hateful of him, especially not to the point of violence. "Are you okay, I know a bit of healing mag--

"Roach, we're kobolds, but we're not that brittle! It's okay, I'm okay." he said, trying to calm her worry. "Though, if your status as a Knight under her Guding Lighting means you know the ways of Lay On Hands, I wouldn't mind a little sugar for my, oh so terrible, horrid, pain." a smug smile across his face.

Rorka followed suit, handing him a small cookie, conjured from her willing into the Weave of magic itself. She handed it to him, a bit forcefully. "My magic is within my meals, please. A little sugar, as you asked. It'll heal you" she said softly, as Anton took it, giggling a bit at Rorka's joke. "I'm surprised you're up so early."

"Hey! Today's an important date. Onian didn't spend hours ordering me around to not have me be a diligent worker. Tavern work is a nightmare when you're the only one there for waiting tables and cleaning, you know."

"I didn't mean to discredit your passion, I'm just not used to seeing someone so willing for work before breakfast."

"Our client is a dragon, how could I not be interested in seeing this, Roach? You're not the only one that knows their way around a frying pan." he laughed.

Rorka began to speak, she was conflicted on her nickname. "Roach" was given to her by her Den Mother, a gift and way to recognize her, but she couldn't sway its demeaning nature. Pushing the thought aside and Anton calming down, the two nodded towards each other and headed toward the forge. A simple oven wasn't enough for who they were cooking for.

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Despite the early start, the two kobolds spent each hour of the morning and afternoon preparing the cake. The forge's heat was intense, blasting them constantly as they worked. A few of the others in this clan the two were working in helped with tools, using the crucible as a makeshift bowl for mixing the ingredients. Barrels of flour, an egg stolen from a Rawk, and pounds of sugar were tossed in, as cut apples were shaved by the bushel.

By dusk's golden hour, the scent of fresh cake flowed through the caverns like water. Decorating the cake with icing and candles the size of lamposts, it was done! Anton and Rorka thanked the workers, and hurried off to their respected lodgings to freshen up. Regrouping, they hugged at a job well done and began the trek to the dragon's chamber, pushing the cake carefully through the winding shafts.

"HAPPY HATCHDAY, YOUR LORDSHIP" the two cried out.

Despite the inherit intense and fearsome natures dragons hold, this brass-colored one seemed almost on the verge of tears by the gesture. Some of their kobold followers made the dragon a wooden crown out of an old chandelier, hanging loosely on one horn. He began moving closer to the cake and thanked the kobolds.

"Wait, your majesty!" Anton started, "you should blow out your candles!"

The dragon almost blushed and nodded. He took a deep breath and Rorka flinched as she noticed his scales begining to burn as bright as the forge. She began to rush for Anton, but despite her swiftness, it was too late. FWOOSH, flame bellowed from the brass dragon, leaving the candles on the cake still ignited, as well as Anton, Rorka, and some of the clan members covered in soot.

"Rorka. . ." Anton croaked.

". . . yeah"

"I think I need that Lay On Hand again."