Zilaan paced down the hallway, nervousness wracking him as he drew closer to the door. Eventually coming to a halt, he drew a brief, sharp breath, before knocking once, twice, thrice on the hardwood that lay before him. 

"Come in.", a soft voice intoned.

Running his hand over his scales, Zilaan opened the door and entered the room, briefly shuffling the papers that he held as he drew closer to the person seated behind the desk. Kuruszex seemed to be unaware of his subordinate's nervousness, continuing to sip from the mug of fungal tea situated before him. Behind him, a chained gnome whimpered. 

Kuruszex was not what Zilaan would picture when he thought of a great leader. He was small, even for a kobold, his scales dull and waxy, his teeth crooked, tiny, and misshapen. But behind his eyes lurked a ferocity that would Zilaan was sure would frighten even a dragon. 

"The production output from the factories sir. For the week.", Zilaan said, placing the stack of papers upon the desk. Kuruszex inclined his head, and began to sort through them. The gnome whimpered once more, and he glanced over with an air of absentminded disdain. "Friend of yours?", Zilaan enquired. The question elicited a response from Kuruszex, a brief, humourless chuckle. "Our scouts found him during one of their raids into a hierarchy settlement." He explained. "After his spawn and mate were disposed of, he was brought here and interrogated. After that, we had no use for him, so we simply kept him here. I've had him in my office for a few days now.". With that, he turned back to the papers, glancing over them before giving a nod of approval to Zilaan. "Very good. You may go.".

Zilaan bowed briefly, before turning towards the door. However, a thought caught his mind, staying his feet. Kuruszex, for his part, seemed to notice. "Speak, comrade.".  Taking a deep breath, Zilaan cautiously began. "Well, sir, in many of the factories they are working 12, 16, even 18 or 20 hour shifts. I merely wonder sir.... what is the purpose of this 'Great Trial' of yours? I'm not asking the stated goal. I'm asking why you really are doing this."

Kuruszex considered the question briefly, before letting out a deep sigh. "Remind me, your name is.... Zilaan, yes?". Zilaan nodded, not seeing the purpose of this line of questioning. "Have you ever seen the sun, Zilaan?" "No sir.", he responded, "But I don't see what that has to do with--" Kuruszex raised a hand, cutting him off.  "No, you haven't. None of us have. And that is why I am doing this.".

"For centuries, our people have lived without hope, seeing our cousins, our kin brutally subjugated, while we hide in a hole in the dark, unable to do anything or save ANYONE.". Swiftly, Kuruszex's hand moved towards the mug, spilling the tea over the desk. Reaching for a hand-towel, he continued, keeping his eyes on Zilaan the entire time. "Our people have forgotten the meaning of hope. When I speak of the Great Trial, of the reclamation of our homeland, of how we are building this to kill every last Gnome, topple the Hierarch and liberate our kin, it gives them something to live for. They accept this, because the pain and suffering that they face at least now means something. " With this, he righted the mug, squeezing the tea from the hand-towel to back within its confines, then raised it, briefly taking a sip.

Zilaan considered what he had just heard, before turning once more and walking away. Again, a thought occurred to him, and before he even knew what he was saying, the words had tumbled out of his mouth. "And if the Great Trial fails and there is no hope to be found?". 

Kuruszex was oddly silent, and Zilaan wondered if he had made a grave mistake. As he turned to apologise however, Kuruszex rapidly stood. With a single, fluid motion and an uncharacteristic growl he drew a plasma pistol from its holster and pointed it back towards the imprisoned gnome, squeezing the trigger rapidly. The hail of bolts burrowed into the captive's chest cavity, reducing it to a steaming pile of goop. The poor sod didn't even have time to scream. 

Breathing deeply, Kuruszex turned back towards Zilaan. "Then I can at least offer them revenge.". Shaking, Zilaan nodded, saluted, then turned to leave. "Oh, and Zilaan?". "Yes sir", he quickly responded. 

"Be sure to send for someone to clean up our 'friend' here.".

A short story that I wrote, plus propaganda posters.