The next year passed, with much having happened. He and Stama had produced a son, and although it was not Kobold culture, he had kept an eye on which egg was his and so that he would know which Kobold was his; and so he named him Menchal. The tribe had also expanded to gain thirty-six new members and so it was nearing its limits and soon the it would have to split apart. Morros had mined a lot and had actually struck a large gold and diamond deposit earning him recognition from the All-Watcher Ambuk allowing him to get his own little cave as a house as well as a gift of a rusted crossbow and some bolts.

The week drew to a close and the night of the feast was fast approaching. Morros especially excited for this time he was to be invited to sit near the front of the table; this could be invaluable because it allowed Morros to talk with the highly respected elders of the tribe. However, Hrothgar, the cleric, had taken quite a disliking to Morros, partly because of the young Kobolds rapid elevation in position which was undermining Hrothgar’s power in the tribe. As of such, Hrothgar took every means possible to spite Morros and as Hrothgar was such a powerful cleric and Ambuk’s second in command, Morros was powerless to avoid Hrothgar’s schemes and little punishments. Regardless, in the morning Hrothgar approached Morros to talk to him.

"What can I do for you, Hrothgar", Morros put a bit of sarcasm on the start and spat the words out as though each one was a disgusting rat.

"It has come to my attention that whilst I was divining to find some minerals this fine morning, that a came across a large deposit of them."

Morros frowned, "And the catch is?"

"There is no catch, anyway I need you to go over and mine it for the tribe anyway as you are the only one available" Hrothgar replied

"Fine where is it"

"It is in a cave not far from here, just eight miles away"

"Eight miles? But I’ll miss the feast, ah, that’s what you’d planned"

Hrothgar smiled, then smirked "Exactly. Anyway, minerals need to be mined, so off you go."

Morros dragged his way to his pickaxe and satchel, picked them up and then began the long and arduous journey. It took him the best part of three hours to get there and a further two hours of mining till his satchel was full, but he was egged on by the fact that he could make it back to the feast still. He left shortly after midday, his pickaxe slung on his right shoulder, the satchel across his left. Going back would be harder than forwards as he was tired from mining and he had a full satchel but nonetheless, he was determined.

It was mid-afternoon as Morros was journeying back through the caves, navigating using his infallible sense of direction. Each time he went through a tunnel, it swelled into a cave bloated with darkness and each time he went through a cave, it transformed into a maze of tunnels, with each tunnel having their separate dangers, from becoming too tight and small, harbouring dangerous creatures, and fast-flowing water. However, these were not an issue for Morros as he had an infallible sense of direction. It still took him hours to get home, yet he did it without ceasing as the thought of his mate and his child and rest kept him going. Tonight was going to be a good night. One of the merchants had brought home a large number of livestock from a farmer for but a few trinkets and gems and had even managed to steal some cookies which was a luxury rarely had by Kobolds, so the tribe was throwing a feast. In fact, it had been such a good idea that Ambuk the All-Watcher had invited the entire clan. Had it not been for Hrothgar and his little schemes, Morros would’ve already been at the feast, partying, eating and have a merry time.

As he arrived at the front gates of the tribe, he called the guards to let him in.

"Perblonk, Dietris, Morros here!" He waited for a reply, yet the only response he got was his own voice echoing back at him. He called again and again the only response was his own voice. Morros was rather confused yet at the same time, not very surprised. A whole tribe feast had been called and so, maybe the guards too had been invited? It was very unlikely as guards aren’t ever meant to be relieved from their station unless it is another Kobold coming to take their place, but still, it was the only reason Morros could think of. As he walked through the gates he whistled merrily. Had he not been whistling he might’ve noticed that a partially disembowelled Kobold was lying on the other side of the gate.

Morros walked on to the cave that had been carved out to be a hall, expecting to hear the cheering voices of drunk Kobolds, or perhaps the chatter of Kobolds to one another, or even the clink of Kobold claws on the granite ground yet only silence greeted him. He entered the cave and swung his satchel of minerals off his shoulder and deposited it at the entrance before turning to gaze at the scene in front. The food was on the table, half eaten and the smell of meat engulfed Morros, yet it was not any animal meat, but Kobold flesh. Kobolds were strewn everywhere, all dead. Some had swords still in their hands their face petrified in a battle cry as they died, preserved in death. Other had swords in their stomachs, their expressions agonised in their slow and painful deaths. The tribe had been taken by surprise and brutally slaughtered without mercy. Even the women and children, murdered in cold blood. From where he was, he could see the head seat of the table where Ambuk sat. There he was still, half drooping over the arm of the great chair, his dusty yellow skin painted red with blood, his staff snapped in half. Other Kobolds were dead in their seats or even on the table, peppered with arrows like some porcupine. The stench from the room was malodours making Morros feel sick. He suddenly had a thought and uttered "Stama, Menchal!"

He raced towards his home but to be greeted by the sight of them hung upon a sign by the house. They had been lynched and had died slow deaths, their heads leaned to the side, blood dripping from their mouths. The scrawled writing on the sign read: ‘This is what you get if you steal cookies!’ There was no note or clue who had done this. Morros collapsed into tears, how could this have happened! What heartless monsters could’ve done this. He swore then and there on his tribes home, nay their grave, that he would seek out those who did this dastardly deed and avenge his lost ones by wrecking whomever did this’s own cruelty upon the world.

For a while Morros wept, cursing at irregular intervals, cursing Hrothgar for diverting Morros away at this tragic time, cursing himself for being so arduous, despite not actually being slow, on his route home, cursing Kurtlemak for not protecting his family but most of all he cursed the perpetrators. A short while after, while the weeping had been wept and the cursing had been cursed, when Morros was just crouched in a ball, sobbing, he heard a noise, a whistle followed by a strange animal noise. Morros stopped crying, his ears pricked up, listening. There, another whistle! This one closer! In panic, Morros realised that they had heard him and looked around desperately for something to defend himself. As he was looking, he smelled another stench coming from a small hole in the ground, this one was just as vile, but maybe it was a way out, an escape. Morros immediately darted to the hole. It was a small, tight hole that was pitch black all the way through, but the definite smell of sewerage oozed through the gap. A whistle again, followed by a loud snorting, even closer. Time was running out so Morros made his decision and wriggled down into the hole which tightened more so. Suddenly, he was stuck. He could not pull his left arm through. He yanked his arm, then he yanked it again, followed by a pop as it was dislocated and pulled through.

Agony poured through Morros, but he resolved and turned his pain into grim determination as he continued weaving his way through the tunnel as though he were a needle trying to find a hole in a thread. Eventually, after seemingly hours of tireless effort and navigating, the tunnel widened into a sewer. The bottom of the sewer was covered in thick, grimy water with all sorts of faeces and pieces of garbage floating down it. The sewer was circular, made from cobblestone bricks, but fortunately, it was twice the height of Morros, so he had plenty of room. He wandered around a bit, his mind going fuzzy with what he’d been through today. Or perhaps it is because of dehydration, Morros wondered. It must have been days since I last had something to eat or drink. He wandered through the sewers for a day more, his thoughts becoming more and more far apart as he got worse and worse. He thought, so this is it, this is how I die. A lowly Kobold, a nobody, a nothing, just as Yoonqual predicted. I never got to be an All-Watcher, I wasn’t born with wings or magic, my family has been killed, my legacy will be forgotten.

Just as these thoughts echoed across the last vestiges of his mind that was still functioning, he saw it. In the sewer, just ahead of him, lit by light above, surrounded crates and boxes was a bottle with sparkling purple liquid, gushing around; finally, he had found drinkable liquid. He leapt forwards towards the elixir. I’m saved! He jumped on the crates with ease and got to the bottle. It was made of a beautiful, crystal like glass which reflected the light in all directions. On top was a cork, as ordinary as anything and Morros bit at it and yanked it off with a resounding pop. The cork sprang off into somewhere and hit a metal object, startling it. Morros raised the bottle above his head with his right arm and poured the liquid into his mouth, leaving not a drop behind. Immediately, his dislocated arm healed and shimmered with purple, he felt life course through him, he felt power, much more power, and from his back two shimmering sparkling purple wings unfurled majestically. However, just as quickly as the feeling of power came, it left. Morros uttered a 'No!' as the energy he had got vanished. His power, his might was gone. Well, the wings were still there, know furled behind his back and he still felt refreshed and alive again. However, whilst admiring himself and drinking the elixir, he failed to notice something important. Perhaps it was because he had been incredibly dehydrated or perhaps it was the feeling of power but whatever it was, he had failed to notice the metal object.

The object in question was not actually fully metal, nor was just an object. It was in fact, three dwarven guards from Kennerheim. The guards were all asleep, however, as Morros pinged the cork off the bottle, the cork absentmindedly sailed across the room until it hit a dwarf on the nose. The dwarf seeing the little lizard chugging the very thing that he was protecting immediately alerted the guards around before shouting "Halt!". By this time, Morros had drunken the elixir and was refreshed full of energy. Seeing the guards, Morros’ first, and only, instinct was to immediately get the heck out of there. He gracefully tried to take off and fly to the top of the sewer using his newly found wings, however he quickly realised that flying was much harder than he had anticipated and promptly fell flat on his face. The guards grinned at his ineptitude and slowly closed in on Morros, yet they underestimated him. Morros, seeing guards all around him simply ducked under and sprinted close to the ground and darted through between the guards too quickly for them to even comprehend what had occurred. As he shot through, he yanked at a burly dwarf’s brown beard causing him to tumble over into the other guards.

Morros knew that he was in dire trouble. He was running for his life through and endless maze of sewer tunnels whilst being chased by very angry, heavily armed guards. He swerved around corners, nearly slipping on the oozy muck dozens of times, his breath was becoming short as he was increasingly getting more tired of running yet he still went on, encouraged by the pounding metal boots behind him. As he passed the next corner, he knew he could run no more, however, he was determined not to die and so looked around, turning his head from left to right to find a spot to hide in. And there it was, a few loose bricks with a hole just big enough for a Kobold and inconspicuous enough for the guards not to notice in the damp dark depths of the sewer. Throwing himself in to the hole he quickly gathered up the bricks and slotted them carefully back to where they should be, leaving only a gap to see what was going on. No sooner than he had been finished then the guards, in unison, charged around the corner and continued straight on, not even thinking that the Kobold had eluded them once again.

Morros sighed in relief and let a few minutes pass, and then he made his choice to continue going through to where the hole went. This hole, thankfully, was quite easily big enough for him and was about only 20 foot in length so he squeezed through it in no time. Oh no, he thought as he saw that on the other side was another sewer tunnel. He turned around, preparing to go back and just paused long enough to perceive noises coming from far away. He heard a roar going on and it seemed that a small battle was raging on above him. He stepped out of the hole and into the sewer that he had come to and promptly looked up in the direction of the cacophony. At the roof of the sewer was another hole, this one not big enough to wriggle through but a hole, nonetheless. Using his dark vision, he saw that at the very top of the hole, as it led skywards, was a wooden floorboard which seemed to be the floor of some room where the battle was going on. Finally, my way out of this treacherous place, Morros praised Kurtlemak’s name for this luck. As he thought this, he felt the very power that he had felt when he first drunk the elixir and he felt that power channel through him and then very suddenly, being ejected from his hands to the hole was the most enormous gold and orange fireball he’d ever seen, yet only for a second as it whizzed up and slammed into the hole and exploded sending bits of wood and stone everywhere.

Morros woke up seconds later, after temporarily being knocked out. He saw the hole above him except this time, it was not a hole anymore, but a giant tunnel leading up, going through the wooden floorboards and reaching the mahogany-sky. Hold up, the sky’s not the colour of mahogany, he thought, or is it. Have I been trapped down here so long that I have forgotten the very thing up above. No, he thought again hard, the sky is blue, this must just be a roof. Then he thought about how the tunnel above seemed to have exploded and wondered how it happened, coming to the conclusion that it must have been the battle raging above from earlier, speaking of which, the noise of the battle had ended. Instead of hearing bangs and booms and the screeching of metal, instead, he heard merriment, instead of smelling mucky sewerage, he smelt roast chicken and oddly enough, burnt furniture, wafting down pleasantly from the hole above. What he did also hear was hushed voices surrounding the hole, but the lure of actual food and comfort dissuaded him from turning back. Gingerly, he climbed and crawled up the hole, which seemed to be rather hot for some reason, and poked his head through the hole.