Valleria couldn’t stop fiddling with her helmet. It was an odd sensation, not completely unlike the rags she had grown up wearing, but slightly different, heavier, not just with the weight of the metal atop her head, but the very significance of it.

She was wearing metal, something reserved by the clans for their hordes or the greatest of their buildings, and it wasn’t the rusted, hole filled junk that made up the Rot-City. It was fresh, gleaming metal of silver and white, swirled and embossed with a hundred tiny images of swirls like water had carved it.

It made her all the more nervous for her first trip back home after her exile to the Pits— now ruled by the clan below.

Rapidly glowing mushrooms filled the dark around her, expanding quickly into the horizon of the little Fortress that rose into the Hallow. Mornlight had yet to come, and the world was dim. Things were slowly growing quieter, the changes brought about by the dungeons and the rising tension forcing the world to be still and quiet.

Ten Kobolds of clan Tinyfingers and Ten of the Clan Below stood with her, twenty in total, equipped also with the finest metal armor, gleaming swords, spears and bows. Like her, they also fiddled with their gear, nervous for what was to come.

In a way, the ragged cloth she wore before or the lack there of was liberating. Today she bore responsibility— as a representative of the clan below, and responsibility for freeing her brother herself.

Today she would return with her brother.

No matter how many Longtail guards she may have to cut through.

“Be careful. The most important thing is returning home safe.” Mark reminded them again. “Mornlight should be coming any second now.”

“Do not kill their Clan Lord if they refuse alliance. We should wait until we have an advantage or assassinate him quietly.” Alverost joined.

Silver repeated their words verbatim for the assembled mass of Tinyfinger Kobolds.

Several Kobolds shuffled uncomfortably at that.

“Killing their Clan Lord was never on the itinerary, Alve.”

“Getting my brother and getting out…” Valleria muttered. Some fo the Tinyfinger Kobolds shot her glances, but looked away. The metal armor she wore contrasted with her red scale, something that was apparently rare amongst the Kobolds.

“Well, its best if we can also ally them and destroy their dungeoncore, but yes, your brother is an objective as well.”

A few more Kobolds straggled up out of the little fortress to join, four in total, carrying baskets and clothing to use as gifts in negotiation. Even those Kobolds were armed and armored.

It was just before they caught up to the ground at the gate that Mornlight shone, the ceiling flickering to life like a half dead fluorescent bulb, coming in quickly pulses, sputtering and starting in a series of bright sparks before a consistent, gold-yellow light shone down over the Rot-City.

“Ready?” Silver asked.

“Ready.” Valleria replied, and, without another word, lead the procession of Kobolds out of the fortress and into the Rot-City. Scouts at watch towers edging the territory of the Clan Below stared down as the Kobolds left the gate, some scouts running to report their movement.

The Clan Below had risen from the area that centers the five clans, dead in the middle of the Hallow, and every clan saw them now.

The procession stepped through a field of mushrooms that glowed dimly, only half grown in the wet, muck covered earth.

Mud dampened the cloth padding int heir armor, making it heavy, clinging against their scales. Where they walked, their feet sunk to the ankle, and almost to the knee when they crossed through the dead imprint of the river, and they still walked until the mud dried and cracked and peeled from their scales, flaking and trailing, and no group appeared to stop them.

Their eyes darted nervously as they approached the designated edge of the city, a ramshackle arrangement of dozens of houses that slowly packed tighter and tighter the further in they walked. Some houses were held together with bands of dried reed and plants, and others were made with tricks of wooden joinery, and others still were little more than piles of rotting wood leaned against each other, like houses made of giant popsicle sticks. The city wouldn’t stand at all if the buildings couldn’t lean against one another, and the streets grew cramped in the distance, but before they could move farther in, they were finally stopped.

“Who approaches Clan Longtail?”

Valleria recoiled, staring at the… Kobold? That stared down at her. It was double a Kobolds height and whip thin, its voice a raspy hiss that reminded her of when she first met Axel and Silver, and its mouth audibly clicked as it finished talking. Its face was longer, its limbs long and thin, its scaled skin so glossy it was nearly reflective, and from near its elbows emerged huge, wickedly curved and sharp extensions of bone, like swords built into its body made of chitin.

They shone in the Mornlight.

She swallowed before talking. “Valleria of the Clan Below. We come to negotiate with Clan Longtail.” Valleria stepped forward with false bravado to stare upward into the creature’s eyes.

It was the only Changed among its number, the rest of the Kobolds appearing almost regular, if you didn’t see the way their scales shined, and the glossy patches of dark scales appearing here and there like a disease, and their extra height, but rather than looking like complete projects the other Kobolds looked like someone had grabbed and stretched them until they were tall and thin.

Valleria also observed that not one among them looked emaciated. The clothing they wore was more complete and less ragged, though still at errible mix of washed out grays and dirt beaten browns.

“Valleria…” The Changed Kobold played with the name, sliding it over his tongue in a hiss, before sounding out a series of clicks. The Kobolds behind him stepped forward, to fan around the procession of Kobolds Valleria walked with. Belatedly, she noticed that others were creeping out from the motley houses to surround them.

The Kobold guards around her drew swords, and she fumbled to grab the sheathe of hers. Alarmingly, there were more Changed among the other Kobolds, which seemed to appear out of no where.

“Red… short… tailless? But you have a tail.” The lead Kobold spoke, stepping forward and around Valleria to observe her. “You have your tail back. And your arm.” The Changed Kobold leaned in, and Valleria felt its breath— hot and rancid— on her face. “I remember removing those.”

There was a tense, quiet moment, while Valleria realized that this thing was one of the two personal guards of Raeph— the Clan Lord. The Dungeoncore— the one she had found and delivered herself— must have changed him. She only wondered how extensive the changes to Raeph were, if the guard was already this changed. Did they even know what was happening to them? They must have, it must have talked to them the same way Mark and Alverost spoke to her.

The group of Kobolds shifted awkwardly, weapons half sliding out of sheathes, Kobolds sizing themselves up to each other. The Changed Kobold paused, seeming to think to himself as he stared over the expedition group. On one side stood Kobolds of glossy black and adorned in sickly spikes, and on the other, Kobolds adorned in gleaming metal. They faced each other down in silence.

“No exile has ever returned from the Pit . It is not my place to decide what happens to you.” The Changed Kobold said, leaning back to tower over the group of Kobolds. “Welcome to clan Longtail, Clan Below. And… others.” The Changed Kobold’s eyes flicked to Simon before flicking back, running a long, black tongue over its nose. Spit fell to the ground from his tongue. He made a hand gesture, waving, and the Kobolds that were surrounding their group began to back off, still watching warily. “Now, why have you come?”