In the ribcage of what once had been a large sheep a small rat, smaller than a human hand was sleeping curled up against a piece of rib. From above faint traces of light seeped in overwhelming the lichen’s weak light. The clean bones stood in stark contrast with the near darkness where the light from above didn’t reach.

A moderately sized rat with bald spots in its fur where scars could be seen approaching the clean bones cautiously. It stood up on its hind legs and twitched its ears around, keeping an ear out for dangers. Feeling reassured it moved towards the ribcage that seemed to gleam with an eerie white in the darkness. It had never seen a fresh carcass picked so clean. Old carcasses sure, but this one stood there, the aroma of fresh flesh still in the air. A curiosity that was worthy of investigation indeed.

It sniffed the white rib in front of it and then gave it a few licks. Not a trace of taste left except bone, which was very strange. Usually, you could lick the bone forever to regain a trace memory of the meat that had been on there once. It tried another rib, with the same result. It sat down on its back legs and started washing its snout whilst mulling it over.

Stopping mid-wash its ears twitched at a sound it hadn’t noticed before over the sound of its own scurrying. Squeezing past the ribs with ease it stared down at the most beautiful young rat it had ever seen. The rat lied curled up against a rib, sleeping soundly. Sniffing the sleeping rat he recognized the small rat as a small rat that had been ousted from the warren.

The rat scratched the young rat, but nothing happened, the young rat didn’t spring up with a squeal of pain. The older rat then sank its yellow teeth in the flank of the young rat, drawing red blood that stained the brown fur of the younger rat, but still no response from the young rat. The iron scent of blood filled the air, and the older rat washed its snout whilst it mulled the situation over.

There was an unwanted interloper, who had eaten the bounty which belonged rightfully to the warren. This could have fed the entire warren, an outrage! This young one must be punished for this transgression, it was the law of the warren. Decision made, with its teeth bared, it posed itself to gnaw through the neck of the young transgressor to end the miserable life when it heard a loud noise.

Its body stiffened as it remained motionless for a fraction for a moment before it sped off heedless of remaining silent and scurried as fast as it could into the safe darkness.

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Crag was annoyed. Stupid shaman sending him out to find food. Always work this, work that. When would Crag get to laze around and play with his mate? Let others do the work. But no, stupid shaman sends out Crag to do work.

The goblin [forager] slouched with great chagrin through the sewer system, tunnels bright as day, albeit it all in grey tones, thanks to his species trait [darkvision]. He wore nothing more than a rag for a loincloth, and even that didn’t cover up everything perfectly. It was more for keeping the dangly bits in place when running than anything else as useless as modesty. Crossed over his chest he had a bag, in which he put the odd scrap of foodstuff he would find, a bug here, a worm there, maybe a rat or two if he got lucky and was fast enough to gather them.

He was especially chagrined as his mate was now ready to make a little goblin, and now he was away from the extra fun activities those periods brought. His mate would let her lust free on another willing goblin, which Crag didn’t mind, what he minded was that he wasn’t there to enjoy her promiscuity, which was a much better way to spend his time than dragging his sorry ass through these lonely sewers.

The goblin had no fear for predators, as it was the largest predator within the sewer. Humans would be a problem, but for some reason, they disliked walking down here. Crag didn’t mind that. It gave him a safe space to wander and gather stuff.

Kicking a wet piece of something that stuck against the sewer wall with a wet squelch, he mumbled under his breath.

“Stupid shaman, when Crag hobgoblin, Crag let shaman gather bugs. Crag got better things to do!”

Crag had never seen a hobgoblin, but he knew about them from the stories the shaman would tell the gathered goblins on occasion when there was enough food for all and no work was needed to be done. It was a secret trait long lost to his race, where an ordinary goblin would grow three times as large and much stronger and more intelligent. They had been cunning leaders and fierce warriors for the tribes. Crag loved dreaming of becoming a hobgoblin once, he would have all the mates he’d want, and nobody would tell him what to do anymore.

Lifting a piece of rotten driftwood, he inspected it and scratched it with a claw. Bugs came out of the cut and tried to scurry away. With practiced ease, he snapped the bugs up, pierced them with his claws, and threw them in his sack. The last one he popped in his mouth alive and started chewing it contently with loud smacking noises that echoed off the walls. It was one of the perks of his job, nobody would bonk him on the head when he was foraging alone for eating some of the finds. This had also been the main motivator for him to choose this job. Less hard work, more food.

After no more bugs could be gleaned from the rotten wood he discarded it at the edge of the water and the sticky soil that lined the sewers, so it would attract more bugs. That reminded him of that place he had found a couple of days ago, where a lot of rats had gathered around food scraps. Maybe there were new rats there or some more food scraps he could scavenge after he had cleaned out the place a few days ago. He had a couple of extra bags folded within his bag just in case he would return there or find another spot like that. Sure, it was more work carrying around bags you didn't use, but if you would hit a bounty like that, it would be a shame to leave stuff behind, it would raise his status within the tribe. The last haul had even given him a level up, making him a level four forager, and had given him the skill [track critter].

With a greedy gleam in his faint red glowing eyes, he set off to check upon that spot again. It was a little ways away, but that was no problem, it meant he would be away from that bothersome shaman for a while, and at least he wouldn't have to help carry or build stuff here.