How did it come to this... Tyr was near a puking of blood. His head split with agony and he could scarcely believe he'd allowed such a thing to happen. I've made a terrible mistake.

A mistake. Something he would never have imagined happening even in his wildest dreams, standing there facing the chieftain. If he could take it all back, he would. He would have swallowed his pride and bent the knee without question nor protest.

A mistake, for what else could it have been? Even if he hadn't meant to, challenging that chief had been a grave error.

This throne was not made for the backsides of man, pricking into his lower back – and yet they insisted he seat himself upon it. He'd not wanted to kill the chieftain, but he had. A punch to the snout and the things skull – fragile and brittle like a birds – had caved in and collapsed on its brain. Without a chance to swing his weapon, Ruk'Ruk had died with a mixed look of shock and rage on his reptilian face.

Here he sat, the prince of Haran and heir primus. 'Chieftain' of the 'grayclaw' kobold. As it were, 'kobold' was the word for their society. They were kobo, and the 'uld' noise was... Some kind of compound that denoted the culture rather than the race. Separate words. Tyr sat facing a group of squabbling lizards as they pleaded for his council as ruler of the tribe over one or another thing. He felt like he'd been at it for days.

“Great chieftain.” One of the little monsters bowed. Tyr couldn't remember its name, near twenty of the things seemed to be called by the same words. Thankfully they spoke common, otherwise it would've been even worse. “Ruk say Ruk steal Ruk's mushroom. Ruk say Ruk not steal Ruk mushroom and instead it's Ruk mushroom. But Ruk see Ruk who say he not steal Ruk mushroom steal Ruk mushroom. Ruk want Ruk punish for stealing and Ruk say Ruk...”

Tyr raised a hand, as imperious and graceful in his bearing as possible. Deep in the voice and doing his best to resist the urge to groan. “I, Tyr, great chieftain of the kobold have a decree regarding this matter.”

“De... Cree? What mean this?” They knew common, but their vocabulary wasn't exactly advanced.

“It means, I say something – and it becomes law. Does this make sense?”

They nodded. “Great chieftain word always law. Kill chieftain one punch! Me think always Ruk'Ruk strong. Ruk not think Ruk'Ruk strong anymore. Weak Ruk'Ruk. Ruk strong, though. Name hatchling after great chieftain. Name hatchling Ruk Tear.”

“...”

“...”

“In any case.” Tyr sighed tiredly. “It's just a mushroom. You have this entire cave and all the space within it to find food. Why is a mushroom of so great a concern that you'd have me kill this man... Er... This kobo for stealing it? It doesn't make any sense.”

“Not big cave. Only kobold territory. Tribe territory small. Not want see tusk thing.”

“Tusk thing?”

“Long man things but big tusk big nose. Angry man thing. Yell at kobold and hit with rock, eat we if cross territory.”

“So, let's say... If I were to kill these tusk things and free up the territory around you, you'd be free to gather as much food as you'd like. Yes?” He turned to Luk, his 'advisor' and 'strategic council' for an answer. The red and blue feathered lizard was all too happy to accept such a lofty position, declaring that he'd finally lose his virginity... Well, in any case.

“Me think yes. Me know yes. But tusk thing dangerous, me not want long chieftain die. Luk say leave tusk thing alone or tusk thing come eat kobold. Agree not to bother, one time. Now, stay in nest here. Grow more food, catch more fish for kobo if need eating. Understand?”

“Not in the slightest.” Tyr sighed again. Via a series of repeated conversations and requests for clarity, he gathered the rough state of things. These 'tusk things' were some humanoid creature that existed basically everywhere in the city. Wandering and hunting the streets. Often solitary, though their movement in packs was not unheard of. They and the three kobold tribes present had warred on multiple occasions before a treaty of some sort had been signed and presided over 'by a god', or so Luk claimed. There was a map regarding this territory as well, and in an unknown amount of time – four or five years approximately – the treaty had never been violated.

A long time, even by human standards. People played their games at the borders, hence the existence of the successor states. Only a concession of the long stretch of neutral land between empires had stopped their hundred year war. Before that, the histories said, the entire length of them had been a slaughter until the rivers ran red with imperial blood on both sides.

Three kobold tribes, Tyr had only encountered one of them by happenstance. Lucky, too, according to Luk in his claims that the 'tusk things' were quite powerful. Tyr could draw no comparison for 'quite powerful'. These frail creatures that seemed so averse to proper nutrition and were so small. He'd tested their strength, too. The strongest among them was scrappy, but Tyr had accidentally broken it's arm with minimal effort. Only their jaws were capable of providing any notable force, otherwise they seemed cast of soft wood.

“I'm leaving.” Tyr declared, throwing his cloak over his shoulders, not deigning to stay a single day more in this place eating tasteless mushrooms and gristly fish.

–

Two days was all it took. Two days and he had broken all three individual tribes of the kobold to his will, with fairly minimal effort at that. Luk and the other kobolds in his 'gang' began to call him their 'greatest warrior', lauding his victories and attempting to carry him before realizing such a task was beyond their meager might.

'Great god... Fire god!'

All he'd had to do to earn such a lofty title was summon a wisp of fire in his hands to terrify the third and final tribe into immediate submission. That was strange. These creatures knew of magic, albeit from a more primitive perspective than man. After all, Luk could do the same, but they had immediately identified it as 'different' than their own. All the while, he had no idea what was going on, sort of just winning by merit of showing up. Wearing an almost appropriative mantle of kobo feathers that crowned his head and extended some ways down his back, he looked ridiculous to say the least.

They gathered, and waited in the dark. Nearly three hundred kobold 'warriors' huddled in the shadowy depths of a building in a disorganized ambush formation. Here to fight these 'Tusk things', whatever they were. Based on the description given, his knowledge would identify them as trolls. Trolls were fierce opponents, and Tyr was well prepared to flee at the first sign of them if there was more than one or two. Better to be safe than sorry, though the kobolds had wept and waxed at length regarding his unparalleled and legendary courage just for countenancing such an idea as looking at these boogeymen of theirs.

Tsk. He clucked his tongue. The lit areas of the city were relatively clean besides the odd marring of the buildings, but the dark areas stank like cat piss. It was like stepping into another world where any concept of sanitation had ceased to exist. Fat patches of luminescent blue fungus grew where the light ended. Patterning the walls and giving off an impressively rank odor. It made it hard to breathe, but the kobolds were not effected in the way that he was.

Hours passed. Droplets of water spattering against the smooth stone of the street the only measure of time in this place. This lost city infested with lizards and whatever else existed down here.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

He waited. Waited and waited. Finally, there was a noise. The dull padding of splayed feet against stone and heavy breathing to match it. Moist, raspy, a bubbly sort of sound one might expect of something with far too much saliva in its mouth.

Wait, I don't have to do this. I didn't have to do any of this, I could've just left when--

It was a little too late for that. Tyr the newly crowned kobold chieftain caught wondering why he hadn't gone back to the surface, hell – the kobolds could've come as well!

They came, a group of four of the things. Long of limb and green. Not green of skin, rather the original grayish color of them was patterned with a dense layer of algae sitting in a mantle on their wide shoulders and muscular chests. It was hard to tell at the distance between them, but it looked as if moss were growing off their hides in approximation of clothing. Description provided by the kobolds hadn't done the creatures justice, though they did indeed have tusks. Tusks that filled their mouths and stretched their lipless maws wide. Reddened eyes and a twitchy temperament. Tyr didn't blame them. Whatever god had seen fit to stuff that many teeth in mouths that must've at one point been near human in proportion was a cruel deity indeed.

The problem was their size. Luk had called them 'giants', and Tyr had scoffed at that. Looking at them now, he wouldn't use 'giant' as a descriptor – but they were definitely large. Even hunched as they were, they could stand face to face with him. If they stood with a straight back, perhaps seven or eight feet tall would not be out of the question. Otherwise, they appeared half starved, emaciated things, wider than a man at the shoulder and much thicker at the arms, but with visible ribs and near translucent skin. Hissing came from the rear, those kobolds that had accompanied him whimpering and shaking in fear at the sight of the monsters. True monsters, Tyr would've agreed with that. And it wasn't just their appearance, something about the way they felt was off. Unnatural.

Well... It can't be that bad. Tyr sighed to himself, stepping from his hiding place all bold and heroic like with his sword held loose at his side. He was in full view of the creatures and they seemed wary of him rather than wrathful. Sniffing at the wind and surrounding him. predators stalking unfamiliar prey. No surprise. If the kobolds sans their eldest hadn't seem men in their lifetimes, short lived they may be, Tyr was quite sure he was the first human these things had ever saw.

“Grrrrek...?”

“I'm not really sure how to respond to that, but hello. My name is Tyr...?”

They didn't seem to be a talkative, if even a sapient race. However his words must've sounded to those inhuman ears, it would seem to have been unpleasant though. As soon as the words left his mouth the creatures starting loping forward with hoots and growls. It didn't take long for them to close ground, those tusk things, moving deftly on their overlong arms and stunted legs.

One. Two. Three. “Attack!” Tyr cried, with mixed results... Some kobolds remained hidden and crouched. Nothing to be done about that. They were cowardly creatures by nature, far too communal and friendly. Those perhaps made of sterner stuff shrieked in response, slapping their reptilian tails against the stone and raising clubs and spears of stone.

“REEEEEEEEEEE!!!”

No closing of ranks, no shield walls, no orderly commands from sergeants... Tyr's eye twitched at the unorganized state of things. Raised from birth to be a leader to some degree, it irked him that his hasty attempts to regiment the reptilian creatures had been such an utter failure. What a poor sergeant he made among these cave dwelling kobo. If only his tutors in war and strategy could see him now. Those kobolds who hadn't the presence of mind to stay elevated and use their small slings as he had instructed were flinging themselves airborne like lemmings from the second story windows. Shouting on the way down. Near half of them did nothing more than thump onto the street awkwardly. Some of those who hadn't been so far from street level knocked their heads and milled about drunkenly, making chirping sounds and giggling.

Four tusked humanoids hobbled forward at an impressive clip. Only two of them armed, carrying what appeared to be bent pipes. Tyr watched as the kobolds swarmed around their ancestral foe, their weak flint implements doing nothing but rasp ineffectively against the thick hide of the tusk things. He could scarcely reach the things himself through the press of child sized bodies, opting to go around as the kobolds were smashed flat or flung aside. It gave him time to observe his foe, beasts who fought with no discernible skill but rather bestial instinct and flailing arms.

“REEEE!!!” Luk shrieked from the rear, stacking two kobolds below him and wobbling onto their shoulders before firing several bolts of impotent magic into the melee. Two hit other kobolds, slapping against their flanks and eliciting cries of protest, even against his own kind Luk failed to do much more than sting at their scales. Not a dozen seconds later, before Tyr could bring his sword to bear, their lines broke and fell into full rout. Kobolds clambered over their erstwhile brethren to escape the mass, mewling in fear and scattering to the winds.

Hmm.

Not a scratch could be seen on the tusk things, unless Tyr counted the decapitated head of a kobold that remained with jaws locked firmly on one of their legs. There was blood and feces everywhere, strewn about the floor and stinking as death often did. This wasn't war, but it was the closest thing Tyr had come to it in his young life. Seeing the fear in the small creatures eyes as those too broken to run dragged their corpses across the blood slick streets with their tiny clawed hands. Everywhere was chaos, hundreds of kobolds scrabbling about and bowling into one another. Not a single one of them looked to be in the mood for fighting any longer.

Tyr jostled through the crowd, striding forward with his sword in a ready stance to meet the first creature. Swinging wide and hard, his blade chopped into the first moss colored flank that came within reach. Their hides, whatever composed their skin, was as hard as wood. Though he had put all of his force into the strike, it had barely cut into three or four inches of flesh before stopping at the bone. They might not be the sharpest tools in the shed, but these gray-skinned creatures were incredibly durable. A strike that should by all estimates stand a good chance of bisecting a naked man at the torso only managed to bring the thing to one knee while it lashed out with a backhand. The blow carried the blunt force of a steel mallet, crashing into Tyr's shoulder and sending him sprawling and skipping through the blood and bodies of kobolds like a stone loosed upon a calm lake.

Unable to hold onto his sword without risk of his arm breaking, Tyr hissed and rose shakily. Enough time for two more of the creatures to pivot around their companion and bear down at him. One kicked, catching the prince on the thigh and fracturing his femur, earning a groan of pain in response. Fast. Durable. Incredibly strong. Tyr had underestimated these creatures and was in the process of paying for it, flung like a rag doll by the brute force they were capable of producing.

'Immortal' though he may be, the prince was not immune to the stimuli of pain, nor the debilitating effects of his body breaking before it was given a chance to heal. His left wrist hung limp on bruised skin and gristle, his right thigh was broken and when he managed to recover – if he did – he felt that he might be walking with a hunch for some time. Something in his back had separated from its intended place and made it impossible to stand straight despite his best efforts. He understood exactly why the kobolds feared this strange enemy so much even with the disparity in population. He could see the blueish weal around the cut in the first 'things' skin begin to lighten and heal, healing around the lodged blade and finally spitting it onto the ground with a clang.

Tyr rose with a wheeze. Two of the creatures seemed to have forgotten his presence entirely, gorging themselves on the flesh of kobolds, some still very much alive. The third paced around him warily, sniffing at the air with the one that had carried the pipe standing in place. That one might be a little smarter, it was looking at Tyr with an almost condescension marring its otherwise incredibly handsome features.

It spoke, for the first time showing some capability over language, though Tyr understood not a word it had said. “Girrek, lahk'ti ur Igbo. Jubal pa'li oonoo w'al.” It spat at that, leveling the pipe at Tyr akin to one knight challenging another.

This one smells of the children of Igbo. Jubal will give quick death. Even if he didn't understand the words, enough of the intent leaked through the phrase to elicit a sense of what it was saying. Delayed, almost like something was translating for him.

Dragging its fellows back, the creature let its pipe scrape and drag against the stone menacingly, its hunched lurching of a walk bringing it close enough to smell the fetid odor of its body, pungent and cloying. Tyr rose to meet it, bereft of any weapon besides his fists. His fists, and...

There is that. The fire, his capability for magic. He was angry now, anger that went beyond being injured by this creature. He wanted to burn it. Not because it deserved to be burnt, but rather because it mocked him, plucking at his fragile ego. The prince had used his magic on many occasions, the smallest wisp of fire held in his hands to terrify men who understood not how magic worked. That was all, nothing but a show.

“Firebolt!” Tyr cried aloud, not expecting much. He would get more than he had bargained for. A stream of cherry red sparks burst from his outstretched palm, hissing and whirling through the still air to cling and bite at the creature. It was nothing more than a failed casting, but it was enough to immediately exhaust the prince and cause his shoulders to sag. Not even the standard of a level one spell, even with all the energy present in his body. There was a rule about magic, with some scholars positing that it was no different than a muscle that must be worked to improve ones control and stamina over the phenomena of mana. He felt that now, tugging at the lids of his eyes and turning his limbs into leaden weights.

Tyr collapsed to one knee, bringing his head up to hiss at the creature defiantly, only to find that it had dropped its pipe and began to scratch and claw at its skin in a panic. Within moments, the thing was a thrashing ball of flame howling in a sprint down the street before crashing down, a pile of charred flesh and awkward twitching. Flammable, these creatures, whatever they were. The prince had never seen anything like it, and was absolutely certain that it wasn't his magic that had caused such a violent reaction. It was too weak for that. For all of their strengths, these creatures were weak to fire, and the others had run, disappearing into the darkness as soon as the sparks had come.

He sighed, running his undamaged hand through his mop of hair, stained crimson throughout with the blood of the fallen.

“G-great chieftain...” Some of the kobolds, mostly just Luk's old gang had made their way back to the 'battlefield'. This place of death and gore, with their tails between their legs. “Red chief.”

“Great chieftain... Many sorry for run away. Not know what do, only notice chieftain not follow and turn back to help. Never seen tusk thing died before. Great shaman, great chieftain, great warrior...” If their slit eyes could hold pride, reverence, and respect in equal measure – the prince was sure they did. The tiny lizards looked ready to begin building a statue in his honor, or whatever else they did to celebrate their heroes of legend. If they had any... Kobold memory wasn't exactly long, and their history was mostly oral or predicated on cave paintings. “What do now?”

Tyr couldn't see them, but he could hear. Many of the tusk things were drawing nearer, keeping themselves just out of vision. No murderous intent, not anything approximate to anger a human might feel upon seeing a fallen comrade. They behaved and acted like animals. He sensed only two of the creatures that possessed auras communicating a near human sentience. Pack leaders, or something of the sort. Primitive and barbaric, but cunning and as a member of a race clearly superior to humans in terms of physicality – Tyr didn't want to take his chances against two of them if one had been such a terrible challenge. He just got lucky this time, and inherently knew that he didn't have enough fuel in him to cast another 'spell'.

Beyond that, he had a lot to think about. Exhaustion plain in his voice, he spoke the only words he could. “Let's go back.”