As usual, it was the insistent rumbling in his stomach that roused Moots from his fitful slumber. A pained grumble on his lips, the old hermit wobbled to his feet and started to grapple sullenly with the chronically stuck latch of his tent. It had been what, three days? Four? How many since those good pups had left him with their basket of fruit?

Not for the first time, Moots cursed his own gluttony. Maybe it was some weakness of his, or maybe it was the nature of his stupid quest, but the old man just didn't have the ability to pace or ration himself. A whole bushel of fruit, more ploms than he'd seen in months, enough fruit to last him who knew how long, and he'd emptied the blasted thing in a single day.

And sure enough, the next morning his quaking stomach sent him lurching awake again.

This damned hunger. Moots had a vague concept that there had been something before. Before this zone, before his quest, before the bottomless furnace that was his guts. A farm. A wife, maybe. A ragged little portrait in a battered frame was one of the old man’s meager possessions, and whenever he looked at the face of the nameless woman it depicted a hollow sadness seized his chest.

But whenever he thought about it too hard his stomach would invariably quake again, more ravenously than ever. So he didn’t. That made him a little sad, too.

Moots wasn't sure if he should be cursing himself, or his quest, or the world itself as he finally forced his way out of his ragged little tent, but he sure did feel like cursing today. So he figured why not, let's hit up all three. This was not looking to be a good day.

The vicious chill of mid-winter morning hit him first, immediately followed by the most wonderful scent he’d ever experienced in his life. His knees buckled, weakening under the soft aromatic assault as his mouth flooded in anticipation. The hermit quickly scrubbed his eyes clear and then peered out at what could only be the source of this sensory delight: the pot he’d given the kobolds, now returned to the chronically empty cook pit and left over a gentle fire.

His whole arm shaking, Moots barely managed the presence of mind to protect his hand with a cloth before lifting off the lid and gazing at the treasures that lay within.

As he beheld the pot, stuffed to bursting with wild garlic, yams and roasted pork, Moots tried to think of the last time he’d had a chance to eat anything besides ploms. With a start, the old man realized it was entirely possible he’d never eaten anything besides ploms. Those big purple fruits, so sweet and always a little too ripe…he got to eat so rarely that he’d never considered it before, but it now occurred to Moots that he did not have much of a sweet tooth.

Moots looked around wildly, hoping to catch a glimpse of his benefactors. There was none, but no matter. Ol’ Moots certainly hadn’t forgotten the promise those pups had made him. The surprise was that they hadn’t forgotten, either. Sniffing back grateful tears, the old hermit offered a brief thanks to his friends in particular and kobolds in general before preparing to tuck in.

Then he noticed that the pups had left another package. One apparently not meant for him.

The old man freed the note that had been slipped into the crate of bottles, seemingly ripped out of a book of some sort. Ol’ Moots was no critic, but even he could tell that the poetry scribbled on one side of the page was dreck. No, it was the carefully scrawled note on the back that was more interesting.

“For our friends in the outpost”

Hm. Moots pulled out one of the bottles, glancing over the awkward runes etched across its surface. Elvish spirits, then. Probably from Quercus, and certainly a finer vintage than the turpentine Moots produced from his still. He pulled the stopper free, giving it a quick sniff. Ehh. Not much finer. For all their high-falutin ways, elves sure made some musty booze.

Wait. Moots furrowed his brow, taking a longer sniff from the bottle. It was faint, but to someone who lived his entire life out in the elements, like Moots? He lifted the bottle up to the light and sure enough, there it was: a little overlooked piece of mushroom, still left seeping in the booze.

Without a moment’s further consideration Moots carefully tipped the bottle to let the mushroom spill out, re-stoppered it, and slipped it back into the crate. He quickly scanned the other bottles for any similar oversights, and finding none he hefted the case of liquor. And then, ignoring his every instinct and his own furious stomach, Moots left the pot of food untouched as he began the long trek to the outpost. He’d never waited to eat before. Not once.

Moots may not have known much, but he knew who kept their promises. And he knew how to repay a favor.

———————————————————————————————

Boss Hi-Hi was not the sort to boast, unless he had done something great, which was everything he ever did, meaning he got to boast constantly. Which was perfect, because while he was definitely not the sort to boast, he was pretty sure he was probably the greatest and Biggest boaster to ever live.

And if he said so himself, which he did, he certainly had reason to boast now. His Bigger Plan was moving along flawlessly. The boss mongrel chuckled indulgently as he strutted around the hideout, ticking off his incredible successes one by one.

First, he'd gotten rid of those useless runts whose names he was sure everyone had forgotten already. He'd forgotten Shh and Gert and Mo-Mo's names days and days ago! Those guys were the worst.

Second, he had finished his definitive Runt List. Half Tail and Blep were at the top, obviously. But just because the rest of the pack members were taller than them, that didn’t mean some others weren’t Little in their own ways. Dool was Half Tail's best friend; no question he was a runt. Waggle was definitely one, too; the way that he wiggled his tail was so annoying and clearly runt-like. And while Crunchy was maybe Hi-Hi’s closest ally, she’d also eaten a sparrow that the Boss had later decided he really would have liked to eat himself. Maybe that didn’t technically mean she was a runt, but wasn’t that one of the perks of being Boss?

Boss Hi-Hi was the stick against which all Bigness was judged, and if he said you were a runt? Then you simply were.

And Third, and most impressively, someone was coming into the cave! That was really a huge feather in his wait, someone was coming into the cave?!

Hi-Hi poofed out his fur in surprised anger, shocked that anyone would be so tiny as to interrupt his internal success listing. But sure enough, Soup was whining and whimpering that a group had snuck up on them.

Absurd! Unacceptable! UnBig!

The boss snarled, pushing past the scout to charge for the apparently poorly hidden hideout entrance. How hard is it to keep a hole covered with bushes?! After he had dealt with this, Hi-Hi resolved to reassess whether there were more runts weighing down his pack than he’d thought. One good snap at these intruders and huh, they sure smell familiar and-!!!

The mongrel skidded to a halt, tail helplessly shooting between his legs as he found himself staring up at someone who was not a mongrel but sort of a mongrel and not Mo-Mo but also it was Mo-Mo, and way bigger than him and very scary and fuck he peed on himself and...

The blubbering boss was mewling and pleading even before the terrifying Not Mo-Mo picked him up and began to shake him around. And if there was one thing Boss Hi-Hi was just as good at as boasting, it was pleading.

He was probably the best at it, if he said so himself.

———————————————————————————————

Shin shared a look with Gero, the big kobold merely offering a shrug before turning back to enjoy the sight of Momo throttling her former tormentor. This wasn’t technically part of the plan? But whatever. They were going to need to conclusively show that Hi-Hi was no longer in charge anyway, and it seemed to Shin that that exact point was being made abundantly clear as the other mongrels tentatively watched their one-time leader be whipped around like a ragdoll.

Besides, Forgive and Forget was more Momo’s purview than Shin’s. So if the little cleric wanted to take a measure of revenge against the mutt who’d openly argued for her to be expelled or outright killed? Well, Shin was okay with that.

At length Momo dumped Hi-Hi to the ground, the mongrel immediately curling up in a trembling pile of fluff and submissive pee. She let out a huff, her thick eyebrows still furrowed in righteous fury as the rest of the pack gazed upon her in abject awe. Finally settled, Momo carefully folded her hands back into her sleeves and gave Shin a resolute nod.

The pack gasped as Gero and Shin stepped forward to either side of Momo, their eyes darting between the three as they tried and failed to figure out who they should be submitting to first. Kobolds were so much bigger than mongrels, after all, that it would appear even the significant difference in size between Momo and Gero was moot. They were all simply, undeniably Big.

Good. That would make things easier. They’d need the finer details of the plan later, but for right now? Shin had but a single, very simple point to make, and it was for the best that they be inclined to pay attention.

“Listen up!” He growled, the pack flinching at his commanding tone. “You remember us? You remember our smells?”

There were a few hesitant sniffs, but Shin knew they were unnecessary. He could tell from their eyes and posture that the other mongrels recognized their erstwhile packmates.

Gero raised her voice, the smaller pups quivering at her every word. “That’s right. We’re back. We’re back, and we’re Big. We’re Big and you’re Small, so you have to do everything we say.”

Little whines floated up from the mongrels as they fearfully nodded their assent, eyes averted and ears flattened.

“But we don’t want that. We don’t want to be Bigger than you.” Confusion began to filter into the pack’s frightened submission at Momo’s conciliatory words. “We see a world where no mongrel is Small. Wherever every single one of you is Big,”

“That’s right.” Shin stepped into the huddled pack, reaching down to touch one of the pups on the shoulder. “Sploot, you’re Big.” He indicated another. “Soup, you’re Big. And Waggle, and Half Tail, and Blep…”

He trailed off, coldly staring down into the eyes peering back at him from the curled ball of fur that was Hi-Hi. “..Even you, Hi-Hi. You’re gonna be Big, too. Because I’ll show you how.”

Shin slammed a fist into his palm, going for the final salvo. “We’ll show ALL of you how! So follow us tonight, follow us right now, and I promise that you’ll never have to submit again. That in this zone? No one will ever be Bigger than you!”

The mongrels stared at Shin, slack jawed and silent, for what seemed like a longer moment than it actually was. And then they burst into cheers, jabbering incoherently about how Big they were and how they were all going to get sticks and how invested they were in this plan they knew absolutely nothing about.

Good. He’d managed to rally a pack of idiots to join him. Surely the plan was unstoppable.

Now, assuming that Moots had done his part, there was only one more piece left to move into place. It had been a while since he’d last scouted the outpost, but he hoped that one fact still held true:

If the guards wanted to party all day, they had to do a little work first.

———————————————————————————————

Keif cast another regretful glance back at the crate of booze being locked away into the mess, sullenly throwing on his coat weather kit with the two other unlucky guards. Of course the first time that weirdo piece of shit Moots brought something good for them, he had to draw ranging duty.

He understood the necessity of it all; the mongrels were due another of their hilarious suicide runs soon, and there wasn’t a man in the outpost who’d be happy if a night of drinking meant they missed a good hamster hunt. So sure, do a bit of a scout before cracking in. Why not, right?

Frankly, it was sometimes the closest thing to fun they got in this Godsforsaken place. He still remembered the time he’d been on patrol and came across four terrified mongrels trying to hide behind a bush too small foreven one of them. Fuck that was funny. They’d made the most hilarious noises.

But it was cold today. Keif hated being cold. Especially when there was liquor from somewhere he’d never even heard of waiting back at the mess. Keif had no idea where Quercus was but he bet it was amazing. Anything that wasn’t this place had to be amazing.

Those pieces of shit had better wait for them to get back before going bottles up. He told Lerrin that he was in for the beating of his life if they got back from patrol and all the bottles were taken, but knowing the fuckers he worked with? That might make them more likely to do it. Getting drunk and watching Lerrin get the shit kicked out of him wasn't the worse way to spend an evening, after all.

Whatever. Best to just get it over with.

Keif and his two equally hapless partners waited impatiently for the gate to finish groaning open, flipping the traditional middle finger salute back at the outpost when they were finally able to trudge out into the sparse woodlands. Just one quick circuit, and then back to the warm barracks to get completely blasted. That was all. Just one quick–

The guard paused, squinting down at a disturbed bush. At length he glanced back at the other two, his voice muffled through his scarf. “You see that?”

The others nodded. Someone had been ineptly rustling around in there. And in this zone, that could only mean one culprit.

Cold notwithstanding, maybe this patrol would be fun after all.

The trail was so blatant and fresh that even a totally untrained eye would have found it obvious, many little bodies having stomped a decidedly unstealthy path towards the eastern side of the zone. Keif took hold of his sheathed dagger and picked up his pace, now eager. He deserved a treat for all of his hard work, so he was finally going to do it. He was going to find these mongrels, and then he was finally going to line all of his clothes with fur.

And then maybe the cold wouldn’t bother him so much anymore.

The trail led them clear to the other side of the zone, through the forest and all the way to the giant blob of possibility that marked the eastern border. And there, to Keif’s surprise, the trail went cold. The fuck?

One of the other scouts raised his voice. “Did they double back? Over their own trail?”

“Did the mongrels double back over their own trail.” Keif offered the man a flat stare. “Why don’t you think before you open your mouth, huh? Mongrels don’t do tricks.”

The other scout piped up. “I mean, I don’t think it’s that–”

Keif cut him off. “They’ve come at the outpost what, fifty times now? Every time with the same master plan? ‘Pee on the Thing’? Just look around, okay? The trail’s here somewhere.”

Shrugging, the other two guards split off to poke at the terrain. Fucking idiots. Keif swore that the majority of his fellow guards were barely better than mongrels themselves. He bet this shit didn’t happen in Quercus. Yeah, it was probably nothing but good times and better company there.

Maybe he could make it there, wherever there was. Nothing was stopping him, right? Fear and inertia kept the other guards at the outpost, but maybe it didn’t have to be that way for Keif. Maybe…there was something else out there. Something rad. Maybe he should turn towards the exit right now and–

Just as Keif had resolved to take a new path in his life, an arm reached out from the Maybe Blob and dragged him inside, the world as he knew it vanishing before a sharp blow to the back of the head knocked him out.

He was right the first time. This was not going to be fun.

———————————————————————————————

As Keif slowly awoke, he became gradually aware of a few facts.

First, he had been stripped of his clothes and gear, then tied up. The other two as well, though they seemed to still be unconscious.

Second, he was actually inside the not-a-water-feature. He and the other guards had always assumed it was an impassable or actively dangerous hazard, but apparently not. Though it was incredibly disorienting. He could feel that he was on solid ground, but his eyes couldn’t distinguish a single feature of his surroundings. It was all just…nothing, and he had no idea how he could ever find his way out again.

Third, he was surrounded by mongrels. Mongrels with knives. As the slow horror of that realization sunk in on him, three other things that were mongrels but also absolutely not mongrels stepped forward to join the blade-wielding hamsters.

And then, just to complete the insanity of it all, one of the not-mongrels opened its mouth and spoke like it was a fucking person. “Three. That’s good. I’d been worried it would only be two, but three is definitely enough. Agreed?”

His fellow weirdo monsters nodded their assent, and then the freak that had spoked knelt down to address Keif and the other two scouts directly.

“Boss Yip-Yap sends his regards.”

Nine mongrels brought down nine daggers, and then nine kobolds stood back up.

The battle for Lowbie Zone LA:35L-J had begun.