November 6th, 973
The Promised Land, Currently Occupied
The heroes spent the entirety of November 5th doing what they did best: preparing very carefully for something that would almost immediately go sideways. By the predawn hours of November 6th, they were as ready as they were ever going to be.
At 0600, in the half-light of a world that stubbornly refused to be fully awake, the party gathered at the mouth of a narrow thirty-foot chimney—the most direct route back to the kobolds’ home. One by one, they lowered themselves down, followed by ropes, packs, supplies, food, tools, and an alarming amount of hope. Everything was done carefully. Quietly. As though the stone itself were listening.
Hunkle went first, mostly because no one wanted to have to try to catch him if anything went wrong.
From there, the walk to the kobold lair was short—and at first, joyful. The kobolds’ reaction to seeing the party again so soon was pure relief. That relief lasted exactly as long as it took for the explanation to begin.
The accidental encounter with Lieutenant Kessler’s patrol had not merely been unfortunate. It had been noticed. The Crown was now aware of the kobolds’ existence, and in this case “aware” meant “making plans to remove them permanently.”
The kobolds did not panic. Panic, after all, is a luxury of people unaccustomed to sudden mortal peril. They grieved the upcoming loss of their home. Briefly. Then they packed.
Plans were laid out quickly. Maps were scratched into dirt. Arguments were had. Options weighed.
Moving the kobolds aboveground had been discussed and discarded—too visible, too bright, too dangerous. Kobolds do not do well in daylight, and the civilians one meets in daylight do not do well with kobolds. Waiting for nightfall was also unappealing; First Sergeant Thatch had pledged to delay her platoon as much as possible, but no one knew how much time she could truly buy.
Fortunately, within the same cave system there were four viable locations, each with access to underground water. The kobolds ranked them without hesitation.
Unfortunately, the best choice was also the closest. However, it did lie somewhat off the usual paths the army was expected to use, and the party decided that the advantages of a short journey—and a site well-suited to kobold life—outweighed the risk of later discovery.
After all, a well-placed cave-in could eliminate the easiest route to the new home, and a properly staged scene at the old lair should convince the Crown there was no point in searching further.
Complications, however, followed immediately.
Some kobolds were ill. Others were wounded from the clash with Kessler’s patrol. Healing magic was expended freely; the three stretcher cases were restored enough to walk. The rest of the wounded were distributed creatively: wheelbarrows, Wolfgang’s Creature of the Land (currently a very large, very patient black bear), and Cassyndra’s familiar, Heka, who had been reimagined as a large pig—ostensibly for egg warmth, though no one questioned the benefits of also butchering her for kobold food on arrival to their destination.
Eggs were bundled, padded, whispered to, and carried like the fragile future they were.
A short journey later, they encountered the oldest story known to refugees everywhere – After trials and tribulations, the Chosen People arrive at the Promised Land… and discover that someone else already lives there.
In this case, the current residents were ettercaps and giant spiders.
The kobolds knew of them. Not well—but well enough. Ettercaps and kobolds had history. Bad history. The kind managed not by forgiveness, but by distance and rigid respect for borders. The kobolds had not known the ettercaps were here.
The ettercaps, it turned out, had also been displaced—pushed into this territory when the Crown began building its prison. They were not inclined to move again. Nor were they fond of the party’s plan to collapse tunnels to conceal the location of the new kobold home, a strategy associated with attracting “murder miners”—umber hulks—which had killed both ettercaps and spiders in the past.
Acutely aware of the time pressure imposed by fragile eggs and the imminent arrival of two Crown detachments, the party’s negotiating position hardened quickly. It amounted, more or less, to this:
We will leave—but we are going deeper, and we will collapse tunnels. If that brings umber hulks, so be it.
It is possible the heroes hoped for a counteroffer—shared territory, boundaries, some compromise. But what the ettercaps heard was simpler:
Give us your home, or we bring the mountain down.
The ettercaps refused to leave. The party withdrew reluctantly, itching to wipe them out but lacking a casus belli.
The missing casus belli arrived roughly thirty minutes later.
While moving toward the next potential settlement site, the party was attacked from behind by a combined force of ettercaps and giant spiders, clearly intent on ensuring that no cave-in ever occurred.
The fight was vicious, desperate, and deeply unpleasant. Kobolds were killed. Heroes were bloodied and Gareth came near death twice. At some point someone—history is unclear as to exactly who — muttered that Gareth should start wearing a red shirt.
In the end, the party prevailed.
And with the blood still wet and the webs still twitching, something changed. A dam broke. The line between permission and force dissolved.
They had their casus belli and soon they would have their home for the kobolds. One party member was even heard to chortle, “Time for the war crimes!”—though later no one would admit to having said it.
Even Shamus raised no objection.
The return to the ettercap cavern was swift and final. The remaining ettercaps and spiders were unprepared for the counterstroke but fought grimly to the death. When it was over, the webs were burned. Some bodies were mutilated. The chambers were turned over to the kobolds.
With grim efficiency, plans were made for the dead. The bodies of the twenty-odd fallen kobolds, along with those of the ettercaps and spiders, would be returned to the old lair.
At first, the kobolds were confused.
Then Merrythought explained. The scene would tell a story – the kobolds were dead. Slaughtered by ettercaps and spiders. There would be no survivors to search for. Thatch’s detachment would report success. The Crown would move on.
“This way,” Merrythought said quietly, “the warriors who died today continue to serve the tribe.”
The kobolds agreed. Enthusiastically.
All that remained was timing.
A tunnel collapse would require one to two hours and an alarming amount of noise. It was likely Thatch would delay her platoon further by taking the long way around, but PL4’s group might still be nearby and catch them in the act of preparing to collapse the tunnel. Worse, the collapse itself might draw umber hulks—and earlier that day, Cassyndra had seen one in vision, biting down on the head of a kobold.
The party was in no condition to fight a single umber hulk. Much less several.
They considered their options. One plan gained traction – stage the massacre, leave the caves entirely, take a long rest, and return later to collapse the tunnel with explosives set off at a sufficient distance to protect the party from umber hulks. In the meantime, let the Crown’s attention fix on the old lair and the cylindrical chamber. Trust that distance and stone would keep the kobolds concealed in the meantime.
The mountain would still be there in three days.
They only hoped nothing else would be waiting for them when they returned.