“Bah! You humies always have problems! Kobold have problems, and problems is trogs. Kobold can’t help until trogs not problem!” The guard said adamantly. Shortfang growled as stood face-to-face with the guard. “You stupid. We fight trogs too! We know tribe can’t go war trog themselves, not enough warriors. So Shortfang and friends fight! Let us talk to Grey Scales, so we can fight!” As it looked like the a fight was about to start a voice called out from the hunt. It sounded like a whisper, and yet it was loud and clear. “Let them in.”

The guards lowered their weapons and stepped aside, though they still looked on edge. You and the theta would be allowed inside of the hut, which was filled with a haze coming from a bronze brazier at the center of the room. It helped rid of the sewer stench in place of one that smelled strongly of hemp and butter. Here you could see three very old looking kobolds who indeed have grey scales. The youngest of them was a female kobold who still had hints of green on her face.

“You speak to the Grey Scales of the Swamp Dragon Tribe. I am the chief, and in your tongue my name is Longstrider. Who are you, and what is it that you come here for? Humans have never wanted kobold aid, no... Whenever they come here, they come to kill our people, because one or two may have committed some crime against the surface. If that is the case than you should leave. We shall not abandon one of our own for your justice.”