Dergosh awoke to a commotion in the camp, sitting up from his bedroll where he had placed it on the cold, comforting, rocky ground. He snatched up his mace and quickly strode over to where the small black nuisance of a kobold was shouting at a floating blob.

“No, we not kill it yet, Muckmuck,” he growled at the kobold’s histrionics. “We wait to see what it say first, then we kill it.” He looked over to Ruk and asked, “What you catch, Ruk? This breakfast?”