A Grand Breakfast

You’ve grown fat in the dank caverns that you all call home, having been born in a year of plentiful babies even as a lowly little kobold pups you’ve had some of the most wonderful feasts that many kobolds never have.

After the grand snow feast of King Torg (all hail King Torg) on ice and a month long snooze you’ve awoken to a cave wide ruckus. Dragged before King Torg’s (all hail King Torg) mighty dinner table he watches you giving gestures to the great cavern cooks before been carried to his chambers by the holders of the royal cutlery.
Unravelling a large scroll the Grand Master Iron Kobold tilts his chief’s hat before speaking.
“The great lord has watched you grow fat and now its time for you to work, someone has broken into his hungrynesses private larder and eaten everything… someone who is now very plump and ideal for cooking.” As he speaks several of the chief assistants poke and prod you taking notes.
“Now King Torg (all hail King Torg) has decreed that the Grand Snow melt feast is today and that you shall all venture out into the lands beyond our lair and return with suitable tribute for our great lords feast… those who succeed will join King Torg (all hail King Torg) at his private table as will those who fail…”

Licking his lips he watches you young kobolds squirm “So what are you waiting for? get moving and don’t be late back.”

A Grand Breakfast

The Great Migration Silverain