We (a single human man, who isn’t and never was 3 kobolds hiding inside a trenchcoat) have decided (in fact, Krak did, and he would like that on record) that to fully experience life as surface dwellers, we must also eat as surface dwellers.

No sooner had we left our lair of 2B searching for an appropriate meal than Klik’s nose picked up a scent most alluring – “a heady mix of grease, fat and oil boiled repeatedly” – and we wobbled towards the source. Nothing could have prepared us for the revelation to come.

When we finally arrived, we were awestruck by the grandeur Klik’s nose has led us to: A temple like no other, dedicated to the surface deity of feasts, McDon-Ald, bearing his holy emblem – the Golden Arches of Plenty. Many other surface dwellers surrounded us, all making the pilgrimage to the wellspring of oil and salt, and we were practically carried by the flow of supplicants to the very arches.

Once inside, we observed the rituals carefully, so as to maintain our camouflage, and have learned the following:

• All rituals begin with the supplicant chanting with a priest of the temple. These priests are easily recognized, for only they may bear the sacred mark of the Golden Arch upon their garments.
• The god’s favor is then invoked through an offering to the priests – tokens made of inscribed metal disks, currency-papers or cards of credit.
• Should the supplicant be found worthy, the priest grants them a boon – a sacred number of McDon-Ald. Woe be to those found unworthy, for their tokens are returned in shame and a vile curse – Broken McFlurry Machine – shall ravage them.
• Finally, when the sacred number is called, the grease-anointed hearth-chamber of endless plenty opens its maw and the blessings of McDon-Ald flow without: Fries. Hamburgers. Nuggets. Salt and oil forevermore. The supplicants rush to collect their blessings, tears of joy in their eyes and the warmth of McDon-Ald in their hearts.

As we chanted carefully to the priest and offered our found card of credit we were both terrified and elated – but in the end, we were found worthy and have received our boons:

• For Krak, the fries as salted as the underground lakes he misses so.
• For Klok, a mighty “Hum-Burgher”, slain and pressed into bread.
• For Klik, a soda of such fizz his eyes teared and his nose choked.

We are now full. Spiritually and otherwise. Praise be to McDon-Ald, may his hearth-chamber never cool, may his grease never thicken.

Technical Analysis:

• Visuals: A golden shrine of incredible proportions.
• Sound: Endless chants, endless supplicants.
• Atmosphere: The joy of the worthy as their numbers are called.

Rat Tail Rating:

• Krak: 5/5 – The fries of many-salt are like the stalagmites of home.
• Klok: 5/5 – A MIGHTY BEAST FOR A MIGHTY FEAST
• Klik: 5/5 – A fizz so mighty, the ketchup has fully dissolved.

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