We (a human who was born and DEFINITELY NOT 3 kobolds that hatched from eggs deep under the earth) have been out in the evening as always, studying and documenting the surface dwellers (for normal human reasons, not so we can eventually take all this knowledge and use it for the great kobold invasion of the surface).

During an interlude where we, alongside others, were stopped by the light-changing Spirit of Voyage, we spotted one of the very small surface dwellers being pushed along by its large slave. The small dweller’s carriage was opulent beyond measure, adorned with the heads of vanquished beasts and broadcasting a war-melody designed clearly to both intimidate and inform all nearby that their better was in presence.

As the Spirit of Voyage changed its glow and granted us right of passage, Klik spotted something: a tome, cast off or simply fallen from the beast cart. Whatever influence – divine intervention or just dumb luck – provided us with this opportunity, there was only one thing to do.

Naturally, we have claimed the tome.

We made a swift retreat to our lair of 2B lest we be detected, where it now rests upon the table-shrine of Amma Zone. There it lies still, humming with unknowable purpose. Klik refuses to touch it any more. Klok has armed himself with his trusty pipe. Krak swears he can see the tome breathe.

Eventually – and only after we have pleaded with Amma Zone for her divine protection – we reached for the tome.

“The Very Hungry Caterpillar.”

Such a simple title, deceiving – for even a kobold hatchling learns to hunt and eat the caterpillars found on Glowcaps or in the shallows of lakes underground.

On the first page, the beast is born. From an egg. Upon a leaf. Beneath the full moon. A dark omen, celestial alignment, a sign. And immediately – the hunger. The all-consuming hunger.

A prelude to a path of annihilation:

An apple. Two pears. Three plums. Four strawberries.

We laughed, for who eats just fruit?

But then Klok, terrified, still clutching his trusty pipe, hissed:

These are not food. These are cities. Tribes. Nations.

We re-read the pages. We are not laughing anymore. Dread consumes us as surely as the beast will consume all.

After the beast devours five oranges, it enters a frenzy: One chocolate cake. One ice cream cone. One pickle. One slice of Swiss cheese. One salami.

“This is no longer about food, this is carnage for its own sake”, whispered Krak.

We believe to have deciphered these surface euphemisms:

• “A Cake” must mean a seat of power, rich and desired by all.
• “Ice Cream Cone” must mean a land of ice and snow high up in the mountains.
• “Swiss Cheese” must reference the demise of some nation, clearly filled with holes by the beast.
• “Salami”… we do not dare delve deeper.

All were consumed, left naught but crumbs in the great Devourer’s passing.

Then, as all seems lost, the beast relents. It weaves a cocoon. It rests. We all take a breath, perhaps this is the end – the beast will now lie in blissful sleep for aeons, sparing the world its endless hunger.

But it was not to be.

For seven days the beast waits. Not dead. Not alive. It grows, it changes. Finally on the last page it emerges: It has wings. No longer shall it be bound to the surface. It can now leave. Escape. Consume.

Terrified, we have closed the book. We have sealed it in McDon-Ald’s blessed bag anointed by sacred oils and have buried it deep in the ground where, Amma Zone willing, it will stay undisturbed for all times.

Technical Analysis:

• Visuals: Deceptive, bright, misleading. Holes, possibly bored as a symbol by a deranged worshiper of the Devourer.
• Sound: Silent as the end of all things.
• Atmosphere: Dread everlasting, palpable fear.

Rat Tail Rating:

• Krak: 5/5 – The beast comes and none shall be spared.
• Klok: 5/5 – THE END IS COMING ON PASTEL-COLORED WINGS.
• Klik: 5/5 – Nervously chittering in the corner

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