We (a manly man with a distinguished fashion sense, not some kobolds in a trenchcoat) were exploring the surface in the early morning hours when we saw an alchemist’s apprentice unloading a stock of potions from a large metal chariot bearing the symbol of the sun itself on its side.

These must have been truly mighty potions – the liquid shimmered a beautiful gold, and even the bottles were adorned with runes, symbols, and other mystical marks we did not recognize.

As we were admiring these potions from afar, the apprentice was distracted by a loud noise – while he turned away to investigate, Krak jumped out from the trenchcoat and grabbed one bottle in a fine example of appropriation for the greater (kobold) good. He then quickly returned to his position, donned his fedora and we made our hasty retreat.

Back in our Lair 2B, we marveled at the elixir. Krak wanted to add it to the table-shrine of Amma Zone, Klok wanted to drink it immediately and Klik wanted to first perform some experiments. After rigorous debate (mostly Klok waving his pipe menacingly), it was decided Klok had the right of it. We opened the bottle. It smelled of fire, regrets, and bad decisions made proudly. A very kobold smell. We drank the elixir and waited for what will surely be a grand magical effect.

Within moments the world began to shift and dance. The floor became rubber. The air itself sparkled in all colors and tasted like blue, with just a hint of polka-dot green. Sound stretched before our eyes like a rat’s tail.

Klok grabbed his pipe and tried to challenge Krak’s self-proclaimed leadership. He swung wildly, hit nothing but air, stumbled, and fell flat on his face mumbling obscenities vaguely directed at Krak.
Klik lay on his back, claws digging into the floor, sobbing that he might fall off the face of the earth at any moment.
Krak attempted to leap onto a chair – proclaiming it his new throne – only to come crashing down in a pile of twisted limbs and splintered planks.

Suddenly, the rays of the setting sun hit our faces.

We awoke, dazed and confused, as the elixir’s effect became clear: It is a diabolical brew that sends the imbiber forward in time – though at a great and terrible cost. Lair 2B looks to have suffered greatly during this magical maelstrom: one chair lay splintered, deep claw-like gouges appeared in the floor and Klok’s trusty pipe bore a series of new dents and scratches as though from a terrible battle.

And that’s when the pain began.

A burning, the likes of which we have never experienced before, every sound a scream and every glimmer of light like the sun itself boring into our souls. We tried to rise but couldn’t – we couldn’t even don our trusty coat. Instead, we embraced the cool, soothing darkness beneath it and waited for either the pain to go away or for death himself to come for us – for he would surely be coming, riding a skeletal horse and holding a bottle of this accursed, vile brew.

Rat Tail Rating:

• Krak: 2/5 – “We violated time itself. I regret everything.“
• Klok: 1/5 – “THIS POTION IS PURE EVIL.”
• Klik: 0/5 – “I do not like the taste of neither blue nor polka-dot green”

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