Barduk awoke to the roosters call. Another morning, another day at the mines. The kobold cursed his captors…his slavers. He cursed men. He cursed elves. He cursed dwarves. And he cursed his creator. Born only to be hunted and enslaved by creatures far stronger than his own.

His master, Pyetr, a dwarves son of a whore, soon barged in to the slave’s quarters, forcing Barduk and his kobold peers to their feet. The cruel dwarf did so with his usual demeanor - a mix of vulgarity and violence.

“Git up ye useless dogmen! Come on! Off to the mines, ye mutts!” He whipped them with a thin long spiked branch.

The dogmen scurried off to their feeding troths - to their hurried shit colored gruel that barely passed as edible even for a kobold’s palette.

Barduk, was niether the alpha nor a runt, but he had the respect of the other enslaved kobolds. He ate his slop in haste, askansly eyeing the dwarf. The hatred must have shown through Brazil’s eyes as the dwarf hit him with the branch.

“That’s enough for you,” Pyetr scowled, “time to mine!”