Trout's Landing.

"Guess I can't put it off any more now can I?" Jeb said as he stared in the direction of the dwarven outpost, where he was to collect the dwarves' end of their agreement.

"Well you can. But if we're going to keep digging we'll need those tools." The Chief replied as he barely poked his head out from the burrow.

Jeb sighed.

"Yeah, guess I gotta be responsible don't I?".

The only response he heard from the Chief was a skittering of stone and dirt as he retreated back into the burrow and away from the snow and cold. Not that Jeb could blame him, he didn't really want to be out in this weather either. But that was actually more for what he had to do and not so much the weather itself. If anything, he hardly felt the cold at all.

Still, that didn't mean he was going to roll around in the snow. Especially since the topside of the lodge was claimed by the murlocs. The place was riddled in traps made from fishing line and broken crates, puddles of mud and fetid water that was covered in a gray sludge that he wasn't entirely sure if it was snow turned to slush, or just a mound of muck and detrious.

Then there were the flies. Seems like every time he came up here there was an ever thickening cloud of the pests. He could barely breathe without accidentally inhaling a dozen or so. He put his hand over his mouth to keep them out of it but even that only did so much as the air was thick with the smell of stagnation, muck, and rot that he could taste it on the back of his throat like a film.

He could also hardly see through the swarm of flies either. He had to squat a little just to see which way was which. From his position he could see the slimy webbed flanges of the murlocs that wandered the area unhindered and unbothered by flies, smell, or terrain.

Yeah, the less he had to deal with this the better, he thought as he initially was going to walk the ways back to the outpost so as not to startle the dwarves. But with whatever the hell happened to the topside of the lodge since last, and his own less than enthused inclination to dealing with whatever that thing on the bridge was, he decided a little scare was worth it.

He held back a sigh and mentally made ready.

-----

Dwarven Outpost.

"We knew what it meant." One of them stated as they huddled around a fire and stared between the large crate and where their kin had departed.

"Aye, still don't make it hurt any less." Another replied bitterly.

They were talking about how their kin had treated Forgrim when they first arrived. Or rather the lack of interaction. They knew what their exile meant. What it entailed. But hearing and knowing about it was leagues different compared to actually experiencing it. They may as well not have even existed as far as their kin were concerned. Not a word. Not a glance. Nothing to even acknowledge their mere existence.

Forgrim poked a stick into the fire and stirred up some embers. The mood around the outpost had soured to the point that even work was put on hold just to process what had happened. This was the first time they've actually felt the sting of their isolation. Their exile. Their banishment. Now they had it shoved in their faces, and it wouldn't be the last time either.

This was just the start, Forgrim thought as he jabbed an ashen log. They were all they had left. Their kin, even this far from the hub, held no illusion that they were anything but spaces occupied by bodies. If even that much. Years, decades, centuries. That's how long this will go for. Or until they expired.

Yet that wasn't even the worst of it, he thought as his gaze turned towards the crate. They would have to deal with their tormentor regularly too. As if the exile wasn't bad enough. As if being treated as if you didn't exist by your own kin wasn't worse. They had to have regular interactions with that Haunter.

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Forgrim blinked. Then blinked again as he stared at the crate. As if the universe was mocking him, there it stood. The Haunter. The creature of their torment. It stood beside the crate and gazed around them. The Haunter and the dwarves just stared at one another for a long moment. The only sound being the crackling of their fire. Yet that soon ended as Forgrim and the others quickly grabbed their tools and rushed the abomination.

"Woah woah woah! I just came for my stuff!" The creature yelled and backed away as a pick was swung a few inches from its face.

"You'll leave with more than that, devil!" Forgrim growled and swung his pick back towards him.

"Haven't you cursed us enough?!" One of them called out and rushed the creature with a wooden mallet.

"Jesus, this again?! Already said I was sorry!" The beast yelled and slapped aside the mallet like it was nothing more than a fly to swat.

"And you think that makes up fer it?! You think that's enough!?!" Forgrim yelled and swung his pick back around, this time barely scratching the creatures cheek with his pick.

The blood, red despite what Forgrim and them had expected, flowed from the wound and dribbled onto the cold ground. The creature hissed and reached out and grabbed Forgrim's pick and held to it fast. No matter how much he pulled, the pick wouldn't so much as budge.

"That's it! This ends!" The creature declared before kicking Forgrim away and burying the pick into the dirt between his feet.

Then he vanished.

Forgrim scrambled for his weapon while the others formed a circle. They muttered uneasily. The air thick with tension and danger as they awaited for the creature's next move. For the longest five minutes of their lives, they waited. Then with a blink he returned. Forgrim and the others roared a challenge and charged towards it, but slid to a halt as the creature dropped something before them.

Forgrim and the others closed their eyes, expecting... something. But when nothing happened, they peeked them back open and gazed down at their feet. What they found confused them more than anything. Jars of glass, nails, and cloth. Forgrim just stared stunned at what was before them. He barely opened his mouth to speak when the Haunter spoke instead.

"Alright, so here's what's gonna happen. Take one of these here jars, put some hair or toe nails or piss in 'em. Throw some other odds and ends in there too. These nails should do, but pretty much anythin'll work. Stones, leaves, pine needles, whatever. Then seal it up tight and bury it on the farthest end of the property." Jeb said as he threw the mass of quickly gathered crap onto the ground.

"After ya bury it, keep it buried. Don't let it get broken. Whatever malady y'all got should go away when you bury it."

"It's a curse! A curse-"

"That I gave ya, yeah I heard. Well whatever it is that I may or may not have cursed ya with, this is 'bout the only thing that will work."

"'Bout?" Forgrim asked with a skeptical and wary quirk of the brow.

"Yeah, about. If whatever it is you gots don't end with these then I don't have much else to tell ya." Jeb replied and made his way over to the crate.

"Wait! Ya can't just drop this here and expect us ta trust ya!"

"So don't. Trash it all, burn it, whatever. Not my problem. Whether the witch bottles work is up to you." Jeb replied and put a hand on the crate before vanishing. Leaving Forgrim and the rest to stare at the piles of junk in confusion and apprehension.

-----

"Now to see if that works." Jeb replied as he found himself once more below ground in the main chamber of the kobold burrows.

"See if what works?" The Chief asked as he and the other kobolds gathered around the crate and Jeb.

"Nothin', just gave those dwarves some supplies to make some witch bottles with." He replied and grabbed a nearby crowbar and started to jimmy the lid off.

"Witch bottles?" The Chief asked excitedly.

"Yeah, old charm to dispell curses and hexes. If they think they've been cursed then that should fix it."

"Truly?"

Jeb shrugged as he got the lid off.

"No idea. Most stuff like that is in your head more often than not. If it's the same thing they should feel fine and we can put this mess behind us."

"And if they really were cursed?"

"Well... then we'll see if they actually do remove curses." Jeb replied and pulled out a pick that looked about right for a child.

Jeb whistled as he examined the dwarven made pickax.

"I thought they said this was goin' to be poor quality."

At his words, the other kobolds moved on the crate and began pulling their own tools from within. Shovels, picks, hammers, axes. Anything a tribe of kobolds could need to excavate and expand their burrows. Jeb held the pick he had up to the balefire light and examined it.

"Christ, this is top notch stuff! These'd cost a pretty penny at the Home Depot!"

Jeb wasn't exaggerating either. Even the kobolds could tell the quality of the tools wasn't to scoff at. Jeb shrugged and handed the pick to one of the kobolds as the crate was picked clean of tools before being stripped down itself. Either there was a mix up at the hub, or the dwarves had a different standard for "poor" compared to the rest of them.

Either way, the kobolds, or some of them anyway, had tools and Jeb could already hear the sounds of digging down the tunnels as they quickly got to work. Before long, Jeb saw arms and buckets full of rocks being brought back to the main chamber. From there, the larger rocks were claimed by kobolds wanting them either to reinforce a different section of the burrows, or to sculpt. If neither, then they were then smashed to creat smaller rocks. Sometimes they would even find small geodes within them. Nothing like the strange crystals Jeb had found on the snail, but still pretty nonetheless.

Jeb hummed contentedly now that the kobolds had something to keep themselves busy and productive, and made his way down the tunnel towards his and Ruby's chamber. Dougie knocked him over and licked his face with his long thin black tongue. He whined when he tasted blood and stared at his cheek which had the cut from the dwarves.

"It's fine, Dougie. Just a little scratch is all."

Jeb ran a hand over the wound, only to find that said wound had already healed up.

"Huh, that's handy."

He shrugged and gave Dougie some scratches before moving to sit next to Ruby. He sat there and watched her move their eggs around the fire as if she had done it a thousand times. Which she probably did, he thought as he rubbed her glossy scales. Black with a sheen of deep red.

He kissed her head and merely watched. Counting down the days until they hatched, and what their children would even look like. Would they be simply different colored kobolds? Would some of them be salamanders? Or would they be different in ways neither he nor Ruby could figure? He wasn't sure, and that was something to worry about at a latter date.

For now, he was merely content to sit here with his wife and dog, watching over their kids. Everything else was tomorrow's problem to deal with.

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