Trout's Landing.

"Well that's... different." Jeb said as he and the kobolds stared at the mess of haphazard pile of rocks, twigs, mud, and rotting fish remains.

He wasn't really sure what to make of the pile of rotting debris that stunk of river bottom and decaying fish meat. It looked like some sort of effigy, though to what he wasn't sure. From the confused and wary looks on the snouts of the kobolds though, he wasn't the only one.

"Perhaps it's to ward off danger?" The Trap Master asked with uncertainty.

"Or an icon of their deity?" The Chief asked with only marginally less uncertainty.

"Smelly thing whatever it is." Jeb stated before casting his eyes towards the murlocs that now stood stalk still whereas only moments ago they had been swarming all over the pier.

Yet all their eyes, abyssal black, glassy white, and even some glowing ethereal blue, were all directed towards him. Despite not being fully grown, the way they stared at him made him uncomfortable. They reminded him of the Children of the Corn. If the killer kids were the size of a boot and reeked of river muck and fish and wielded crude spears made of driftwood and fishbone.

After staring at him for a long moment, one of them walked toward him, its wet feet making wet smacking noises against the forearm width of mud that separated the pier from the lodging proper.

"Mrgurgurl!!!" It gurgled at him.

Jeb gave the kobolds a side eye, wondering if they understood it. Though they looked as lost as he did. Jeb turned his eyes back towards the murloc and gave it a short shrug in response.

The murloc gave some sort of wet scoff, or maybe a cough, or maybe it was just exhaling. Jeb wasn't sure. Then the murloc plapped its wet frog-like feet towards the effigy/pile of trash/thing, where it picked up a particularly ripe smelling bass that was buzzing with flies. Then again, it would seem since the murlocs took over the pier a permanent cloud of buzzing insects have followed the smell of river scum and rotting fish and have infested the place alongside the murlocs.

So Jeb was understandably disgusted as the murloc plapped over to him, and held the rotted fish up to him with an obvious sense of reverence that went beyond language.

"No." Jeb muttered as he connected the dots.

He glanced at the effigy and turned towards the kobolds and pointed his thumb at the rotting mess.

"Is that fuckin' thing s'pposed to be me?!"

Some of the kobolds snickered at his look of disgust and dismay. Even the Chief and Trap Master chuckled a bit at his expense. The Chief cleared his throat in an effort to disguise the mirth.

"To be fair, Master Jeb. Many deities rarely look like what the mortal, and even some immortal, races depict them as. There was this one group of jungle elves that dwelt on a floating island of vines and mangroves that worshiped a particularly massive crocodile. They depicted it as some towering warrior God in their art and charms."

"What happened to 'em?"

"Oh the former master burned the small floating island to the point it dried and scorched the mud beneath the floating village and proceeded to make a meal of their supposed God."

"Great. What was the point of that story?"

"I don't really recall." The Chief declared.

"It means its as good a depiction as you're likely to get." The Trap Master stated with a hint of a smirk on his snout.

"Ok. Now that we've decided that the pile of trash is s'pposed to be me, what is that s'pposed to be?" Jeb asked and pointed to the murloc that still held aloft the rotting fish.

"I believe it is an offering." The Chief stated.

"An offering for what? And what the hell am I s'pposed to do with it?" Jeb asked.

"What for could be anything from safety, good fortune, strength, or merely as a sign of faith and devotion. As to what you're supposed to do, well. I would guess you first accept it for one." The Chief explained.

"Do I have to?" Jeb asked out the corner of his mouth as he tried not to let the stench of rot and decay get to him.

"While it is your choice to accept it as their fixation, there is not really anything to lose by doing so. Refusing however could result in... strained relations." The Chief explained further.

At this the kobolds tensed up and locked their gazes on the murlocs, whose fishy eyes remained fixated on Jeb.

Jeb groaned.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"Fine. Not like I have to eat it or anythin'."

Jeb stepped forward and reached out his hand and took the slimy, rank, fly and maggot infested carcass. He then stepped back while holding the "offering".

"Uh, thanks." Jeb muttered and nodded towards the murlocs. Who still stared at him.

"No." Jeb declared.

They continued to stare at him. Jeb turned to the kobolds for some measure of support. Only to find the whole lot of them trying, and failing, to hide their mirth at his expense.

"Laugh it up you lot. Just remember I know where you sleep." Jeb muttered as he turned towards the rotting offering.

His skin crawled at the thought of actually eating this rancid thing. But the Chief was right. Not like he'd lose anything from actually doing this. Except maybe his breakfast. But if he didn't, it wouldn't exactly start their relations off on the right foot now would it?

Besides, not like he hasn't eaten fermented or slightly decayed things before. Pheasant left out to dry and rot for a day wasn't half bad and fermented fish was... well, it was an acquired taste that he hasn't quite acquired.

Jeb groaned.

"Well, in for a penny."

He had a thought to try and perhaps fake eating it. But if he was caught it probably wouldn't turn out as well. Besides, he found himself oddly possessive of the rancid fish. Despite the disgust he had just seconds ago, the offering felt less like a slimy burden and more like an expectation. Like it was something he was owed.

He shook his head. The stench must be affecting him. How could he possibly think some smelly fish was worth anything? Just one bite and that should be enough, Jeb thought. Hopefully.

Jeb held his breath, closed his eyes, and lunged forwards and took a slimy bite of the rot sweet flesh. He could even feel a couple flies that hadn't gotten out of the way of his bite in time as well as the writhing of maggots that wiggled across his tongue.

He fully prepared to gag and vomit the second it so much as came close to his nose. Yet the smell, so sickeningly sweet, was now no longer a bother. Nor was the taste or texture. It should taste like fish. It should taste like greasy maggots and rotting fish.

Yet it tasted like the sweetest of candy. Not disgustingly overpowering to the point it made your teeth ache. Nor was the texture what he expected. What it should be. It was smooth and melted in his mouth. Maggots, flies, and flesh all tasted not of rot, but of sweet ambrosia.

When next he opened his eyes, the rotting offering was gone. All that remained was thick fishy slime, rotted scales, and flies landing on his hand to lick what remained.

He swallowed nervously and ran his tongue over his teeth and through his mouth. The taste remained the same as before. Sweet nectar. Turning his eyes towards his palm, he licked it and found the same sweetness greeting him.

In yet another blink of the eye, what was left of the offering was gone. Flies, scales, slime. All gone. Yet Jeb did not feel sick. Did not feel like he would keel over and retch it all up. He felt... filled. Refreshed. Like he had a nice nap and a damn good breakfast.

When he turned his eyes up towards the murlocs, he found them going about their tasks. Apparently satisfied with his acceptance of their offering, they've returned to strewing fishing line about like it was going out of style.

Jeb turned towards the kobolds expecting strange or even disgusted looks from them, but only found them also going about their business as usual as if half of them didn't just watch him gulp down a rotting treat. At least on this side of the pier.

He wasn't sure how anyone would be able to walk along the pier anymore now that the place was covered in fishing line traps. But the kobolds made skipping across the tangled lines look so easy. Even the salamanders seemed quite adept at navigating the lines and traps. He expected the same sort of protective possessiveness at seeing the murlocs watching eagerly for the kobolds and salamanders to fall prey to their multitude of traps.

Yet such a feeling didn't rise up like when the kobolds were threatened by the dwarves. At first he thought that maybe it had something to do with accepting the offering. But as he watched he realized it had less to do with targeted malice or violence and more to do with pure opportunism. Flies trapped in fish slime was eaten as were the odd winter bird that was more hungry than smart.

The murlocs weren't intentionally trying to hurt the kobolds, they were just waiting, in vain by the ease and dexterity the kobolds exhibited dancing around the traps strewn about the pier, for the kobolds or anything really, to fall or make a wrong move.

Though from the looks of it, it would seem the kobolds were giving up the pier. While it looked like they could sidestep the traps easily enough, he imagined trying to reel in a fish would be more trouble than it was worth at this point.

They had even given up the boathouse. But by the looks of the repaired zipline, the kobolds didn't need it as they were busy converting it into a proper rope bridge.

He's also heard just after waking that the Trap Master and Chief were talking about making a underground sluice way that would allow them access to fish as it got colder. It would also allow the fish a place to shelter from the cold water.

He also heard their plans for a new botany chamber that would hold medicinal herbs collected from nearby that would also see continued growth away from the increasingly cold weather above on top of a dozen other projects that they wanted or needed done. Like a new chamber to hold poisonous plants, molds, and fungi as well as some sort of bat aviary, batary?

Of course he would like to get those tools for the 'bolds to make this all a little easier. But that wouldn't be for a few more days. Oh well, Jeb thought as he shrugged and left. With a strange morning he could only wonder what the rest of the day would greet him with. Maybe he'll take Dougie for a walk. Or see if Ruby would like an afternoon away from tending their eggs.

He didn't care really, he was feeling rather good at the moment.

-----

The Hub.

The Patriarch wasn't happy, Forgrim thought as he stared down the abyss that was the mine shaft opening. Then again, he rarely was. Even of late his mood has be particularly sour and his return to the Hub heralded a continuance of that. The Patriarch didn't say anything to the rest of them, but the stormy look on his face said enough, his travels away did not go as planned.

What did that mean for Forgrim and the rest of the dwarves? It meant working overtime. It meant working until their hands bled and their bones broke. Which to a dwarf was a rather challenging thing to do on account of their tough skin and tougher bones. But the Patriarch was intent on seeing something for all their troubles other than fyrstone and the poor quality iron they've found so far.

It didn't do that one unfortunate miner rushed out of the mines claiming to have found gold, only to be utterly shamed when it was revealed to be falsgeld, or Fool's Gold as humans rightfully call it. Pretty to look at but utterly worthless in everyway.

All of this didn't bother Forgrim and his lot though, for while they were being forced into the mines with the others, they've managed to remain close to the entrances/exits. Maintenance, security, pretty much whatever they could think of that allowed them to remain near the light and as far away from the oppressive darkness as possible.

But he knew it wouldn't last. He's seen others whispering about him and his lot. Even saw a couple of them speaking with the rune priests. One such rune priest then reported it to Ogrin, who was sure to report it to the patriarch. So it was only a matter of time before Forgrim and his lot will have to face the fire. With the patriarch and head rune priest in foul moods, he didn't like their possible fates.

Exile? Forced labor to atone? Shaving of their beards for their cowardice and blasphemy against the realm of the Stone Father? Forgrim didn't know. All he did know, was that he was growing tired of being fearful. Of not feeling like a dwarf anymore. At this point he'd take shame and exile if it meant a change to the constant fear and anxiety he felt just by looking at the darkened tunnels delving deeper into their home.

Not like others didn't have a good reason for wanting to avoid them either. Every hour it seemed like wounded were brought up from the depths as they encountered something down there that didn't take kindly to their presence. But any sort of information was kept tight-lipped about what it was exactly, and they sure as stone wouldn't tell Forgrim and them. Once they were healed up they returned to the tunnels with grim determination and dwarvan fury.

Unlike Forgrim and his lot, who fear and despair had claimed them and prevented them from following their kin down into the dark. Which just further the invisible divide between them and the rest of the dwarves. Their... otherness, was more and more obvious as the entirety of the dwarves of the hub was thrown into digging, fighting, and building. Except them. Unfortunately for them, dwarves require being underground for pretty much all three of those.

Him and the others have even resorted to sneaking off their shifts to "hide" among the workers working on the human laborer bunkhouses. But as work was coming to a close, their presence there, and absence elsewhere, were keenly noted. No, Forgrim thought with finality, things were going to change. No matter if they wanted them to or not.

By the looks of the dwarf making his way over to Forgrim and his lot, it would be now rather than later.

"Forgrim, you and yer lot are demanded by the patriarch."

Forgrim and the others pressed their mouths into firm lines. Then Forgrim spoke with some relief as things were finally coming to a close for them.

"Very well. Lead on."

With those words, he and his group followed the dwarf towards the main building, where the patriarch, and their fates, awaited them.