As the dawn broke, Cilgris burst from her egg. The pinkish-purple underside of the clouds greeted the Valbold, as did three eggs. Kobold eggs, she knew from her group's last evolution, but all different in hue. Instead of homogeneous spiky black scales with the occasional lava-red highlights, Cilgris beheld a redder composition. On her left, a deep red of blood. on her right, the orange-red of fire. and in the center, the brown-red of a generic kobold; duller hue compensated by greater size. Cilgris realized something. her own broken eggshell reached knee level before it began to curve back, bringing it up to belt level; the height of a coiled kobold. All to be expected. What was less expected were the heights of the other eggs, coming up to upper arm level for the two "smaller" ones, and head level for the greater.

"What did she make me?" Cilgris asked into the air, walking towards her halberd before finding it too large as it lay there. Where once was a polearm from a dead adventurer, taller than her, and training with it on every hunt Zyradon forced her to attend. Until one day, something clicked. The awkwardness from her thrusts and swings halved overnight, and when she truly put her mind into it, she could make the blades dance and even glow. Cilgris lifted the oversized weapon, expecting to hardly wield the thing, struggling to even mount the oversized weapon on her shoulder- when something in her gut flared to life. She felt a chill from within, swinging the halberd into her grasp in a self-taught maneuver. The axe head swung around the dawnlit plateau, halberdier stepping forward to complete the swing, when muscles she didn't even know she had tensed. The sudden loss of control send the valbold's heart racing as fast as it sent her weapon, newly-installed coils firing almost all at once. The blade swung out of her hand, flying through the air with a flash and stabbing into a thick stalagmite with a crack. All at once, Cilgris felt a wave of awe at this new level of power, giving way to discomfort at her muscles slowly drew themselves back to a primed position. "Valerie made me so strong, I didn't even have to use a skill..." she whispered.

Over the next hour, Cilgris practiced with her new anatomy. She learned was a bit stronger than a conventional kobold, guessing that with the cool glow empowering her muscles that her strength was on par with her old form; much more pronounced in the reduced effort of lifting a lighter base form. She learned she was a bit more durable, thanks to the handful of falls borne from being unused to her new musculature, but the true jump in power was her reflexes. Her limbs simply had less mass and distance to move to achieve the same results, allowing for much-quicker adjustments to attacks- letting her line up the perfect strike before hammering her point home.

More cracking noises interrupted her speculative stabs. Fractures formed on both redder eggs at once, dual bursts of strength from within triumphantly separating the upper halves from lower. Cilgris beheld her two allies with a similar level of appreciation to her new form. Both were larger than before, the primary change to Croc being orange-red scales and an aptly-lengthened snout. Drox however, was a different story. It looked like every inch of her had been modified, her scales darker red and larger, tougher. Her claws took the same formula of an increase in proportional size with a side of serration along the undersides, and tying all these changes together, the look in her eyes seemed hungrier. Fiercer. Clearly willing to rip and tear.

"Croc?" "Drox?" asked the kobold couple before embracing with an "I missed you"

Croc looked towards the discarded firedrake shortspear with a tentative expression. Seeing the other kobolds too distracted to stop him, Croc flipped the weapon into his hand- and felt his arm awaken, the feeling of pins and needles he never knew he had leaving his arm all at once. It felt smooth, clean, even sharp, as when Croc gave the weapon a few test swings through the air, he could feel it's movements flow. Not with strength or speed, by familiarity. With instinct. With fire. The blade caught alight, matching a campfire's heat and brightness at the end of Croc's arm. The two other kobolds turned, watching him draw his shortspear back like a fishing rod. In one motion the fire seemed to gather on the very tip of the blade, thrown by It’s range’s speed to the bottom of the slope. The kobolds watched in suspense as the flaming orb wobbled down and burst on the rock, spreading fast and fading out faster without fuel.

Khirc's egg opened last and opened largest. A faint glow of light emerged before she pushed the halves of the egg open like a door, revealing the great kobold in a clingy cloud of cyan mist.

“Khirc!” the trio exclaimed, words close to synchronized.

The great kobold leader bowed her head. “That is I. I trust you three had a nice rest?“

“We did.” Answered the minified Cilgris. “But our new leader’s still sleeping”

Drox rubbed her enlarged hands together. “Then let’s protect her. And rip apart anything that tries to make a dragon omelette."

Croc gave his partner an unsettled look, his lengthened snout more expressive than before. With newfound energy, Cilgris was off towards the black blob of Zyradon’s former corpse. Her light weight made it easy to descend, the little valbold seeming to fly more than once before reaching her destination on the ground with a performer’s landing. Drox was right behind her, making up what she lacked in lightness and maneuverability with defense, pain tolerance, and a sense of fun. Khirc and Croc picked their way down more carefully, when something under Croc’s foot gave way. He flailed his arms, reached for a small tree, and failing that, raised his arms over his head to descend. Khirc’s breath quickened, her own leaderly pheromones calming her enough to reach out, in both body and mind.

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And somewhere just outside the world, her call was answered.

Vines gripped the legs of the falling kobold, stopping him from lacerating himself on the gravel below. He pushed off from the ground, vines crumpling quickly but serving their purpose.

“Khirc?” Croc asked, dusting himself off “How did you do that?”

“I know not.” Khirc answered, glow fading from around her horns. “I reached out for a favor, and Something answered. She said her name was... Phoebe”

“And you got all that from a vine grip?” Croc challenged.

“No. It was... implanted knowledge. Much like when your dual-wielding ceased its awkwardness.”

Unable to argue with that, Croc made his way down even more slowly and carefully than before. The four of them gathered around the mass of scales and potential, Cilgris on top and the others on the ground, watching for threats in each compass direction.

Half an hour later and to no one’s surprise, a cross between a cat and a bat pounced from the morning’s shadows. Bladed wings sliced through the morning air, letting the monster glide near silently and latch on to Drox’s neck. Sharp teeth strained under their own bite force, deflected apart by shaped ruby scales, when Drox bit right back. She was smaller and easier to maneuver, shaking bite catching the feline off guard. It threw Drox to the side, backing away and hissing, when Croc conjured his fire again. The orb was smaller than his last, but filled faster as the eager blade seemed to seek conflagrant victory. Croc cast the orb at the monster, striking the edge of its dark wing. The heat spread through the metallic blade with fury, halloween hybrid thrashing at the trees in pain, too much pain to notice Cilgris sneak up on it. She darted under its field of view, under its head, bent her knees, and underwent a mighty stab. The beast’s black furred form was too big to miss, letting the basic [Halberd Chop] Skill strike home. Strike heart.

Even the other kobolds could hear the sound of muscle-coils firing, before the cracking of bones, the splitting of flesh, and the snapping of a halberd’s wooden pole. Cilgris had to scramble out of the way of the chiropteran puma, turned from foe to feast in one decisive strike.

Kobolds ripped apart flesh and hide, Drox taking great joy in the act of slicing apart a foe. They had barely eaten half when another, blue-scaled kobold approached, followed by one of smaller size and lighter hue.

“What brings you to our kill?” Khirc threatened.

“I am Qriak, and this is Qik. Your leader has slain ours” said the azure one, lowering himself in respect. “And some of us were due for a change.”

“You are making no mistake. Our new leader has slain our old one, and seems to value our desires rather than her own. ”

“What does that make you?” Drox questioned between ripping bites.

“Marazel’s oldest mage.” Qriak answered with happiness. “The warriors are planning to assault Minas Malboor as the day rises, if they haven’t already.”

“This is bad.” Croc commented. “Our leader likes humans, and minas is full of them”

“What’s your plan?” Drox started to ask, before Cilgris stepped in.

“I think I can make it. Just give me a direction and I’ll be off.”

“It’s just...” Qriak looked from the sun to the kobolds, making several mental calculations. “That way. Go far enough and you should see roads to a city.”

Cilgris nodded, barely even needing a weapon, and walked off. She seemed to glow as she covered new ground, mana-mounted muscles singing as they turned that azure fuel into speed and power. She sped through jungles with growing ease, dodged the scaly tail of a cobra-hooded gorilla, hopped over a nest of large amber catlike predators and the nearby trees with a muscle-coiled jump, and landed past the treeline.

Catching her breath, Cilgris looked over the horizon. A city clearly stood in the morning light, low clouds rolling past the highest towers, but saw something far less hopeful. A large platoon or a small army of kobolds marching half a mile away, familiar firedrakes bearing the best-armed fighters. Unwilling to draw the army’s ire and lacking any reliable way to persuade the soldier-bolds, Cilgris took the longer route. As the kobolds marched, Cilgris ran. She cared little for the looks she received. Cared little for the arrows shot at her, though made sure to time a coil-jump out of the way when drawing enough attacks. And only when she cleared the drake-riders she sped up, fire launched behind her. The beam of it missed by a meter, torching a nearby tree like a candle of celebration. Cilgris didn’t need the help from this distressing prospect, but as soon as she neared the gates of Minas Milboor, began a tirade of shouting. Guards turned from the high stone walls, gatekeeper confounded as the amethyst kobold jumped onto the top of the wall with a single bound, legs giving out from exhaustion. She pointed behind her, felt herself get carried away to some sort of holding cell, yet smiled as she heard the stomping of feet and clanking of armor.

“I warned them!” Cilgris celebrated from her cell, caring little for its dingy conditions.