The Kobold mining village was called Cinderpit.
A hundred and twenty Kobolds living in terraced tunnels carved into a rocky hillside, mining copper and tin ore that they smelted into crude bronze tools and traded downriver for grain they couldn't grow. They'd been godless for decades — the deity they'd originally followed had dissolved during a territorial dispute fifty years ago, and no one had claimed them since. Too small. Too remote. Too Kobold.
Nez led the caravan.
