Whelp was small, weak and easily faded into the background. She was, however, an excellent scavenger. She could navigate the alleys and backways of the city built by and for the larger sentient species with ease. Her memory for where and when to go to find the best materials was unparalleled amongst her clan. The best scavenger the clan had, yet she still couldn’t get rid of her childhood name. Her hard work and dedication to the tribe wasn’t in question, only her reluctance to fight.
Her mind ran across these thoughts again and again. It was only a few hours ago as she left for the day's scavenge mission when her clan leader stopped her on the way out. She was to be denied entrance to this year's festival again. Still considered a hatchling, still to be kept from serving the clan fully. This wouldn’t do. She had a few days left, she simply had to find a way to earn an adult name, and a place at the new years festival.
It was these ruminations that kept her far too distracted as she filled her pack with random finds. Her stomach had started to grumble, she had out of habit shifted her route to hit the rubbish cans behind a local restaurant that was typically left unwatched and unguarded for long periods of time. No one was waiting to chase her off as she rummaged for something to eat.
Jackpot. There was a massive amount of throw out food to bring back. She quickly devoured as much as she could, looking at the still large pile still remaining while chewing on a large bone. Maybe returning with food in addition to her normal supply of raw materials would help earn her some credit? It was this distraction that caused her to find herself surrounded by hungry raccoons. It had to be raccoons didn’t it? The big creatures seemed to find them cute, and appealing. They had never had to fight one on one with one that was nearly their size.
One on one… she would have far preferred that now. This was a small group, younger and not quite full grown, but clearly upset to have her in their territory. She could abandon her finds and run. She loved the odd pack she had found, and it served her well, and the clan would have plenty of food without this unexpected bonus. Then again… this is what the leader had said wasn’t it? She never fought for the clan…
There were many raccoons, she would most certainly take substantial damage if she stayed and fought, she didn’t even carry a weapon… Every bit of instinct told her to run, yet her desire to serve the clan fully called her. Picking up a lid from one of the cans, and brandishing the bone as a makeshift weapon she widened her stance and stood her ground. Fear swelled inside her but she forced it down with a hard swallow. One way or another, she would prove herself today….


Modern urban slum kobolds. I have no idea where this though came from, but it ran through my mind a week or so ago and will not leave. I will likely be drawing a few of these.