De Smörkäs Bra! Köbolds ate my baby! Mörk borg!

Kobolds are fearless (and hungry). But in the deepest and darkest depths of teh cave, the less stupid prophets of vore speak of the coming of the end. The end of the road, one for the ditch! Eventually, someone has to pay the bill for this endless buffet that kobolds call life. On that day, all the food will be gone, and the only thing left to eat will be KOBOLD. Ye tiny ragnarok. The amouse bouche of apocalypses. Oh armageddon entree. Cry, culinary cataclysm. De Smörkås Borg cometh.