The purple Kobold tried to raise the spear from the raving crowd below— and failed as a dozen hands grabbed onto its shaft, pulling it downwards.
The purple kobold fell into the throng of feral Kobolds. Splotch watched for a second, frozen, as the screaming started, as huge, serrated teeth tore apart scaled skin like cloth and bone crunched and cracked. Then the screaming stopped, and Splotch felt a feeling that was all too familiar, one that he had felt over and over, huddled together with his Kobold brothers and sisters in the dark, a feeling brought on by the sound of chitin rubbing against chitin, of a hundred legs in the dark.
Fear.
His fear gave way to anger as he gripped his spear. He stepped forward, ready to stab down into the Kobolds below, but he didn't have to. They had climbed on top of each other, a living ladder of scaled flesh, clawing and screaming and biting to topple the castles wall. They flung themselves over each other, over the stone wall, into the courtyard.
One brushed itself off from the wave of Kobolds, turning and sniffing. It was animalistic, somehow less intelligent than Splotch. It sniffed at the air, then it locked eyes with Splotch.
He stared at it.
Its sclera were bright red, its eyes showing an intelligence in spite of its feral action.
Splotch made the first move.
He charged.
With three steps forward, he turned, leaning his momentum into the spear he carried, the force of his movement carrying it forward as he slammed into the feral Kobold. There was a scream as the metal split flesh, and Splotch placed his foot on the Kobold, pulling the spear free with a victorious roar.