Role

Chapter 11

Pititti of the Thorntooth clan lay in slumber in the dark,
Within her mind the dream began, fire from unwelcome spark,
The past came rushing like a flood, preying on her darkest fear,
A night of terror and of blood, the night that Grismee disappeared.

The dream took Piti to her past when she was just a little child,
The goblins of the upper caste stayed in quarters less defiled,
The village of the Grinning Skull, the populace were monsters all,
But stronger monster that night culled, orcs and goblins large and small.

It was a still and placid night, the moon was full and high and brilliant,
The children all were tucked in tight, the guard outside was strong,
resilient, When little Piti heard a sound, like clicking, ticking insect
chitter, The guard outside fell to the ground, Piti heard as something
tittered.

The other children slept so deeply, unaware of any danger,
Pititti's fear ramped up quite steeply, sensing the unwelcome stranger,
The little goblin jumped in fright, out of her small bed of fur,
Hiding, shivering in the night, her sight abruptly ebbed and blurred.

Into the room then stepped a creature, tall, smooth, pale like alabaster,
Its body tall but lacking feature, Piti's heartbeat racing faster,
The smell that wafted to her nose, like rotting corpses packed with fungus,
It eyed the children in their dose, to Piti's eyes its claws humongous.

To her sister's bed it shuffled, pale claws digging at the floorboards,
Tendrils on its back unruffled, sensing blood of goblin warlords,
The creature made a hellish screech, surely it would wake the sleeping,
But sanity the sound did leech, leaving Piti weak and weeping.

When her senses did return, of the creature was no sign,
But missing from her little bed, the eldest of her strong bloodline,
The camp alive now with the dread, orcs and goblins howling, cursing,
Except of course the many dead, their wounds beyond the need for nursing.

Pititti woke with cry and jolt, sleep is broken from the nightmare,
She sat up stiff, straight as a bolt, chilled beyond the cold of night air,
Into her mind there came unbidden, an image of that creature's face,
An image she could not be rid in despite time or age or place.

Pititti, princess of her kind, wept then for the long lost sister,
She sees again within her mind, the creature's swollen eyes like blisters,
Claws as long as sharped scythes, white flesh slick with stinking slime,
Those dead and blank and yellowed eyes, the image fresh despite the time.

And in the night she hears a chitter, like laughter drifting on the breeze,
Piti's mind will not permit her to rest now or to be at ease,
And so awake the princess lies, gripped now in her deepest fear,
She sees again those soulless eyes, the night that Grismee disappeared.