Garthiik felt the roaring wind race around him in different directions, almost blowing his ear drums from the noise. The young goblin made a high pitched voice, its pointy teeth ready to bite the unseen enemy. Garthiik has been a goblin for all of his life, thus he trusted his instincts easier than the tall humans, that were too comfortable sitting in their graves, they called "home".

Garthiik spinned himself around to find the source of this "unnatural" wind. It almost deafened him with the power it had, and a sudden and unexpected burst of hot wind threw him on his back, his head bruised from the fall. Garthiik cursed the spirits of the wind, when a cry, almost deafening prevailed over the wind, and reached his ears.

That voice chilled him to the bone. He had heard it over the last year, when he fell victim to that strange sickness. All the witch-doctors of the tribe visited his lair, offering different excuses and ordering quite strange ceremonies to heal him of the sickness. However his skin never changed, never returned to its previous nature.

During those days he did not sleep without seeing the same dream, the same nightmare. That voice was a part of his dream, that sent him crying on the floor, without remembering the details, feeling only the terror of the experience. A whole year, this kept on going, making him unable to feed his brothers, or offer anything to his tribe.

His skin hair were raised high, and stayed there, even when the voice stopped. His nightmare returned, as a day's vision. Slowly details rushed in his mind, as a mist in frozen woods. It made him feel that same cold fear again, and sent him on the floor with spasms attacking his body.

His eyes rolled backwards, as the young goblin fell unconcious, saliva mixed with blood rushing out of his mouth.

Serve and your life shall be spared, that same voice spoke to him a second before the darkness claimed him.


More to come..