Relekihlar

A battle-scarred, rust-coloured kobold, with narrowed crimson eyes
and a look about it that suggests it hasn't eaten in a while.

It's clad in old, ragged leathers.

It speaks in a low voice with a noticable hiss of an accent.

It often snarls.

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History


Little lizard, runs away
From looming castle, home of kings
And torture pits, and golden rings
And moaning, groaning, gloaming things

Runs through forests dark and deep
Runs for shelter, for its kin
Runs from living bones that creak
And rotting flesh that walks again



Little lizard, bloodied, battered
Finds its people much the same
Finds most everything that mattered
Dead, diseased, or put to flame.

It takes its fellows, makes a plan
"Seal the cave and we'll survive."
They hide themselves away from man
Bloodied, battered, but alive.



Little lizard, some years aged
Just listened to the war that waged
Just watched its people, hungry, caged
Just grew increasingly enraged

Its tribe would starve, and all for what?
The hubris foolish man had brought?
They raped the world, and it would rot
For all the empires they had wrought.



Little lizard, eyes afire
Told its kin to sharpen blades
Told its kin they would inspire
Great relief with nightly raids.

They took all that they wanted for,
And now, at last, they stood so tall
For just a moment, just before
A small mistake would steal it all.

A distant bell rang midnight, twice,
The shambling things became possessed
With wicked strength to rip apart.
Devour. Feed. Destroy. Digest.



Little lizard, broken, scarred
Limping home with one or two
Finds it ruined, nothing left
But blood that's spread like morning dew

Left the cave in desperation
Lost the rest along the way.
Entered Sundered Desolation
Wounded and alone that day.