Goblin Brothers Excerpt: Shaman Chief

I said I wasn’t going to post anything more about the goblins until I wrote the entire story but I couldn’t help but share this description of the head goblin shaman I wrote today. I’m still having a blast writing this story. 

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Zyx and Grattird raced into the main temple room and then slid to a halt as they stood before the most terrifying goblin either of them had ever seen. Standing on the edge of the altar, in a pool of blood was a shaman covered in robes made from the flesh of sacrifices to Sagobr Dreaddeath. He also wore a mask that seemed to be created from a giant serpent skull which had the mouth intact, including long fangs which stretched out from his face. His dark face glared from the mouth of the snake with glowing red eyes, searching and penetrating the two young goblins. They stood, whole bodies trembling as they stared at the towering shaman unable to speak or move.

“I Ziomvor. I chief shaman for Sagobr Dreaddeath. If you be shaman. You must pass tests,” hissed the goblin shaman as he waved a long totem made from a bone of a dragon and the most powerful totem the Trickyfoot clan possessed. It curved towards the young pair and, adorned with scales, it made a knocking sound as if calling for their very souls. Each of them, young though they were and untrained, could sense the hunger and power contained in the implement.

“You live all tests, you be trained be shaman. You die, you sacrifice to Dreaddeath. Come for first test!” Ziomvor called.

The whelps didn’t move, so the shaman’s behind them howled and slammed their totems to the ground sending waves of fear from the clang against cold stone. Zyx and Grattird both leapt forward and shuffled to the altar where there chief shaman waited.

Up close, Ziomvor was even more haunting. His face seemed like a shadow inside the serpent mouth as if he had been swallowed by the beast and was gasping for air from its belly. Mere feet from him, they felt a chill that made them want to run and hide as if a monster in a nightmare stalked them. His body was covered in tattoos, scarred with the blood of sacrifices. Each making him more powerful as he carried the essence of those creatures in his very flesh. His breath was the stench of death as though he consumed souls for sustenance. His voice was constantly like that of a snake hissing. The pair feared that at any moment the skull of the snake he bore on his head would animate and strike them. They could barely remain near him and dared not look up while in his shadow.

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About Phil

Just a man with a lot of stories, poems and things to talk about on his mind. Thanks for reading.
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