Torgig slumped down into the pile of droppings as the Underbeast slithered by. Torgig was a small being, perhaps a half a meter tall and weighed no more than a sack of potatoes. He had the dishonor of being the smallest of all the goblin kin in the great cave, therefore, it was not difficult for the great serpent to pass by him without taking note of his presence.

Torgig sat in the pile for many moments. Then he slowly rolled to his right. [Skill upgrade Suppressed. Maximum skill for stealth and perception achieved] in the corner of his vision, but Torgig paid it no mind. Long ago he had learned that to him the squiggles meant nothing. He could no more understand them than the words of the cave masters.

Torgig had served in the cave for longer than any other dirt fetcher. Usually a dirty fetcher outgrew the role, or was eaten. Not Torgig. Torgig had served the cave masters as a dirt fetcher for fifteen whole years. He had seen cave masters rise and fall, being replaced by one generation after another in an endless cycle of death. Yet Torgig had not taken notice of these changes. The cave masters were big, and one that was small did not look at one that was larger. Torgig had learned that early on. A member of his clutch had made the mistake of looking at one of the matrons that sired them. That had been Torgigs first glimpse at death.

Food was easy to come by in the cave, yet only those who served the cave masters ate. Torgig was hungry, which was the only motivation that pushed the little man further into the pit that was the Underbeasts' lair.

it was out hunting, and it would be for some hours. At least that's what he hoped. This made sense to Torgig, he was hungry, so he found food. The Underbeast was hungry, so it found food. Things like this made sense to the small goblin. The cave masters told the small ones to fetch dirt, so they fetched dirt. This also made sense to Torgig. What did not make sense was the watcher.

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it had appeared many sleeps ago in the night. Torgig could not see the watcher, but he knew it was there. As he creeped forward, he felt its eyes on him, boring into his head. The watcher was always there, and it scared the small goblin.

Yet no one else seemed to notice. Torgig had tried at first to stay near other larger, stronger goblins. Perhaps they would see the watcher. They were taller and could see farther so that made sense. Yet they had not paid it any mind. So Torgig had eventually decided to ignore the watcher. Instead turning his attention to getting food.

Thats what he did now, pushing it back into his small mind, slowly forgetting its presence.

Torgig crept forward slowly into the center of the lair, stepping left and right over the small bones that littered its floor. As he approached the center he reached to his loincloth and untied a small pouch. It was empty, ready to be filled. The small goblin took a handful of the soil and brought it close to his mouth. It was white, starkly so. The cave masters had a name for the dirt of the Dreadbests cave. He could not remember it, as Torgig could not talk, but he knew what it was used for.

Torgig put a handful of the powder into his pouch, and slowly sunk back into the dark, thinking of how good his next meal would taste.

And silently, in another plane the watcher smiled at his favorite goblin. As he did he turned his attention back to another one of his projects. Nodding, he made his decision. A tendril of power reached out and encapsulated the great lizard, pushing it slowly through with an imprint formed in its mind. The imprint of a face, taken from the mind of a goblin berserker right before death. The watcher smiled and turned his sight back to Torgig, to see what the goblin would do next.