The eldritch pseudopods were reaching high
In the cellar of the abandoned hotel
That bears no surviving name, and clings to no fame
And has elevators that reach down into Hell— Ed Greenwood (@TheEdVerse) January 22, 2020
It sprawled dead and shriveled, that monster grotesque
Quite dead, its decay dribbled, across its corner office desk— Ed Greenwood (@TheEdVerse) January 23, 2020
Slyly amorous promises are softly lipped
As her knife into his guts is gently slipped— Ed Greenwood (@TheEdVerse) January 24, 2020
There was no villager as could place the dead king’s face, though we searched ourselves for a clue
But the dragons flew down, and by the fire that flared in their eyes, we could tell at least two the dead man well knew— Ed Greenwood (@TheEdVerse) January 26, 2020
