[Cor2]

Argarthans do not eat. It is both a blessing and a curse, Sargon muses. At this point it is only prolonging their death. Their cave fort defenses were breached long ago by the hoards of unliving just outside. The constant cacophony of bone scraping stone drowns out all conversation. Each is left to his own nightmarish thoughts. No one has any real nightmares any more, because no one has slept in weeks. The noise combined with the threat of imminent invasion of undead is enough to keep even the humans without sleep. Sargon is no different. His huge pale body is slumped against his favorite setting stone. It offers him no comfort. His body is beginning to show signs of decrepitude.
Sargon ponders the end of his race. He wishes for a moment that Argarthans could weep like humans do. He angrily banishes the thought. It is their fault! How could my people be out bred by these awful smelling monkeys? Perhaps our demise is for the best. First we accept them into our caverns, the greedy little primates. But now we have accepted one as the true god. Wretched. She is only slightly older than me!, Sargon rages.

....more to come?