This is where the ettin walks,
two-headed, three stories tall.
I’ve never heard the ettin talk,
save for his rancorous call.
Here, he lumbers, like an oaf,
towing up into the sky,
watching down upon the grove,
with his four golden eyes.
This giant is a savage beast
with a ram strapped to his back.
He is almost never at peace
except when he takes a nap.
The ettin lives up in the hills,
and walks between the trees,
guarding the grove from unwanted foes
and attacking those he sees.
The ettin carries an enormous club,
made from a withered old tree root.
He wears little ragged clothes
and stumbles around barefoot.
This poem is inspired by the ettins from World of Warcraft
— The End —