A haunting female voice drifted through the mines of upper Azdun. "Too
long have you been oppressed. Too long have you been chased away from
what is rightfully yours..."

"We have?" came the confused reply of one scrawny miner.

"... yes, you have, you dolt. I'm talking about the dwarves."

"Oh! Yeah! Dem! Dey press on us, dat's right!" Murmurs passed from
goblin to goblin, and with remarkably little trodding on toes and only a
scarce few bloodied noses, a crowd gathered.

The cowled woman spoke, her melodic tones carrying through the tunnels.
As she listed the great wrongs of the dwarven clans, the mob became
fevered. Theft of rightfully stolen property! Raids, kidnapping,
hoarding of precious minerals and ores. These monsters must be punished,
must be driven back, must understand the futility of challenging the
great goblin nation!

"Hey wait," one bright foreman spoke up, momentarily breaking the spell.
"We don't got any nation, dat's funny talk."

Sighing in frustration, the woman snapped, "Do you want to kill dwarves
or not?"

A great roar rose up then, pickaxes and shovels glinting dangerously in
the torchlight. "Kill de dwarves!" was chanted, over and over again. In
their enthusiasm, some of the goblins began fighting one another,
whooping with laughter and boasting of their previously undiscovered but
surely impressive abilities in battle.

Far away, the chanting reached the ears of the Smith. His concentration
upon His labours interrupted, He tilted His head to listen. His
children, in danger from a bunch of stinking goblins? Surely not. For
countless centuries the goblins had been little more than a nuisance.
Nothing they couldn't handle. With a mighty shrug, He turned back to His
work, the project that had troubled Him for decades finally taking shape
before Him.

Carefully managing her temper, the mysterious new leader of the goblins
advanced her scheme. Through trial and error the goblins trained and
practiced, more of their brethren drifting in, some from deep under the
distant mountains, some from nearby villages and clans. The smartest
were sent out as scouts, searching for ways to best strike at the
dwarves, investigating defences and asking questions. The Phaesteans
were quick on their tail, Goryllin Dawyn, Faur Ironson, and Aikou
Alexandrian searching tirelessly for any clue to the new disturbances
and the curious shift in the Smith's attention that they had sensed.

Cleverly ferreting out the intentions of the goblins, Chieftain Faur
told the dwarves to prepare themselves for war. It began soon
thereafter. The Siroccian dwarves faced the first raid, a massive group
of armed goblins bursting into the camp. As Thingol shouted, rallying
his people, adventurers flocked to the mountains from across Sapience.
The defending army, led primarily by the dragon Lavinia
Stormcrow-Xanatov, fought back the horde with dozens of casualties but
very little damage to the camp. Thinking the confrontation at an end,
the party began to relax, when a shout and a crash was heard from the
Vashnar mountains: the true target of the attack was discovered to be
the temple of Phaestus.

Goblin raiders filled the sacred halls, slaying many of the Smith's
favoured Chosen, and stealing every weapon they could get their hands
on. Grabbing the young lass Dia'gia, they forced her to enter the
combination to the inner sanctuary, where more weapons were discovered,
along with a hammer that glowed strangely silver in the light. A dirty
goblin scooped it up and abruptly vanished from sight, barely noticed by
those who fought for their lives nearby.

Feeling the pain and frustration of His children as if it were His own,
the Smith stepped away from His anvil, grasped His own hammer in one
powerful fist, and returned to Sapience. Striking down goblins with
ease, He made His way to His Chosen and, after ensuring the safety of
those gathered, spirited them away to discuss both past and future.

While joyous at their Father's return, dwarves and Phaesteans alike
remain vigilant, secure in the knowledge that the war has only just
begun, and that much must be rebuilt. What does it all mean? Who is
behind the sudden organisation of the goblins? Fearful but bolstered by
Lord Phaestus's presence, the dwarves do what they must: unite.

Penned by My hand on the 15th of Sarapin, in the year 545 AF.