I hate peace. It’s terrible for business.
And oh, we have had a lot of peace these last 20 years since the Devil’s Teeth drove the demons from Hammerfall and put the traitor Thoren Brighthammer to the sword. Hammerfall has flourished, expanding its influence all through the Nentir Vale. Even the goblins of Gorizbadd and we here in Thunderspire rely on Hammerfall soldiers when the monsters come to our gates. The Vale is safer than it has been in a hundred and fifty years. Oh sure, there’s still the occasional beastman pack from the Ashwood, or band of brigands looking for an easy mark, and we’ll never be fully rid of the displacer beasts and owlbears. But that should tell you how bad the last one hundred and fifty years have been. I should know, I was there for most of it.
It’s the worst. How is an honest weaponsmith like me to make a living?
There is a silver lining in all this. Hammerfall has become powerful. And power makes enemies. The Iron Hold to the south did not receive Hammerfall’s envoys with friendship. They must have given some insult to the Iron Prince, for he sent their heads back with a warning: “We are coming for you.”
So strike up the Hellforges! Relight the Flames of Spite! We shall weave magic and hate into steel once more! The Council of Three has commissioned a grand weapon, and I intend to deliver!
We may have a war just yet.
-Oberith Mishann, First Enchanter of the Architects of Victory to his daughter, Rosabeth