CHAPTER 4

Canestor and Zanestor, a long time ago

West of Velas lay the most inhospitable land in Raal. Canestor, the rocky land. Canestor was a harsh country, devoid of most life. The only thing that was in abundance there were rocks, from small piles of polished grey stones to gigantic razor-sharp mountains. The sparse tufts of sickly grey grass made the whole land look even gloomier.

Yet, as in all things in life, nature found perfect tenants. Trolls. They were huge creatures with thick grey skin that you could easily mistake for a stone and with big shiny diamond shaped eyes. They looked scary, and yet there was some inexplicable beauty in them. But the trolls were not the only inhabitants of Canestor. Deep underground there were whole cities decorated with gold and jewels, cities of the dwarves.

Dwarves, a short, hardened race of warriors and builders who dug tunnels deep in the bowels of the earth in search of precious metals and gems, and who built cities that withstood even the greatest earthquakes and tremors. An old dwarf legend told of an exodus, a cataclysm that forced their predecessors underground. And despite the odds, they survived. But little is known about the exodus because there is nothing written about those forgotten times. In their struggle to tame the dark corridors and pits, they dug and pried and chopped and smashed everything in their path. They used fire to break the hardest rocks and made even more powerful tools out of them.

Over time, they made larger tunnels and longer shafts, built heavy machinery and deafening fierce forges and diamond drills that could break any rock. Torches became lanterns, and lanterns became blinding lights that illuminated every corner of the dwarf kingdom. And as their society became more advanced, they turned their gaze to the surface. But the surface of the stone lands was too much even for their ingenuity. To dig and dig to the surface and find only more rocks and more impassable mountains. Even with their machines and tools, it would take them hundreds of years to carve their way to another region.

Instead they directed their tunnels north, towards Zanestor. In Zanestor they reached the surface and sent expeditions to the farthest corners of Raal, but not without paying a heavy price. Another race in Zanestor lived underground and considered the underworld their own. Goblins. Intruders were not welcome there.

Zanestor was a land of lakes and rivers. All the rivers in Raal began their journey there, deep underground. There were no mountains or hills or slopes, just water and dense forests with the oldest and largest trees in Raal. The inhabitants of Zanestor were small greenish creatures with long arms and thin waists. They had little hair on their bodies and their eyes were very small compared to their large curved noses. But although they were not blessed with beauty like other races, they were the most agile and fastest of all the creatures in Raal. They called themselves goblins.

Their homes were in underground caves, accessible only through tunnels that lay deep in the lakes of Zanestor. At least until the dwarves dug their tunnels and shafts trying to reach Zanestor's surface.

Goblins were a rudimentary society. They were great hunters and their prey supplied them with everything they needed to survive. Meat for food, skins and furs for clothes, fat for lighting the darkness, bones for making tools ... And then came the dwarves. In their armours adorned with gold and precious stones, with their powerful machines and their dazzling lights, they were almost like gods. But the goblins knew nothing of gods, only of intruders trying to drive them out of their homes. The dwarves saw these scrawny haggard creatures as nothing more than wild beasts. And that's how they treated them.

The goblins retaliated. They attacked from dark corners, with bone spears and bone knives, without ever giving up. There were so many of them. They hid and attacked from the darkness, smeared themselves with dwarven blood and adorned themselves with dwarven entrails. And over the years, they learned to make better weapons and tools and armour, and every inch of land the dwarves conquered had a high cost of broken skulls and torn stomachs.

Eventually the dwarves retreated. Goblin guerrilla tactics and their ferocity took too many dwarven lives, sometimes in such frightening ways that even the bravest dwarven warriors bore scars not only on the body but in their souls as well.

Yet war always brings progress too. Creating more effective ways of warfare also brings new technologies to light. One of these technologies for the dwarves were mechanical flying machines. And with them there was no longer a need for the surface of Zanestor.

Sadly, in their thirst to discover new lands and new races, the dwarves created a powerful and mortal enemy. From hunters, fishermen and child carers, goblins became worshipers of blood, death and torture. And when the dwarves retreated, the goblins followed. They sent war expeditions into dwarf territory, using their own tunnels against them. In the eyes of the goblins, the war never ended.