Youngest son of my father, Weyland, I have been away in the north, seeking vengeance for my father's death. Seven and twenty of Niduth's noble warriors have fallen at my hands; eleven to my hammer, seven to my sword, eight to my axe and one to my bare hands. The good king, himself, has managed to elude my grasp. However...

I have returned to find the Smithy, which is mine by right of inheritance, has been overrun with Bristlings. We shall have a contest to see who is the craftiest of the Smiths, and I shall regain that which is mine. The Dark-Elves may make excelent technicians, meticuloulsy copying the designs of others. However, it takes one of the line of Vate, to supply the new ideas and designs; new devices, new weapons, new armor, new metals to work. All of these are the province of the TRUE Smith.