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Report from the goblin city "The Squid-Nightmare Of Beaks" after the attempted assault on the dwarven city "FinderFortresses," as compiled by the squad's former leader (who shall remain unnamed):

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We'd been sent out to this filthy hole in the ground after initial recon and infiltration groups turned up missing, with no confirmed survivors. They had been ordered to follow the recent caravan activity and report back on what had been causing these other filthy creatures to send their merchants out so far from their own lands. Initial reports told of a small outpost of those that hide under the stone like worms, the dwarves.

After noting that the nearby kobold citadel had began to attempt raids on this place, we attempted to send our groups in to cause disorder amongst the dwarves, and to secure our claim on our enemies before the vile imps might attempt their own efforts towards claiming the fortress. When the next waves of infiltration vanished without contact, my squad was send after them to avenge our brothers and sisters, surely claimed by the dirt-lovers.

My men and I were armed well for an attack, though we did not know what the dwarves had to bring against us. If we only could've had access to beak dogs or even a troll. Though I put no fault on my men, to not tarnish the death they faced with honor. If my men could fail against an enemy, then no force that walks the surface could stand any chance.

When we arrived we noted the way they twisted the river's water to suit their needs. I may find the elves disgusting in their worship of the lifeless tress, yet the boldness with which dwarves deface the earth detests me. The channels ran such that they could not freeze as completely as the river had, requiring us to approach the bridge they used to accept these foolish caravans that led us here.

But as we drew by the frozen river, and as we took note of the faint holes carved in the rock face from which they observed us, one of the men noted a blur speed out from one of the larger holes in the wall, arcing high and pounding through the river's ice with a deafening crack at a point just ahead of our advance. They had prepared a damned catapult, slow and unsure as it way that meant we had to scramble out toward the bridge to get out of its line of fire! Thankfully their second and final shot with it before he closed in also went wide, but by now we were shaken considerably.

At last we approached the entry, channels of water preventing any approach to us save the main entry. A nearby frozen pool and the faint slope of its shore gave us faint cover as we closed, but even in diving for safety we'd already lost a pair of good men once we entered crossbow range. All we could do was plan how we might approach them, knowing even the force of a massed attack will only pile our corpses within the strangling halls these cursed dwarves build.

It was then that one of my bowmen declared a plan he had for us. It was a bold one, and a choice I shall never forget. He barely gave us any warning before he leaped from what little cover the frozen pond offered, charging at the main entrance entirely on his own! His intent was to draw their fire so we might muster a charge, and even in failure I will never forget his bravery. The names of all the others to perish have been forgotten in my failing memory these days, yet...Bosa Tumorcurse, yes. The name of that bold soldier who laid down his life to offer us a chance at glorious victory.

Even as we recovered from the shock of his attack, to see bolts piece his body and yield no impairment to him but anger until he reached the gate, then to run along the channel firing and taunting the hateful dirt-dwellers! We rushed at the gate, Bosa turning to rejoin us in the assault only to be cut down by more of their wicked bolts, too many wound for even a great spirit such as him to endure. All hope was lost at that point, our boldest of men crippled and short after finish by cruel marksdwarves so shortly after he inspired us.

Yet still we charged, even as now the monsters turned all their attention to us, cutting many of my squad down with even greater ease than they did to Bosa. At one point a single one of them slipped from the door to better fire upon us. The first time I'd ever seen a dwarf in full, and the thing was truly hideous! I fired with all my hatred in the hopes of driving off their counterattack, but only with a minor wound to the creature's leg did it dare retreat to the cowardly fortifications these animals call home!

In such a short time over half my squad was wiped out, the survivors calling and howling for retreat. I saw a few of my comrades stricken by the bolts, alive but too wounded to fight further. the dwarves simply took potshots at the dying as if it was sport to them, and under such pressure to retreat I could only allow the order to flee like a cowardly elf, to leave the wounded with no choice but to curse and mock the dwarves with their final breathes, hissing out insults at the fact a dwarf could ever fail to finish off a target that can't even move.

As we fell back to the bridge crossing the channel, one final shot came to strike against me, punishment from Armok for my failure. A bolt grazed the side of my head, hewing away the ear...another inch and I would surely have joined my comrades in death. A fate perhaps preferable to being scarred and left with the knowledge that I failed. And no death is worse than seeing, just before we flee to the dark woods bordering this settlement, the dwarves emerging from their mountainhome to eagerly strip away every possession the dead had left with them, showing not even a hint of respect for the foes they struck down without honor, from the safety of their miserable hole in the earth.

To this day, and every day hence, I can only pledge to ensure none of goblinkind dare forget what the boldest of our race faced against the monsters of FinderFortresses.