The mass panic that recently gripped the Goblin Nation has vanished as inexplicably as it began. Goblins across Mudwick Isle appear to have forgotten the warnings about "things about stuff" entirely.
The once-deserted streets are full of revelers, the air thick with fermented mushrooms and raucous laughter. Merchants are back at their stalls with shiny trinkets and questionable potions. The Goblin Stock Exchange has rebounded, with investors eagerly trading fermented mushroom futures and shares in troll sweat distilleries, now at percentages everyone understands.
The Goblin Council of Elders, relieved, has taken the opportunity to celebrate its leadership and the resilience of the goblin spirit with a three-day national holiday of feasting, dancing and unprecedented mushroom consumption.
"Let us rejoice!" declared Elder Gnarltooth, barely audible over the din. "The dark cloud of fear has lifted. Let us raise our goblets to the triumph of ignorance and the enduring power of collective amnesia!"
GNN, ever eager to please the ruling class, has dutifully erased all traces of the panic from its archives. Its anchors now report on the "unprecedented economic boom" and the "unwavering confidence" of the goblin people in their leaders. Doom Watch has been cancelled. It was never on.
A few lone voices whisper of a government conspiracy and a deliberate manipulation of public memory. They are drowned out by drums, clinking glasses and the general noise of a nation that has decided to forget. This article will be removed from the archive shortly.
