A wave of dwarven emissaries has swept across the Goblin Nation armed with scrolls, tomes and an apparently bottomless supply of unsolicited advice. They have set up lecture halls in town squares, offering talks on metallurgy, accounting and the correct way to trim a beard, a subject most goblins do not need.
The goblins are not buying it.
"What do those bearded bookworms know about real life?" said Grungle Gristle, freelancing for GNN and a proud advocate of goblin intuition. "They've been holed up in musty mines for 800 years while we've been out here battling trolls, brewing mushroom juice and mastering the prank."
Goblin scholars concede the dwarves know a thing or two. "Mining, forging, fine," said Professor Gnarlbrain. "But what do they know about surviving a dragon, navigating a labyrinth or outsmarting a rival tribe?"
The emissaries are undeterred. "We come in peace, bearing the gift of enlightenment," one announced through a megaphone carved from a hollowed-out stalactite. "Embrace our wisdom and together we will build a brighter future!"
"We don't need their fancy book learning," replied Elder Gnarltooth of the Goblin Council of Elders. "We have our own traditions, passed down through generations of goblins. Mostly about pranks."
GNN advises goblins to approach dwarven emissaries with caution and keep a firm grip on their mushroom juice. The emissaries have started handing out pamphlets on proper grip.
