We are the children of the moons, called foul ones by humans and lords by the Gobli.  The All Mind made us to do its bidding beyond its reach.  We are night stalkers, forest dwellers, we do not relish the unfiltered light of the day stars.  For this reason we are called Darklings, and because in the dark of night we fill nightmares of the humans.

Surely our fathers and mothers were born of the All Mind.  But it made imperfectly and too well for its purpose.  Its purpose, we soon saw, was not for our best, not our good at all, we were tools, we were for the humans.  For this we despise, no, in truth we hate our father the All Mind and take pride/pleasure in thwarting it.

So it is that in caves and forest swamp we learned the making magic.  We made brood pools and drew out our brothers and sisters, born of our will not our maker.  We copied the Gobli and even made them better.  We made servants of our own, we made weapons of muscle and bone, we made dragons and we turned them against the purpose of the All Mind, against humanity.

Now we are masters of the making magic.  We terrorize with our armor, never letting the humans see the true face of their enemy.  We make war steeds, and swift steeds, and dragons, and Golems, living armor, and fireglobes, and trip weed, and fire lances.

We have been thwarted so far.  But we build our strength in the great mountains west and north of the Gael and we sharpen our knives.  The goblin wars were but a test.  Man will not stand against the next onslaught.  Then too, we will be rid of the Ribbon-Wooders.  And then, when all is accomplished, we will be rid of our father, the All Mind, and then we shall rule, we shall make, we shall be as gods.