100 Words a Day 530

The mines were vacant. The fires burned low; no bellows stoked them. The sound of hammer on anvil was a drizzle where normally it was a torrent. The mountain kings had assembled all their subjects and slaves in the great halls. The goblinkin were dressed in the finest they could muster. Most had backs bowed by grueling labor, but here and there those could be seen standing tall with proud chests. It was the day of their emancipation. Generations of goblins had toiled to fulfill the contract that saved their race and now days of sweat were at an end.