Before Þýdal knew how near the war had come, a small party went toward Hearthforge to learn whether anything remained in the old dwarven halls. The road took them through Nóttsmýrr, the wet and watchful territory of Nótt the Swamp Hag. They did not pass her home as enemies. The meeting was uneasy, but it became an alliance of necessity, the sort made when everyone can feel a worse danger moving beyond the trees.
Near Hearthforge, the truth became impossible to mistake. Goblins, orcs, and giants had gathered in numbers large enough to threaten every settlement downriver. War machines stood in the camp, many nearly ready for the march. The party had not found ruins to explore. They had found an army preparing to move.
One artificer chose speed over survival. He ran into the encampment and turned his craft against the horde's machines, damaging or destroying enough of them to delay the march. The explosion and chaos gave the others a chance to flee, but a goblin and orc patrol had already seen too much. Most of the party was lost in the pursuit.
Amelia Frodedottir survived. Badly wounded, she dragged herself back to Þýdal with the news no one wanted to hear: Hearthforge had fallen into enemy hands, and the horde would soon be on the road. Her warning did not save Þýdal from attack, but it saved the village from being surprised in its sleep.
The sacrifice at Hearthforge bought time. Amelia's return gave that time meaning.