Deep within the mountains, far from civilization, an ancient power stirred restlessly, pulsing as it gathered strength to itself in drips and scraps, slowly gaining might for the day when it could make a bid for the place it knew rightfully belonged to it.
All along the mountain's slopes, strange creatures moved, gathering lesser creatures to carry back to the restive power's heart, that they might join the quest to help that power ascend to dominance. So far from civilizations of men and dwarves and elves, the mountain seemed the perfect place for gathering a secret army to conquer the world, the perfect fortress for the power to hide within while it grew.
Far away from that mountain, a strange beast, shaped as a lizard who had chosen to walk like a man, shook his reptilian head ruefully as he looked upon the bones and flower petals scattered before him. In a rasping, harshly accented form of the common language, he spoke to nothing in particular. "Thhiss iss nhot good... The ssleeperr uf the mountainss stirsss... It musst be stohpped..."
Gathering up the bones and petals, the lizard-creature stowed them into a crude pouch of woven hide, slung around his shoulders like a satchel, and picked up the spear lying next to him - unlike the crude leather, the spear was a ork of art, carefully shaped from the wood of a sacred tree and fitted with a spearhead made of carefully worked cold iron, and a bronze cap fitted the other end as a counterweight.
Looking behind himself at the marshlands which had been the home of him and his people for generations beyond counting, he slipped off through the trees, to find those the augury had spoken of...