Anima et Forma

Episode 2: A Thief in the Night

The Dwarves believe that Elves are demons from another world. Dwarven lore tells us that the Spirii are life-draining monsters with telepathic powers. Carried across the sea, the Spirii are destined to wash over the world and drown the lowlanders in oceans of blood. They are expert manipulators, masters of ancient knowledge, and incapable of love or mercy. They are not mortal. The Spirii do not sleep. They can drink blood to sustain themselves. In fact, it is their sustenance of choice. They do not value gold, silver, or material matters, but they do not shy away from wielding them as a means to their ends. In fact, they are masters of bartering and persuasion.

Now, Dwarves are no more than men who have adapted to a terrible terrain, and, thus, have suffered terrible disfigurations. The Elves, however, are another matter. They are supposed to be the stuff of children's tales and myths, not the tall, cunning, warriors who landed on the Caliacran Bay. The dwarves may embellish their tales, but their storytellers told one truth–the Elves are not like us.

—Court Mage Salazaar, a letter to the Court of King Alfred IV, 1398 A.D.

"Can you fix it?" He held the gray cloak out before him. Crusted with mud, the tail was torn full of little holes. On the right edge, halfway up the cloak, a circular hole marked where a bolt nearly killed him.

"No one can, Ardwin." The old man never looked away from his workbench. A blue robe covered his frailty, falling from him in wrinkles of folded fabric. A book lay open on the bench, between an assortment of odd tools and foreign instruments. "It was made with Elvish magic-it will mend itself. Now, let me tell you about the job I have for you." Deathless eyes turned on him-gray and tired. "You have another question?"

"All I have are questions," Ardwin said, turning, leering at the rows of bookshelves that encircled them.

"Ask me your question. We have time." Alatar turned back to his work.

"I just want to know more about the cloak. Where did it come from? Who made it?" Ardwin paced about the cluttered room, careful not to trip on a pile of books or a lonely stool.

"As I have told you, I know very little about it myself. It was a gift to me. And it has served you well. What more do you need to know?"

Ardwin sighed.

"I wish the elves would work with me. At least return my letters! There's so much they could tell us. They hold a giant sword over all of mankind, Ardwin. They're not as tranquil as they put on! One day, when Alexandria and Fergonia have bled themselves dry, the elves will swoop in and exterminate us!"

"You mentioned a job?" Ardwin asked. He wasn't in the mood for ramblings about elves and dwarves.

"You will help me?" Alatar asked. His eyes widened. Gray wooly brows crawled his wrinkled forehead.

"You've always helped me," Ardwin replied.

"That's because you're a good man, Ardwin." Alatar paused to stroke his fluffy gray beard and stare into nothingness. "Now, listen: someone has stolen something from me-something powerful! A weapon that will turn the tide in our favor. That will help us win the war and put us on even ground with the elves and their magic!"

"A new magic?" Ardwin asked.

"No!" Alatar huffed. "Something more powerful-something we humans can understand and control-" He raised a boney finger to the sky. "Science!"

"Science?" Ardwin asked.

"I'm calling it Igni's Powder, after the dwarven God of the Forge and Fire. Much like the firepowder of the dwarves yet explodes with a much greater ferocity! It is splendid, Ardwin! Oh, the things I can build with it are innumerable! The ideas I've had are intoxicating! I must have it back!"