Changelings: faeries left in the place of a stolen Arcranian child, with the unique ability to morph into any humanoid form at will. Unlike spellcasting, this magical ability was innate, and did was not so taxing on the body's energy. Bridget was the name of the little girl the faeries had stolen away 28 years ago, and subsequently was the changeling Bridget's preferred form. Or, an interpretation of what the child may have looked like as an adult, that is. It was this ability, along with their strange blind-truth-seeing-eye spell, that allowed Bridget to take her place as ringmaster of the extended Arcranian criminal underground. That was the amount of information Altan managed to glean before his brain decided to resume being disturbed by their interactions and drown the rest out. Though admittedly the idea of a shape-changing partner was more than a little enticing to Altan, what gripped him more was how easily he had been deceived and quite frankly, been taken advantage of. Instead of taking it out on Bridget, however, or whatever sorry sap happened to look at him the wrong way, he decided that night tossing and turning on a scratchy inn bed that he quite simply did not know enough. He needed to learn more.
       Bridget had spent a majority of the evening prior gathering, likely through less than legal means, what ends they needed to continue their journey towards the capital. So in the morning when Bridget left to go secure them passage across the Kingsmeny Run by calling in a 'favour', Altan was happy to leave them alone and go make himself useful elsewhere. He was tasked with obtaining some preserved healing salves from a herbalists shop in the Eastern section of Guthram. The paste was apparently derived from some magical plant, and would make healing endeavours less taxing for The Prince. Equipped with only a small sac of stolen coins, it took Altan a good portion of the day to locate the squat green hut nestled behind a small grove of lush bushes bearing all kinds of flowers and berries. Their roots choked the small cobble stone path winding to a faded scarlet door, marked with weather-worn letters reading "Nurturing Nature". He stopped briefly to inspect a small cluster of little blue flowers that appeared to jiggle and dance, and then pushed inside the naturally-lit interior.
A little old woman as squat as the hut she resided in sat behind a counter strewn with various dried flowers and herbs and vials. Ivys dangled from pots hinged to the roof, and mosses grew in small glass bowls in the darkest corners of the store. Old damp shelves served as both scaffolding for much of the vegetation thriving in the moist interior as well as display cases for lines of jars and vessels marked with various names and prices. The woman, her silver hair pulled up into a loose messy bun, raised her head as a small bell tingled when Altan ducked through the door.
The valleys of her aging face shifted as she flashed a smile full of crooked teeth at him, "Welcome, darling. My name is Lynn, how may I be of service?"
Altan strode up to the front counter, producing the small satchel of coins and sliding them towards her. "I need some applications of... veillocke's grace." He stumbled over the pronunciation, having only heard it recited once that morning. He cleared his throat, "Just as much as this can buy."
Lynn nodded slowly with that same warm smile, moving at an agonizingly slow pace as she emptied the satchel, counted the coins one by one, scooped the coins away into a seperate jar, and then began fishing for the salves behind her desk. Altan tapped his foot impatiently the whole while, feeling constricted in the humid interior. His eyes trained on her knobby hands as she began to-slowly-produce small paper-wrapped packages tied with little bows of twine and pack them into a leather pouch. And so when her croaky voice broke the still atmosphere, it nearly made him jump.
"So, what form of magic do you specialize in?" She asked simply, never looking up from her task.
Altan hesitated. "I'm sorry?"
"What elements of magic pique your interest? I myself, as you may have been able to guess, focus on caring for my beauties. The wonderful and wild magic of nature."
Altan watched as she paused momentarily in her work to demonstrate, uttering a soft incantation and causing a small clay pot of dirt to suddenly sprout with a small green stem. The stem rapidly grew, before blossoming into a beautiful pink flower with petals that resembled the wings of a butterfly. It reminded him of when The Prince has manipulated the tall grass around them to cocoon them from sight.
"Oh, yes of course, uh..." he swallowed dryly, "well... I'm kind of good at... everything."
"Hah! Hahahaha!" The woman suddenly burst into a cackling laughter, hands clapping together, and Altan flushed. "I see you must specialize in comedy! Thank you, young one. It's not often strangers take the consideration to humour this old crone. Everybody knows that such a feat is near impossible, after all! In all my years, I have met few who could call upon more than 5 forms of magic, and never one who could adeptly yield more than 8."
"Hah, yes, yes, of cou-".
"Perhaps some of the more powerful dragon lineages could do so...." Lynn mused, scratching her chin, "but, no, I have not heard of such abilities since the elves." She resumed her task.
Altan perked up at this. Elves?
"Yes, elves." Lynn nodded, as apparently Altan's mouth had spoken the thought without his permission. She sat back on her stool, grey eyes turning to the heavens as she gathered her thoughts. "It's a shame the legend is no longer shared amongst the youth. When I was but a wee little child, my grandfather used to tell me a story of ages past.
"A long time ago, when the world of Arcrose was still connected to the land in which a non-magical race called humans come, it was common for humans and Arcranians to come together and have children. Though exceedingly rare, so rare you'd have a better chance of finding a marked grain of sand in the Chronoquil Desert, that child would inherit the spell casting ability of the Arcranian parent, and the overflowing energy of the human.
"We called them elves. Often tall, fit, and beautiful, they developed traits that had never before been seen. Most notably was their ability to weave magic and expend such massive amounts of energy it put every other magical entity to shame. Including dragons. They also tended to live much longer than both humans and Arcranians, had a natural talent for just about everything, and made the finest of warriors. They were superior in every way. Even the dragons, the most widely adored and powerful entities of this world, respected them.
"However, some began to use their abilities maliciously. One tyrannical elf, named Galrux, single handedly slaughtered half the Kings army in a day in an attempt to seize the throne before he was killed by another elf. The dragon king of that era, Rolrodoss, Protector of Creatures, saw the danger even a single elf could pose. He forbade the crossing of realms from that day forward. He commanded guards to be posted at every known fairy circle-basilisks, wyverns, you name it. As time passed, our races stopped attempting to travel, the elves went extinct, and slowly but surely our realms became each other's legends. There are rumours that the bloodline of elves still exists today, and that some still carry both the energy of humans and the ability to cast magic, perhaps in the human world. But there have been no reports of elves here for hundreds of years. Many doubt they ever even existed, if only because the scope of their power was fathomless."
       Altan listened attentively as the old shopkeeper spun her tale, and if it were to be believed, then something didn't quite add up. He was missing something. He turned the new information over in his head several times as Lynn resumed packing up the last of the salves, but gave up and resigned himself to figuring it out later. As he accepted the bundle presented to him, Altan decided to pursue a different line of thinking.
       "Then what about dwarves? Where did they come from?" When Lynn looked up at him with gangly furrowed brows, he elaborated, "You know, the short stocky people who live in big underground cities and caves. The ones obsessed with mining and gems and sculpting. All with these really thick accents, and big bushy beards."
         Lynn chuckled, pressing the tips of her fingers to her thin lips. "I see now, you are pulling my leg again! Yes, yes, I seem to recall they must come from pockets of lava nestled deep within the earth, incubating in large nests." She winked.
          Altan blinked, nodded gratefully, took the package, and left without another word.
         Lynn watched the door creak shut, a smile tickling her cheeks. "'Dwarves'... what a silly idea." She shook her head and returned to tending for her plants.