The crisis had erupted two days ago. Now, hunched over a table of extinct wood, I reviewed my options. The first part of the plan had been a complete success. In less than two months, we recruited ten percent of the population—most of them pathetic humans with little magic. Yet those small amounts were enough to gather all the magic we used for exhibitions in other towns and cities. Then began the arrival of those we were waiting for: greedy warriors, eager to belong to our alliance. The so-called Blood Elves were excluded for two reasons:
They did not generate power, so even with the tattoos, we would only get worn-out, low-quality scrolls from them.
We had to distance ourselves from them. Over the centuries they had lived here, they had lost the pride proper to our superior race. They humiliated themselves, feeling great because of their money and what they could obtain. So if we sought to be something different—acceptable to society—they had to be outside our ranks.
The humans with potential gave us much magic—so much that most of my guards were seen on the streets sporting halos of fire or moonlight, as if we still lived in the halls of the king's palace in Greenleaf. This filled our soul stone reserves to capacity. We began to go on expeditions to gather smithing or leatherworking materials, because we had to offer not only power but also rewards for their obedience.
The various guilds affiliated with the alliance. Here on the coast, before everyone, the alliance flag waved with an elegance only achieved by a touch of magic. At its center was the king's staff—an enormous sphere, a soul gem so exquisite we had to destroy the mine it came from so only that quality would be present in it. To the right was the Redcap guild, with its stupid logo—intimidating according to them, but who could fear a red cloak embroidered with an explosion about to happen? To the left were the only ones recognized by us—the others we despised, as suited me—the "formidable" humans trained little by little by our skills: a raised black fist intended to show their worth. The Blackcaps did not come from a village on the mountain's edge, but they were almost ready. They were powerful, and the amount of magic they provided was impressive. Yet we took almost nothing from them; we needed them intact for what I had in mind. At the very bottom, a withered tree with few leaves—those were our brothers, the Forest Elves.
We had pursued them for many kilometers through the forest. From what I understood, the Blood Elves had given them a couple of bitter experiences. When I finally contacted their elders, they agreed to belong to our alliance. The reason for having them was the same as for pushing away the Blood Elves. Forest Elves were useful hunters, but they had no attack power, magical ability, or intelligence. They only existed to show that this was an inclusive alliance. For the moment, that was what was most convenient—or at least it seemed so.
This afternoon, the largest recruitment centers—located in the city of that weakling Whitecap, leader of his guild and the only one who did not accept joining the alliance but remained neutral toward it—arrived. From there came the greatest number of recruits, of magic. But not this time. They arrived with some brats for whom any weapon represented greater danger to themselves than to any enemy. To this cannon fodder, we gave a sword and a bronze shield. They would always be the ones receiving the frontal attack in raid battles. If they did not die after their first mission, they could be trained and become a group of warriors moderately useful to my interests. The recruiters handed me the stones once those simpletons left. But there was nothing there—not a single drop of magic. Nothing.
Furious, I accused the greedy ones. Surely they had spent the resources on some stupid exhibition! Confused, they assured me they had touched nothing. But then the recruiters from Bloody Coin arrived, and they came well loaded with magic. I called the guards to imprison these slackers. But then representatives from other cities arrived, and it became clear something was wrong. None of the stones from twenty-five small and medium towns contributed any magic. I stayed awake past midnight, trying to understand what had happened. It could only mean the tattoos had not worked. But if that were the case, no city should bring charged stones—yet the ten cities under the Redcaps' protection showed no problems. I decided, therefore, that I had to go to that city to find out what was happening.
Arriving at the city, I could only marvel at the garbage they called the "White City." I could perfectly see how all the filth was absorbed around the magical field. It condensed it and, through channels, expelled it into organized pools on the outside. I remembered that its clear, milky color was only perceptible from outside. But upon entering, my eyes still saw a bit blurred—as I imagine the inferiors must feel faced with their problems. I took out a stone. I needed to make an exhibition, to call the recruits within its gates, to have them gathered so I could see firsthand how the runes functioned. I concentrated on achieving a deep, smooth voice, and called all the users of those commercial plazas to dictate new missions. A bit of knotted leather for hunters, some reptile scales and insect shells for superior power armor. Normally, I paid with some minor weapons from our arsenal. Yet instead of my harmonious voice traveling across the terrain, it was heard normally—a slightly shrill voice, typical of my species. Looking at the crystal, I noticed it was still charged, but no magic entered or left. Then, in the field, an image appeared. It was that Whitecap, like an old man—despite his ridiculous age of fifty—greeting all the townspeople. He announced that from now on, the city declared hostility toward the alliance. As individuals, all people were welcome for smithing and restaurants, but the alliance's missions were not those of the Whitecaps. He added that the dwarves had worked to offer exclusive weapons to those who were honorable to their people and to the villages belonging to the guild... Son of a whore! Was he declaring war on me? With the power I represented... the power I represented outside the field? Hmm, cunning. I would go see him, coerce him. I would not let an old man decide about our source of magic. Damn Whitecap.