Frankie, also known as Franklin the Ferocious, was pacing frantically back and forth within his cave. His hurried footsteps echoed off the stone walls despite the rubber soles of his tennis shoes. His cave, though it was quite spacious, didn't really look like a cave. The hollow room surrounding him was quite ornate. Intricate designs had been carved into the walls and floors. There were cubby holes and shelves built right into the walls just perfect for holding all of his potions and ingredients. His heavy leather-bound spell books felt right at home on these shelves. The grandeur of the room, however, was not reflected by the man within it. Frankie wore baggy jeans and an oversized hoodie. Not the typical attire of a magician by any means. Frankie was no ordinary magician. He was a lockpicking, animal loving, sneaky outlawed and clumsy magician. Not to mention that his home was actually stolen.

    Frankie’s found home was carved deep into the mountains by the skill of many dwarves. Dwarves who had long since abandoned their mountain home in search of safer places. Frankie didn't care where they went or when they might return. He also didn't care that much for safety. He was used to being watched and followed. This cold stone hole was the perfect place for him to carry out his sneaky and sinister plans. It was far enough away from everything to not be easily discovered by the wrong sort of people. But, not so far away that his furry friends couldn't find him.

     The sound of metal bits crashing onto the stone floor interrupted his thoughts. Ah. He had clumsily knocked over a pouch full of lockpicks in his haste to retrieve a large book from the shelf. Frankie strained under the weight of the ancient spell book in his hands. He heaved it onto the pedestal in the middle of the room. It landed with a massive thunk. An equally impressive cloud of dust filled the room as a result. Old cave plus old books equals lots of dust.

     A small rat let out a small sneeze from across the room. “Pull yourself together, Cookie,” Frankie snapped. He said this almost as if he were speaking it to himself as well as to the rat. “We can't afford to make mistakes. Everything we have depends on getting this exactly right.” He plucked up the rat and stroked its soft but tattered brown fur.

    “Cookie,” said Frankie, holding the rat in front of his own face and looking deep into its beady eyes. He held the rat so desperately close that he could smell the rotten banana peel it had been munching only moments before. Smelly breath is inevitable when your best friend is a rat. “Our moment has come. Soon we will be free to return to our rightful place in the kingdom. I will rise above the skills of my overbearing brother. When my powers exceed that of his there will be no one to stop us from practicing magic. We will be at peace. So long as the master has his prize, we will be allowed to live wherever we choose. No more running, or lockpicking, or hiding in the dark. Placing this curse on my brother means everything. Let us begin.”