The Book of Dwarf
Technically, The Book of Dwarf does not exist. Its foundations are in mythology and its hall is shrouded in the mists of time. Almost all that we know of the famous book can be attributed to the dwarfish runt, Snurri the Scribbler who both penned and in part chiselled his account of the book as it was revealed to him in a dream.
Of course, Snurri never indicated how the dream came to him or indeed who it was who planted the dream upon him for, as we all know, dreams must have messengers and the integrity of the dream is firmly rooted in the character of their interlocutor. There are those, therefore, who consider the Scribblings of Snurri to be no more than the rantings of a runt dwarf under the influence of a little too much ale, at the best, or of brightly coloured mushrooms at the worst.
It is not the purpose of this account to comment on the possible strengths and weaknesses of the bona fides of the document. The sole purpose is to provide a report, warts and caitif sprites included, as a bargaining dwarfish merchant might put it.
What is therefore recounted is The Book, according to Snurri, together with a few other observations and pointers from a number of other disparate sources.