Thal couldn’t remember exactly what happened that night, but he remembered the feeling of his mother’s hand clasped tightly around his wrist. He remembered her dragging him through the back of the house, a bundle under her other arm and tears in her eyes. He remembered the brightness of the flames, the smoke stinging his eyes and the sound of screaming as steel-clad men descended upon the town behind them. But what he remembered most clearly was his father. He remembered the intensity of his face, the uncharacteristic fear wavering in his voice and the rage in his eyes. Thal could still hear him yelling;

“I have to go back Tharmisa.”

He remembered his father hugging him, and the sight of him turning and running back toward the flames and the rising smoke. His mother’s hand tightened again around his wrist and away they went into the night.

---

The wand felt bulky and uncomfortable in his hand. He had practiced the correct grip and the intricate movements of the device a thousand times, but now they eluded him. The words, too, he must have spoken over a hundred times in practice, but this time their sounds and intonations seemed foreign to him. Upon his first utterance the little wand started coming to life; an energy, a warmth. It was a familiar sensation and a warmth he had felt many times before, but on this particular occasion it surprised him. He continued the incantation but, his concentration undermined, he mispronounced one of the words. The words were of an ancient and powerful tongue, and his lack of diligence offended them. The powers he was wielding grew angry, spiteful towards their careless master, and he could sense them slipping rapidly away from his control.

The familiar warmth that came from his wand grew into a stinging heat. The energy, fleeting yet infinite, was twisting the wand from his delicate, practiced grasp and scalding his hand. But he dare not let go. The spell was close to completion, and he had not the authority to belay it. As he hurried the finale of the incantation, the movements of his hand were disparate from those he had practiced again and again. He flung the wand outwards, as if to throw the spell away from himself. In a burst of fiery red light, an amber orb emerged; and erupted almost instantly upon leaving the wand. Fire sprayed in every direction, heat filled the room and the force of the explosion pushed the young mage onto his back.

The boy lying on the floor was a young wizard by the name of Thal. What he had intended to cast was an advanced form of the classic fireball spell. This variation would create a small orb that is fired rapidly towards its target before fracturing and exploding upon impact. Thal had chosen this spell in particular, as both its complexity and its power were to demonstrate his prowess in destructive magic to a group of judges, each an accomplished mage in their own right. Sitting up and looking past teams of assistants - now rushing to extinguish his work - Thal could also see a target dummy standing untouched at the other end of the room.

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A long silence followed, save only for the sizzle of fire extinguished by magic. His three judges each sat comfortably. Sitting in the middle was the oldest of the group. His chair scraped against the wooden floor as he stood up and in the silence it echoed off every corner of the chamber. He looked at the young Thal, paused, and asked;

“Will that be all?”

Thal could do nothing but stare back, dumbfounded.

“Well?” asked another of the senior mages; less patient than his superior. “Is there anything else you’d like to show us?”

“No sir, sorry sir” was all Thal uttered before retreating from the room.

“What was the boy’s name again?” asked the third mage; the only clean-shaven amongst the group.

“Cthalamus” replied the impatient one.

“Unusual name.”

“He’s an atmer, if you can believe it.” The clean-shaven mage hummed to himself.

“Oh, yes. I recall an atmer junior joining us four years back. A shame he won’t be around much longer.”

“Well we can’t take on apprentices because of a ‘shame’. He had his chance and he blew it. He’ll either have to pay for his tuition or leave. I won’t see the Caer College of Magics’ name dragged through the mud for something as silly as compassion.”

“Oh, agreed,” muttered the clean-shaven mage, “Just a shame, is all.”

The Atmere are a race of semi-aquatic humanoids. They look almost identical to humans, but they are tall, broad and lean, with bodies evolved for swimming. They are gifted with resilience to the elements, especially the cold water they swim in, and they possess an innate bond with the sea. However the most tell-tale characteristic of the Atmere are their infamous gills. These gills don’t actually allow an Atmer to stay underwater indefinitely, as many believe. For most Atmere, about thirty minutes is as long as they can stay submerged before having to surface and rely on their comparatively stronger lungs. Naturally, some are more gifted than others. One Atmer I met claimed he could stay submerged for four hours before returning to the surface. Then there are the Atmer of legend, characters in Atmere history who are said to have lived in the ocean for years before returning to dry land, although obviously my team and I were unable to verify such claims.

On the Anatomy and History of the Atmere race - George Aelbard