It was well into the late afternoon; the sun hung low in the sky, shadows crept ever higher up the walls of corridors and classrooms and Hobse Mugwich was heading back to his office. It had been a long day spent explaining the arcane boundaries that defined abjuration magic to juniors no older than fourteen. He was exhausted but his thoughts turned to his favourite student; Thal. The young atmer had been under his instruction for years, and the gnome thought of him as one of his most promising students. But not an hour ago news had reached him of Thal’s performance in the demonstration. Hobse would have readily taken the boy on for an apprenticeship already, but college rules would not allow it. The boy had to demonstrate his abilities within a chosen speciality before a panel of senior mages. Those with merit would be permitted to apprentice under a senior mage if – and only if – the senior mage wished it. Hobse wished it of Thal, naturally. He saw a great potential there. But based on the description Hobse overheard of the trial, being awarded merit was an unlikely outcome. Hushed colleagues’ voices saying “dangerous young man”, “lucky he didn’t kill himself” and “most of the furnishings had to be thrown out” still echoed in his head as Hobse walked through the door of his office to see, as he expected, a young atmer slumped in a chair in front of his desk.

The first thing you must understand about magic is its origin (referring naturally to Arcane magics, and not those of a clerical or divine sort). Magic in the style we practice is, of course, Draconic in nature. This magic was first developed millennia ago by the Elves; they were the ones to engage in study of the Dragons of old. There have always been individuals from all of the humanoid species who possess an affinity for the arcane. But it was the Elves who discovered that - by studying the Dragons - their arcane techniques could be duplicated, and their mysterious powers mastered.

On the History of the Arcane - Gauwill Cyne, Master Wizard

Gnomes live long lives and Hobse was no exception; Thal didn’t know for sure but he would estimate his teacher to be between three and four hundred years old. He stood around two and a half feet tall, typical for a gnome, and sported long white hair and a longer white beard that reached down to his belly. He usually wore a plain robe; either grey or brown depending on whether it was an odd or even day. A slightly pointed hat of the same colour and his favourite pair of reading glasses completed the ensemble.

“I’m sorry, my boy. Truly I am,” began Hobse. “I heard about your trial, I really don’t know what to say.”

Neither do I. Thal didn’t say anything, just opened up his right hand to reveal the scorch marks gifted to him by his own wand.

“Let me fix that for you.” said the gnome reflexively as he set about fetching the bandages from their usual spot in his top drawer, and readying a spell of convalescence.

As the pain in his hand numbed, Thal’s mind returned to his now uncertain future.

“What do I do now, Hobse?”

“Honestly, I don’t know lad.”

In silence Hobse focused on the bandage-work in front of him while Thal contemplated his increasingly bleak future.

“Well. I do have one idea. I’m not certain about anything yet, mind you. And it may take some time.”

“Time for what?”

“Nothing certain. Not yet, anyway. For now you should find work in the city, support your mother. If what I’m hoping will happen, happens, then I’ll send for you.”

“What are you hoping will happen?”

“I shouldn’t tell you just yet.”

“Hobse?”

“You really should be heading home now. I’m sure your mother will have plenty of questions for you, and it seems you’ll have some explaining to do.”

He raised the atmer’s palm meaningfully, which he was still fixing bandages around.

“Fine” Thal acquiesced.

He knew his teacher too well to expect the old gnome to share any more than he planned to. Hobse finished with the bandages quickly - it was not his first time - and the atmer rose from the chair to twice the gnome’s height and then some.

“But as soon as you hear anything, you have to let me know” Thal called as he gathered his things. He paused before leaving. “Goodbye, Hobse. Thanks for everything.”

“Oh, don’t be such a twit. Saying goodbyes like that, honestly. One would think you were dying. I’ll see you soon, Thal.”

In spite of his circumstance the young atmer couldn’t help but smile a little.

“See you soon, Hobse.”

The Caer College of Magics in Berrus has been standing for as long as there has been a Berrus for it to stand in. The impressive construction, originally named Castle Vier, served as estate for the Lord of the Berrus region. Following the annexation of the territory some 600 years ago, the Castle was purchased by the powerful wizard Vyncent Caer. Over the course of his lifetime, the wizard developed the former manor into the renowned arcane institution it is today.

The Colleges of the Altoman Empire - Anfor Haine

Thal was contemplative as he made his way out. For four years he had walked every corridor, sat in every classroom and taken lectures from every wizard at the Caer College of Magics. Today marked the first time he had felt unwelcome within its walls. The feeling was jarring, and Thal quickened his pace. The route from Hobse’s classroom to the entrance hall he knew very well. The facade of the building was striking; a masterpiece of carved dark-grey stone with tall, narrow windows bordered by arcs and spires gave the building a powerful and sharp appearance. Walking out of the heavy, iron-strapped oak doors Thal descended several stairs into a courtyard; an open space of weathered flagstones enclosed on two sides by the east and west wings. In the centre sat a massive fountain; the centrepiece of which was a large statue of a bird-of-prey Thal suspected was some species of falcon – though one he did not recognise – in mid-flight. Sitting on the lip of the fountain, back-to-back with the falcon, a young half-elf was waiting.

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He was tall like most other half-elves, he had straight, dirty-blonde hair that fell just past his face, slightly pointed ears and fair, gentle features. He was wearing a simple navy-blue robe typical of junior mages within the College – Thal had one on himself. The half-elf’s name was Estos, and he was Thal’s closest friend. He recognised Thal and called out;

“Hey! I was just leaving. Mind if I walk with you?”

Thal knew for a certainty he had been waiting for at least thirty minutes.

“Sure. I’d be glad for the company.”

Estos and Thal had been attending Caer together ever since the two of them started out four years ago. Being of close age, Estos had also taken part in a trial that day. Thal assumed his friend had won merit with the same aplomb he carried with him in all such undertakings. Had he broken some college record in the process, Thal would not have been the least surprised. He asked how it went anyway, wanting to hear the story.

“It turned out okay. Master-wizard Reyne agreed to take me on as an apprentice. It wasn’t what I demonstrated, but I guess I’m going to be specialising in Conjuration for the foreseeable future.”

“Master-wizard Reyne?”

Being taken on by a master wizard didn’t happen to everyone, and Thal congratulated his friend sincerely.

“I heard about your trial. I’m sorry, Thal. It was always going to be risky trying to impress them with destructive magic. You know how the college is trying to distance themselves from all that right now.” They’re being pressured to churn out war-mages and they don’t want to turn the College into a barracks. Understandable.

“I think that today, maybe I wasn’t a victim of politics. I did set most of a practice-hall on fire. And some of myself” Thal explained as raised a bandaged hand.

Estos had been alarmed the first couple of times Thal had turned up with such injuries. Now, years into their friendship, Estos just laughed at the familiar bandage-work around his friend’s palm.

“What did Hobse say?”

“Well, he has a…” Plan is definitely too strong a word. “He has a something. He didn’t elaborate.”

Estos simply nodded. After all he had met Hobse, too.

“And what about your mother? What are you going to tell her?”

Thal didn’t have an answer for that question yet, so he changed the subject. The pair continued to walk and converse, reminiscing about shared experiences and simpler times, ambling long past where they would normally part ways. The two agreed to remaining in contact as often as circumstance permitted, said goodbye and then walked in the actual directions of their respective homes.

The sun was setting; the fiercely hot summer air grew calmer, riding on a light evening breeze, and the flagstone-paved streets were painted gold by the red-orange sky. Most of the city dwellers were going home and music could be heard through the windows of a local tavern. In the middle of this scene there was a narrow shopfront. A wooden sign swung overhead that read “Tharmisa’s Cauldron”. It was Thal’s mother’s shop and the Allaris family home. The hardwood door whined as Thal pushed it open and went inside.

Behind the counter stood a tall woman. Dark-brown, somewhat curly hair would fit in anywhere, but her watery-pale skin and green eyes set her apart from most Altoman women. She had an athletic build, strong features and small gills on either side of neck. She was the only other atmer Thal knew; Tharmisa Allaris, his mother.

“Thal! How was your trial?” she called from behind the counter.

Thal mumbled something quietly as he slid past the counter to their family’s living space. As he did so he heard a voice inside his head; a dull echo as though spoken by someone underwater, but it was definitely his mother’s voice.

“Your hand, Thal. What happened?”

Tharmisa had always had sharp eyes, not a quality children value in their parents. Fortunately Tharmisa could not hear Thal’s thoughts, only project hers into his head. It was a thing all Atmere could do, but Tharmisa had told him it was a rare gift to be able to do it outside of a body of water.

“I’m fine” Thal murmured as he ascended the stairs.

Of the several unique physiological fundaments of the Atmere race, perhaps none is more allusive in origin than their so called “telepathy”. It is not a telepathic link in the traditional sense, as no spell is cast and, as far as I can tell, it is not arcane or divine in nature. There is another insight I have gained which, as far as I am aware, has not been previously published; the link only occurs when all parties are fully submerged. That is to say, it can only be done underwater. With some deliberation I have concluded that the Atmere telepathy is an ability developed in accordance with the habitat of the Atmer. At some point in time perhaps a millennia ago, the need for communication underwater led to the forming of this most curious ability. Whether the link is only possible in salt water, or can also be performed in fresh water I was unable to ascertain, as none of the Atmere I met were willing to take part in the necessary experiments.

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

In the solitude of his bedchamber, Thal sat on the mattress on the floor and cast his eyes around his modest space. The furnishings were sparse, and what he had was second hand and mismatched. But the room was bursting with annals, tomes, codex’s, folios and scrolls, grouped onto flimsy shelves on every wall and scattered in piles covering every surface. Between the papers, he spotted himself in a small mirror set against the wall. He saw the bandages on his hand and his mind returned to the trial. He poured over every detail, searching in his mind for the exact moment when he lost control of the spell. He found it, and buried his face in his hands.

The young mage allowed himself only a moment of self-pity before he returned his gaze to the mirror, this time taking a long look at himself. Being eighteen years old, he had changed a lot over the last several years. He had grown taller - of course - and recently muscles had started to come about, particularly around his shoulders. His mother told him this was typical of Atmere men. She talked of them being born swimmers, though he could not recall the last time he had been in more than a bathtub full of water. His eyes moved from his shoulders up to his neck where, like his mother, he sported a small set of gills on either side. He opened the top drawer of the desk beside his bed and pulled out a small ring. It had a thick band; silver carved with the shapes of waves and in the centre was laid a rectangular onyx gem, flat and wide with rounded corners. It was his father’s ring. He started to slip the ring over the middle finger of his right hand, but stopped when he saw the bandages. It didn’t feel right to wear it now. He quickly returned the ring to its place in the drawer.

That evening Tharmisa had prepared a generous meal of roasted bass and sea carrots. Classic Atmere cuisine; the ingredients were not easy to come by in Berrus, as far from the sea as it was. Nor were they cheap. She had bought them under an assumed cause for celebration. Thal knew she would be fully aware of how things had actually turned out. Nevertheless he described the events of the trial to her anyway, and confirmed her fear that he would be unable to return to the College.

“I’m so sorry, Thal” she consoled, “Whatever will you do now?”

“Honestly I have no clue. Hobse said something about an idea he had for me, but he didn’t go into any specifics. Or any generics. He didn’t really say anything.”

Tharmisa’s brow slanted. She did not share her son’s unconditional faith in the gnome.

“If you want, you can help me more around the shop? It’ll be like a small job. It’s not wizardry, but I can put money in your pocket.”

Thal knew that the amount of business they received hardly required even one person to manage. But he was grateful to have something to do.

“I’d be happy to help. Thanks, mum.”

It’s been weeks since we ran away. Ran from our home and from my husband. We waited in the town of Kaestead for as long as we could; searching for news of other Atmere who made it out, news of Argenos. But we heard nothing. We couldn’t hide in Kaestead for ever and we can’t remain in Aren. Soon young Thal will be a man and he’ll be sought for. I cannot let that happen, I will not lose my son as well. Not to someone else’s war. We can’t return to the Isles with our name, so we’ve found passage on a ship to the Altoman Empire. In a few days we’ll make port and find a new life. It’s the least I can do for young Cthalamus. I hope one day he can forgive me this terrible journey.

Diary excerpt - Tharmisa Allaris