"As I observe the stars peeking through the inky cloak of the Eldorian sky, a thought lingers in my mind, haunting me with its quiet truth. 'What breaks your heart has nothing to do with you.' How strange and painfully apt these words seem now. As I sit here, in the stillness of the night, the Marley wheat swaying gently in the moon's glow, I find myself wrestling with this notion. I have seen the suffering of our land, the despair in the eyes of the common folk, the greed that festers in the hearts of those in power. And every fiber of my being aches to mend what is broken, to right the wrongs that plague Eldoria. Yet, the more I dwell on this, the more I realize that the source of my heartache, these injustices and sorrows, are not born of my own doing. I am but a humble farmer's son, turned mage by fate's whimsical hand. I've always believed that my magic, my very existence, was meant to serve a greater purpose, to be the salve to the wounds of this world. But tonight, I am reminded that the woes of Eldoria were not wrought by my hands, nor are they mine to bear alone. Yet, this realization does not ease my burden, nor quell the fire that burns within me. Perhaps it is not about ownership of the world's pains, but about our response to them. Maybe the true measure of one's character is not in preventing heartbreak but in choosing to stand against it, even when it is not of our making. The Sable Quill, my companions, we've all been touched by the world's unkindness in ways more personal than we dare to admit. But together, we have chosen to face these shadows, not because we are responsible for them, but because our hearts refuse to remain idle in the face of suffering. As I lay down and close my eyes, the words echo again in my mind, a solemn reminder of the path I've chosen. 'What breaks your heart has nothing to do with you.' Perhaps not, but what I do about it, that has everything to do with me."

-Althoral Marley, Mage of the Jeweled City

Chapter 1: Wheat and Chaff

Few homes were more ordinary than the little cottage under the Hickumee tree in Dunin. Situated to the east of the Jewel city of Eldara known as Erendor, this quaint peaceful settlement served as home to a farming community that specialized in the crop known to most as Marley wheat. Unlike yellow wheat, Marley wheat had a particular property that made it popular amongst bakers all across the continent of Eldoria, that is Marley wheat changed color naturally at different temperatures. So a skillful baker with a precise furnace could create wondrous baked goods that feast for all the senses. Althoral Marley tended the fields for his Father Theodore, and was for the most part a reliable and steady field hand, save his propensity to let his mind wander into the many enchanting ways of the world.

Althoral sat cross-legged on the threshing floor picking through the sticky chromatic vibrance of today’s Marley Straw harvest. His weathered and wise hands transcended the mundane act into a delicate art. Pressing, shaking, and pulling until each precious kernel was freed from its husky cocoon and with a deliberate reverence he discarded each bit of straw to be later used for bedding in the chicken coop, its life as a protector of its kernel having come to an end. There was a machine their family had purchased to make this work much lighter, and more efficient and his Father preferred he use the machine because the trips to market would prove more fruitful during the harvest times. Althoral, however, the meticulous oddball found fascination in the finest details of nature, art, and people.  

"The boy's head needs to be checked, he isn't right" croaked old man Tyrell, he was the Marley’s nearest neighbor, "He once told me I was plowing my fields wrong, said I was missing the hidden lines and I should slow down and let the earth tell me which way to plow". Theodore just sighed and offered a chuckle of acknowledgment, "Althoral, can be a bit eccentric, yes, but the boy is truly brilliant, he was only 7 years old when he discovered how to cultivate Marley wheat, it changed our family’s lives forever. I admit I could do with harvesting a bit more each year, but even the meager hauls we take to market always fetch enough coin to give us a plentiful winter. “Ahhh I still say he needs to be checked” grumbled Tyrell, and he shuffled off down the road toward his home. With Tyrell’s departure, Theodore sat up in his chair, to admire the midday skyline of “East Village”. This peaceful moment was interrupted by the smell of smoke and a commotion rising from the family’s barn. Theodore leaped to his feet and broke into a sprint for the well, as the cries continued to ring out from the smoking barn. 

Theodore quickly drew two large pales and yoked them on his shoulder, taking up a much more deliberate shuffle toward the barn. He arrived quickly and began spreading the water at the base of the flames attempting to engulf the barn and the precious Marley wheat within, Althoral was sitting at the center of the threshing floor tears flowing down his cheeks, both hands being licked by bright flames as he shook them violently attempting to extinguish the apparent source of this disaster. Theodore moved quickly to put out the burning barn, splashing water across the threshing floor. Once the flames subsided he rushed over to Althoral wrapping him in a soothing bear hug, whispering to the young man, “Calm Al, Calm” Althoral buried his head in his father’s chest and continued to sob in confusion. Not thinking, he returned the hug to his father, and the act was met with a scream from Theodore as the man’s back and clothing burst into flames. Theodore clenched his jaw, his back sizzling in searing pain, resisting the urge to throw his son to the ground in anguish and disgust. Hearing his father’s cry out in pain, Althoral released his father and pulled away, the two locked eyes, Althoral’s face filled with embarrassment and regret, dropped his head and ran out of the barn toward the well, seeking a source to quench the chaotic flames.

Al awoke a bit later that day to his mother Anne at his bedside, she was ringing out a damp cloth into a water basin. His father Theodore stood at the door with concern on his face, he sighed and forced a smile as he watched his son sit up. “How are you feeling my son”, Theodore asked, Althoral simply returned a strained smile, and his mother Anne, covering her mouth, sobbed softly, stood and left the room with the water basin. Theodore sat down beside the bed and took his son's hands, which had been wrapped in the damp cloth. “Am I going away now?” Althoral asked his father, “Is that what you want? To go away.” Theodore replied softly. “I want to help, not hurt” Althoral began, his voice cracking, “I want to create and save, but I don’t understand the power that I was blessed with.”. Theodore, a simple man, having no answer to offer his troubled son, turned to look out the window. “You know, being alive is hard,” Theodore said staring out at the dawn horizon, “you are either afraid because you are too weak, cruel because you are too powerful, or in very rare cases, afraid because you are magnificent”. Turning back to face Althoral again, Theodore leaned in and hugged Althoral, “You are magnificent, Al, a true wonder of this world”, he placed his hands on both sides of his young son’s face and stared deep into his eyes, “People will fear you, try to use you and hate you, but never forget that how you use what you are given is always your choice”.  The two shared a tearful embrace that lasted the next few moments, Althoral eventually fell asleep in his father’s arms.

The next morning,  Theodore had loaded up his best horse with a new set of shoes and enough provisions for a few days' journey. Althoral emerged from through the front door of their modest home with his backpack and bedroll and a small pouch of gold at his side. “Alright, Charlie is all set, been fed and cleaned, got a fresh set of shoes, all saddled up with plenty for him to eat along the way”. Althoral walked down the stairs to his father, his mother Anne following behind him. “I think I’m ready as well Papa, looks like I will have some pretty good weather for the journey”. HIs mother embraced him one final time and placed an apple in his hand, “Take good care of my son, you hear me?”, she said with a single tear rolling down her cheek. “Yes Ma’am, I will do my best” Althoral responded, he wiped a tear from his mother’s cheek and wrapped her in a tight embrace. Managing to bite back tears of his own, Althoral turned away from his parents and mounted his horse, he took the western road out of the town and began his journey to the Jewel of Eldoria, a city known as Erendor.

“There is no place in the realm I thought I’d know better than the threshing floor of my family’s barn. As a child I spent every conscious moment there finding new ways to create anxiety in my mother. Little did I know 10 years of chaotic play in the barn would be dwarfed by the effective decades I would spend entranced by the thousands of books available within the Library of the Erendor Academy for Adventurers. I would spend hours studying the intricacies of arcane formulas, enriching my worldliness with the wisdom of bards from all across Aethoria, some of them providing more substance than others. My favorite by far is Knuppaneg Havenleaf, the gnomish lore keeper of the Kingdom of Valora, their histories always fascinate me, magical, mysterious, magically mysterious. His most famous tale was the 'The Whispering Woods,' a tale that always held me captive with its blend of intrigue and foreboding. Knuppaneg described a forest so dense and alive with magic that it was said the trees themselves would whisper secrets of the past, present, and future to those who dared to listen. But the tale wasn't just an enchanting story; it was a reminder of the delicate balance between knowledge and power, and the responsibility that comes with wielding both. As I reflect on these stories, I realize how much they have shaped me. The whimsical narratives weren’t just idle distractions; they were lessons in disguise, guiding principles for a fledgling mage like myself. The tales of Knuppaneg, and many others, have been more than mere words on a page; they have been my mentors, my inspiration, and at times, my solace. Yet, as I sit here in the quiet of the night, the echo of my mother's laughter mingling with the rustling pages of my memories, I can't help but feel a pang of longing. For as much as the Academy has been my haven, the barn, with its chaotic charm and the simplicity of a life once lived, holds a piece of my soul that no amount of learning can replace. In my heart, I carry the threshing floor's earthy scent and the weight of ancient tomes alike, a reminder of where I have been and the vast, uncharted terrains of knowledge and adventure that lay before me. Tonight, as I close this diary, I am not just Althoral, the mage, but Althoral, the eternal student of life, eager to see what mysteries the morrow will unfold.”

- Althoral Marley, Archmage of the City of Erendor

Chapter 2: Erendor Academy

Althoral stood at the gates of the Erendor Academy, his heart pounding with a mixture of awe and trepidation. The early morning sun cast a golden hue over the towering spires and ancient stone walls of the academy, making them shimmer like jewels against the clear blue sky. All around him, the air buzzed with the chatter and laughter of students, a vibrant tapestry of the young and ambitious. Clutching the straps of his worn leather satchel, Althoral took a deep breath and stepped forward. He couldn't help but feel out of place, his simple farmer's attire starkly contrasting with the elegant robes and fashionable outfits of his peers. As he walked through the throng of students, he caught snippets of conversations filled with terms and references that were foreign to him. Trying to shake off the feeling of being an outsider, Althoral reminded himself why he was here – to learn, to grow, and to master the strange powers that had awakened within him. But the awe-inspiring environment of the academy, so different from the open fields and quiet nights of his home, made him question his place in this new world.

As he made his way to the main hall, a group of students passed by, their laughter a little too loud, their glances a little too pointed. One of them, a tall boy with an air of self-importance, eyed Althoral's simple clothes and snickered, "Looks like the harvest came to us this year." The words stung, and a flush of embarrassment crept up Althoral's neck. He quickened his pace, eager to escape the judgmental eyes. But as he did, he caught a brief, sympathetic look from a girl with bright green eyes. She opened her mouth as if to say something but was quickly pulled away by her friends.

Althoral reached the main hall, a vast chamber with high ceilings and walls lined with portraits of distinguished mages and scholars. He felt a surge of excitement – this was where he would learn the secrets of the arcane, where he would harness the mysterious power that burned within him. Finding a quiet corner, Althoral pulled out a small, weathered book – a gift from his father, filled with notes and observations about farming. He ran his fingers over the pages, each smudge and crease a reminder of where he came from. He sat for a few moments thinking about his father and mother – about how much he missed them, then he straightened in his stance, took a final look at the small book and tucked it away. As the bell chimed, signaling the start of the day, Althoral closed the book and tucked it away. It was time to face this new world, to embrace the challenges and opportunities that lay ahead. With a determined step, he joined the flow of students heading to their first class, the words of his father echoing in his mind.

A booming voice echoed from behind a large canvas hung in the front of the classroom, emerging from behind it was a nearly 7-foot tall silver scaled bi-pedal man with distinctly dragon-like features. “Welcome to Introductory Arcanum, in this course we will learn all your mind can contain the history and mystery of ‘The Weave’.”  Said the dragon-man, “I am Arcanist Ildrez Rambunne, but all of you may refer to me simply as Mr. R” The entire population of the class was silent. Althoral, enchanted by the draconic nature of the man, raised his hand slowly his mouth agape, and said “Um, Mr. Sir... Mr. R sir, do you breathe fire?” The classroom burst into roaring laughter, each row mimicking Althoral’s mannerisms and mocking his honest inquiry.

"Looks like we got ourselves a mumbler," said another student. He was tall and thin with long brown hair tied neatly in a ponytail behind his head. His eyes were piercing emerald bulbs set perfectly upon a smirking slender face, that was an attractive green-ish hue. The boy was wearing what looked to be the most exquisite formal jacket and pants, the jacket inlaid with golden stripes and flowery filigree, with a golden pocket watch chain hanging from his right breast pocket. He leaned back in his chair and smiled as the laughter swelled into a raucous frenzy. “Alright, that’s quite enough” bellowed Rambunne, “the question is not surely so strange” he queried to the class, as their jeers fell to a hush, “I have heard in my years many odd questions” he stated looking around the room. “However –  I want to teach you this semester how to question the world, with an honest heart and curious mind” he locked eyes with Althoral, “A skill you seem uniquely poised to master, Mr. Marley”.

The attention on Althoral turned from mocking disapproval to annoyed scoffs. Most students would have the matter-of-fact declaration of their professor to be a nuisance, but Althoral smiled and embraced the idea of mastering curiosity. He saw the world, and himself for that matter as a beautiful enigma to be explored and understood more each day. Just then a female student spoke up and broke the murmurs that had filled the space of the classroom, "How can a heart be honest? It is flesh, not conscious or thoughtful, so it cannot by reason be either truthful or untruthful." A wide smile grew across Mr. R's scaled face, exposing a gleaming set of vicious-looking teeth tucked neatly into his silver reptilian maw. "Ahhh, Miss Rinmire, an excellent question, how indeed can a heart be honest."  He began to walk the classroom and look at each student, studying their countenances as they pondered this question together. Then stopping at the back of the class he opened his mouth and unleashed a crackling bolt of lightning toward the front of the class where it eventually found purchase upon a large round silver globe that sat atop a tall metal rod. The students all flinched and gasped, some of them ducking beneath their desks for a moment seeking safety. Mr. R steepled his hands in front of him and said, "A heart, in the manner I am speaking is more like, a compass, not a fleshy beating thing thumping away in our chests." He walked over to reach a hand toward a student who had dove under their desk, "So, what happens to you when your compass begins to lie? Is it any good? I would think it useless at best and at worst a danger that might lead you to ruin." he continued, walking forward and stopping beside Althoral again. Looking down at the young man he became serious and said, "An even greater danger is the heart that leads a curious mind astray, the greatest threats to our realm hold that combination in common."

After Mr. R's lesson, the class remained silent, pondering the profound implications of his words. Althoral, still feeling the weight of the dragon-man's gaze, realized this was no ordinary school lesson; it was a challenge to see the world through a lens of endless possibilities and questions. As the students filed out of the classroom, still buzzing from the display of power and the depth of the discussion, Althoral lingered. He approached Mr. R, who was gathering his scrolls and artifacts. "Mr. R," Althoral began, hesitantly, "Thank you for today. I... I've never seen magic used with such skill and intention." Mr. R looked down at him, his silver eyes gleaming with an unreadable expression. "Magic, Mr. Marley, is all around us. As I am sure you are aware, you've seen it every day, even in the most seemingly mundane places. The growth of a plant, the change of seasons—magic is not just in bolts of lightning or fire from the skies. It's in the very fabric of life." Althoral nodded, his mind racing with new ideas and questions. "How do I learn to...to understand it?" Althoral asked. "With patience, observation, and an open heart," Mr. R replied, placing a large, clawed hand on Althoral's shoulder. "You're at the beginning of a long journey. Keep asking questions, no matter how foolish they might seem. That's how learning happens."

Encouraged, Althoral left the classroom with a renewed determination. The mockery he'd faced earlier no longer seemed to matter. He had a purpose here, something far greater than fitting in or mastering spells. He wanted to understand the weave of magic that bound the world. In the days that followed, Althoral threw himself into his studies with a vigor he hadn't known he possessed. He spent hours in the library, pouring over ancient texts and practicing simple spells. The more he learned, the more he realized how much there was to discover. But it wasn't all smooth sailing. Despite his enthusiasm, Althoral struggled with some of the more nuanced concepts of spellcraft, coming to a troubling impasse when confronted with the arcane school of necromancy. His rural upbringing hadn't prepared him for the rigorous academic demands of the academy, nor the expansive topics of study. Frustration mounted as he failed to keep up with some of his classmates, especially those who seemed to wield magic as easily as breathing.

One evening, feeling particularly disheartened, Althoral wandered to the academy's gardens. Selendis in full, cast a silvery glow over the neatly trimmed hedges and flowering plants, creating a tranquil oasis away from the pressures of school life. He found a secluded bench and sat down, gazing up at the night sky and pondering the majesty of the moon known as the Azure Warden.

As he sat there, lost in thought, he didn't notice a figure approaching until she was almost beside him. It was Ashley Rinmire, the girl who had challenged Mr. R's metaphor about the heart. "You looked like you could use some company," she said, sitting beside him. Her tone was kind, devoid of the mockery that had greeted his question in class.

Althoral was surprised but grateful. "Just thinking," he admitted. "About everything. Magic, the academy, how much I have to learn." Ashley nodded "It can be overwhelming. But you're not alone. We're all feeling it, one way or another." she looked up toward Selendis, joining him Althoral in appreciation. "I think most of us are afraid to admit it's overwhelming actually." Althoral turned to look at the young woman, she continued "Our families have sent us here with their hopes and dreams tucked into the pockets of our gowns and formals." She signed and looked down, holding a small silver emblem of what appeared to be a flowing river. "It is an honor to have great expectations, but that does not relieve the difficulty of carrying the burden forward." 

The two sat silently for a few moments before Ashley stood up, extending a hand toward him she said "We have not been introduced, I am Lady, Ashley Rinmire, House Rinmire of Migotrenas." 

Althoral's eyes lit up with excitement, "Have you been to sea!" he asked abruptly, "I have, but this is the part where you, introduce yourself, at least that is the polite thing to do" She chuckled. "Oh right, sorry..."He muttered, "I'm Althoral, Althoral Marley of the Dunin," He thought for a second, "I don't think I am a lord, but my father is Grainman of Dunin, so folks from town count on him to help them from time to time." Ashley nodded and replied "Well met, Sir Marley" Her cherry-red lips curled into a dazzling smile that shook the ground Althoral stood on. She had auburn brown locks that were tied into a braid that she kept swinging over her right shoulder, she had bright blue eyes and wore clothing that told Althoral she might be a member of one of the many churches of Eldara.

Their conversation meandered from the challenges of their studies to their lives before the academy. Althoral spoke of his family's farm, the simplicity of life there, and the sudden, unexplained onset of his magical abilities. Ashley shared her own story, revealing a sharp mind and a deep curiosity about the world.

As the evening drew to a close, they parted ways, but not before agreeing to study together. For the first time since arriving at the academy, Althoral felt he might have made a friend. This encounter marked a turning point for Althoral. With Ashley's help, he began to catch up on his studies. More importantly, he started to form connections with other students, slowly finding his place within the academy. His initial question to Mr. R, once a source of embarrassment, became a badge of honor—a symbol of his willingness to see the world differently. As he lay in bed that night, Althoral realized that his journey at Erendor Academy was not just about mastering magic.