Part 1: The Silver Lyre

"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

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