A week had passed and the shop was empty. Light pierced heavy windows and bounced about glass bottles on shelves. The air was still and scented by the fresh ingredients of various potions and poisons. Thal heard the heavy wooden door swing open and felt the suggestion of a breeze outside as three men in ill-fitting shirts entered the shop. One wore a coat much too large for his skinny frame and the trousers of all three were in desperate need of patching. Thal didn’t put his book down, but he didn’t take his eyes off of the three visitors. It was very unusual for so many to come in together and none of these new patrons seemed like the alchemist type. As the men browsed and drifted apart, Thal let his hand slide under the desk towards his wand. He was studying the men at this point; he couldn’t spot weapons on any of them, but two had empty knapsacks on their persons. Just as he anticipated, in a flash, the two with bags began blindly grabbing potions and stuffing them into their packs. Thal’s hand made contact with his wand; standing behind the counter he swung his arm in front of himself.

“Behr Kestrikk.”

The thieves were already making for the door when a magical bundle of winding and twisting rope sailed from the tip of Thal’s wand and came down at the ankles of the escaping men. Two of the thieves were ensnared and both were sent tumbling, one into a cabinet and the other over a table. Glass shattered as bottles fell and potions spilled across the wooden floor. Thal felt his heart stop momentarily, as it dawned on him the worth of the potions he had just destroyed.

Running around the counter, wand in hand, Thal was unsure about his next course of action. The remaining thief – much less indecisively – rushed Thal and, before he could decide on a spell to cast without destroying more of the shop, he felt a closed fist very forcibly make contact with his nose. He fell back, head against the hard walnut counter, and he watched dazed as the man dragged his accomplices out of the shop. It took a minute for Thal to fully come to. Sitting up, all he could see were the remnants of smashed bottles and spilt potions now littering the shop. Liquids of every colour, viscosity and substance were flowing under counters and seeping into cracks. Glass shards were scattered across the floor and a couple of passers-by were gawking in at the mess. It was now clear to Thal why his mother forbade him from engaging thieves or troublemakers. They had stolen maybe fourteen potions between them, but Thal had shattered and wasted at least forty trying to stop them.

As you may well already know; there are multitudes of ways for one to harness magical energies. There is, of course, divine magic by which a cleric or other follower will call upon their deity to grant them the powers, with the understanding that these powers they may then better do their deities bidding here on our mortal plane. But even considering only the realm of arcane magic, there are varying means by which, throughout our history, different cultures have harnessed magical energies. The biggest unifying trait in all of these styles is the use of an implement. An implement can be a wand, a ring, an amulet or a staff. Whatever the shape, it is always inherently magical in nature, and the vehicle through which the wizard, or shaman, or mage invokes magical power. That isn’t to say a well versed mage could not wield magic without such an implement, but un-implemented magic is famously difficult, and in almost every case draws from a shallower well of arcane energy.

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

Thal’s most immediate concern was, of course, his mother. Her temper was fiery, doubly so when she specifically told him not to do something. Going by the light outside, he had maybe two hours before Tharmisa came back home. With the time slipping by and no help on the horizon, Thal set to work covering up any trace of the burglary. His first step was dealing with the spilt potions. The shop floor was awash with vibrant blues and greens, deep reds and glossy oranges and purples. Most alarmingly, the potions seemed to be mixing; bubbling and fizzing here and there. Thal knew such a haphazard combination could produce any number of ill-effects. After closing the shop, Thal went into the backroom where Tharmisa had her makeshift lab and hastily crafted a nullifying agent, in a larger quantity than he ever had before by a wide margin. He emptied the metallic-grey, viscous liquid over the concoction on the floor and sighed with relief as the colours faded and the reactions ceased. Only then was he able to mop up said concoction along with a bucketful of broken glass. Mercifully a handful of bottles were merely cracked and – using a charm Hobse often employed for repairing his spectacles – Thal was able to fix those few.

Next Thal set about checking the remaining stock against the list of inventory to ascertain what had been lost. That left the daunting task of brewing each and every one of those missing potions. Fortunately, living with and doing chores for a master-alchemist since he was a toddler had taught Thal a few things about brewing potions. And none of the potions kept in the displays were so complex that Thal couldn’t make them himself. It was a long couple of hours, but eventually the shop looked as though nothing had happened. All that remained was to explain the missing bottles, the abundance of broken glass in a box under the counter and the near-empty storeroom. Safely behind the walnut counter, Thal re-opened his book.

When did I have time to fold the corner of the page?

Confused but grateful, he continued where he had left, at a chapter about lesser vampires, when the door opened and Tharmisa entered. Thal knew his plan to be a failure the instant she walked in, as her eyes widened and mouth opened in shock.

“What happened to your nose?!” she gasped.

“My nose?”

Thal put his hands to his face and felt an immediate rush of pain shoot from the bridge of his nose.

My nose! How in the hells did I forget about my nose?

“Well? What happened? And what is that smell? Did you spill something?”

Thal knew his only hope was that his mother’s concern for him would outweigh her outrage. Accordingly, he spoke in the most chaste, virtuous tone he had in his arsenal.

“There, uh… There was a robbery, some men came into the store and tried to steal some potions.”

With that Tharmisa looked around, visibly confused at the lack of missing potions.

“I remade all of the stolen ones.”

Thal decided it would be best to leave out the detail where he smashed more potions himself than the three thieves stole between them.

“Oh Thal” his mother tutted “Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

She put her hands to his face and inspected the injury.

“Oh you poor thing, it’s all right, it’s all over now.”

The fuss his mother was putting up bothered Thal more than his nose did. She knew it bothered him when she treated him like a baby.

“I can take care of myself, mum” he moaned, “I didn’t just let them…”

Damn she’s good.

Tharmisa’s expression changed. In an instant, maternal soothing fell away to tempestuous rage and fury. Thal knew she had played him like a viola.

“Cthalamus Allaris, I knew you did something stupid!” she yelled, pushing his face out of her hands quite forcefully. “What did you do? What did I tell you? Don’t play the hero! This is exactly how you get hurt.”

“I know mum.” Thal tried not to mope, and failed. “But I couldn’t just let them walk away.”

Tharmisa was angry. Very angry. But Thal knew that she knew that he’d do it again tomorrow.

“Letting them walk away is exactly what you should have done. And look at your nose! Why did I send you to Caer if they couldn’t teach you to even scare away some thieves?”

That gave Thal more pause than her anger did. Thal had been studying magic for nigh on four years, and yet he was bested by three unarmed vagabonds. As soon as Tharmisa was satisfied Thal’s nose was unbroken, and she had a list of every potion in the shop he had made, and which ingredients he had taken out of the storeroom and in what quantities, Thal was sent upstairs to the family home. Inside his modest room, Thal slumped heavily down on the bed and put his head in his hands, carefully avoiding his swollen nose.

Three? I couldn’t protect us from three idiots with ripped breeches?

Rankled, Thal set about making a plan. He would need to get some practice in, somewhere.

Maybe I could invite Estos. I haven’t seen him in a while.