My fifteen birthday held surprises. My father, blessed as he be, inducted me into the life of a Witshire. A keeper of knowledge, a defender of that which I could never obtain, and thankfully, I had one good thought in my flamboyant youth, I never wanted that power. I, instead, turned to magic and alchemy. As my father told me about the jealousy that others before me felt against wielders, I pondered the alchemic properties of fire. Knowing that my loyalties lie with magic and my trust falls in the hands of wielders who presented themselves to be good and those who were painted grey.