My Story

“I’ve spent so much time being someone else — being anyone else — I’m starting to forget who I really am.”
“When I close my eyes, I can’t picture my own face anymore.”
"I spit on the Hoccleve name."
“A good face is a handy tool — and I always keep a spare.”

— Elias Hoccleve

To everyone else, my father was a great wizard. To me, he was a shadow — a lifetime of empty chairs and lonely birthdays twisted into the shape of a man I never knew. He left mom and me before I was old enough to remember his face (and I always remember a face), leaving nothing behind but a smattering of research notes. And as much as I hated him, I pored over those pages night after night — searching desperately for some clue about the man he was.
 
Mom did her best to raise me, burying herself in debt as we struggled to make ends meet. Her only wish was that I’d be great like my dad. So, year after year, I applied to the [Arcanium], hoping that someday I could be a better wizard than he ever was.
 
But the year I was accepted, mom got sick and couldn’t work. It wasn’t long before the collectors came, threatening to take everything unless she paid what she owed. I did the only thing I could: I bought her debt and became indentured to a local crime boss, paying for mom’s freedom one job at a time. And in the quiet hours of night, when the world is made of shadow and moon and the distant fire of stars, I return to my father’s notes — unlocking one arcane secret at a time.