The School of Mages.

"What?! I refuse." Said Morthil. "You will not bring shame to our family name." Replied his father. "We have always been fighters and we will always be fighters, do you understand me?" Morthil gave it some thought. The act of swinging a chunk of metal on the battlefield and running through mud did not appeal to him. He wanted to throw heat from his hands, freeze the enemies of state with mere thoughts. Not shoot arrows into the eyes of scoundrels. His father had pushed and argued with him about it for the last year. He didn't know how to get out of it, until he had a bright idea. "Fine, I will be a fighter, but do not think I am pleased." He lied. Immediately his father smiled at him. "You've come around! In time, my child, you will come to love the sound of battle, first hand. Being on the front lines is the only way to fight. Not cowardly hiding in the back throwing fire and ice from a safe distance. The sound of metal clashing upon metal, the sound of your enemy fleeing from the sight of you, That is the way to fight! Why when I...." His father trailed on. Morthil tuned him out. He didn't like lying to his father this way, but it was the only way he would live his life with his own goals in mind. It was one of the first times he lied in his life, but he recognized it as a social skill. It was one that worked. And it wasn't that big of a lie was it? The gods would forgive him, He would still fight for them and that's all they cared about. Fighting. In the morning he rose early, ate his breakfest, slung his backpack over his shoulder and left the home after telling his goodbyes to the family. It was a good day for starting out, he thought. A cool crisp morning with a bright sun. The trail to the university did not need a walking stick, yet he carried one. And a lie that echoed in his mind for some time...