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In a dark grove of pines, the chirps and clicks of the night creatures
echo softly, as a tall, dark cloaked yinnish figure sits down beside a small
alter to white magic. The hum of distant voices gently drifts through the air,
and lightening bugs blink with the colored party lanterns hung in the gardens
to the south. The white moon is full, and shines down on the alter, giving it
a dusty white glow, and a song sung on a yinnish scale echos through the grove.
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A prayer for a student
Teacher, oh Teacher, finest master mage,
No one ever told me that I would be a teacher when I came to age.
Now I have students, and them I cannot fail,
But what do I do when into the wind one of them wishes to sail?
Teacher, oh Teacher, what do you do,
When a student brings home a spell that's foreign to you?
I could forbid him to cast it, claim it would lead him astray,
But the paths to good are many, and perhaps he should find his own way.
Teacher, oh Teacher, I look to the full moon.
Magic is in the air now, and he'll need to level soon.
Neither juggle or study spellcraft; nor two daggers will he wield,
Falls from his horse; gods forbid he try to strike anything with his shield.
Teacher, oh Teacher, I'm at wits end.
This human cannot be taught, so away for a miracle I must send.
May our Father bless him, and brother Nadrik forgive his sin;
For this noble little human's only wish, is to serve the light as a paladin.
Teacher, oh Teacher, the moon rises and the tide flows in.
I think I know what to do now; it has been a long path for him,
But he is almost there now, and this tide will not abate.
For gods sakes I think he could ride a unicorn, at least send him a mate.
Teacher, oh Teacher, finest master mage.
No one ever told me that I would be a teacher when I came to age.
Now I have students, and they will not fail,
For we will cast a magewind, and into the light we will sail.
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