a few words on magic
Nov. 27th, 2009 07:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
egypturnashLazy roleplaying: Kalinda, my serpent character, delivers a lecture on How Magic Works.
Kalinda exhales slowly, smoke swirling out in strange sigils, and smiles. "Half of it is simply gaining and keeping that narrative trust. I sit around pulling things out of the air - and that establishes me as a sorceress, without me ever stating, baldfacedly, 'Kalinda is a powerful sorceress'." She licks her lips with a pointed tongue. "So disbelief loosens around me, and I can... get things done."
Kalinda waves a hand carelessly, and your chair rises into the air. "Edit too much, take too many liberties, and it all comes crashing down." The walls fall away, like stage flats losing their props, revealing a black, empty space behind; off in the distance, things flicker fugitively. "When do you stop believing my story?" And quicksilver rains down from the midnight sky. "How far can I go? How far can I weave my words?" Columns of light burst all around, coalescing into strange angelic beings, their countless arms swirling and drifting; they precess clockwise, singing. "And can I break my own spell?" Pickles fall out of the angel's mouths, shimmering with notes.
How much this applies to reality, in less ostentatious ways, is left as an exercise for the reader. Experiment!
Kalinda exhales slowly, smoke swirling out in strange sigils, and smiles. "Half of it is simply gaining and keeping that narrative trust. I sit around pulling things out of the air - and that establishes me as a sorceress, without me ever stating, baldfacedly, 'Kalinda is a powerful sorceress'." She licks her lips with a pointed tongue. "So disbelief loosens around me, and I can... get things done."
Kalinda waves a hand carelessly, and your chair rises into the air. "Edit too much, take too many liberties, and it all comes crashing down." The walls fall away, like stage flats losing their props, revealing a black, empty space behind; off in the distance, things flicker fugitively. "When do you stop believing my story?" And quicksilver rains down from the midnight sky. "How far can I go? How far can I weave my words?" Columns of light burst all around, coalescing into strange angelic beings, their countless arms swirling and drifting; they precess clockwise, singing. "And can I break my own spell?" Pickles fall out of the angel's mouths, shimmering with notes.
How much this applies to reality, in less ostentatious ways, is left as an exercise for the reader. Experiment!