It Slices! It Dices!

There's nothing like magic.

There's something primal about shaping energy, about unleashing raw emotion-given-form against and towards, whether it be prayer, pleasure, or purposeful pain.

If magic is will, what better, more addictive feeling is

will fulfilled?

Not the mere finding of dreams that become reality, not wishes granted, but the sweat of desire leading to realization.

The metaphor of magic is that of being awake in a world of dreamers, but what draws the mage out is the idea of being able to shape dreams, to change the consensus reality.

The mage cannot remain constantly awake,
aware, on edge,

even the mage must, at some point, dream.

Mythology maintains that there is great power in sacrifice.

Especially the final sacrifice, the give-it-all and don't expect to make it, the "final strike," the end.

What of the one who survived that?

The one who gave everything, ready to be consumed into final oblivion?

Waking up, the next day, and realizing...
...it's all gone.

What of the old reflexes? Leaving behind the little tricks, the cantrips, finding out what must be done with broom and back-breaking work, rather than an incantation? What of the old deals, the promises for power, the contracts your elementals now can call on? What of the friends who needed your abilities, using you like a tool? What do you have to offer? Who are you now?

You were once a wizard. You once dreamed the dream.