In the war of magic and religion, is magic ultimately the victor? Perhaps priest and magician were once one, but the priest, learning humility in the face of God, discarded the spell for prayer.
Shaking his head, Tobin turned back to his picnic spread, and there, sitting on the end of the checkered cloth, and helping himself to one of Tobin’s cupcakes, was a tiny brown squirrel.Tobin blinked in surprise.The squirrel was exceptionally bold. He made absolutely no move to leave, despite Tobin’s frown, and merely stuffed more pink icing into his mouth with one tiny paw. His ears were tufted into small points, and he tilted his head to the side as he surveyed Tobin with bright, inquisitive eyes.Tobin had to laugh. “Well, I suppose I don’t mind sharing with you, little guy, even if you did eat one of my cupcakes,” Tobin chuckled to himself.“I should hope so. Frankly, I’m surprised that you thought you could even eat five cupcakes all by yourself,” the squirrel replied airily.
Maven Gustav, what is that awful noise?” Tobin bellowed, holding his hands over his ears.“Why, it’s my very own creation!” Gustav replied, beaming with pride. “I made this spell to be activated in the event of a castle emergency. In all my tests, it never failed to wake everyone,” he noted, proudly.“Yes, Gustav. It’s fantastically loud. Well done. But what is the emergency, and how do we turn the alarm off?
The blue foam spread quickly, and had almost entirely enveloped the room, moving rapidly towards the last clear door, when suddenly the door burst open, and Simon, looking flushed, and panting heavily, stepped into the room.“Nooooooo!” shrieked Maven Ellie; a shocking sound out of the usually calm and cheerful magician. But it was too late.The foam, already covering most of the room, seemed to stiffen for a moment, before a molten red glow began to take over. The foam hissed, as though in anger, and at an alarmingly fast rate, it raced towards Simon, who had frozen obligingly, the moment Maven Ellie had screamed.A look of terror crept over his face at the sight of the crimson foam racing towards him. Desperately, he tried to move away, but the foam had already reached his feet, and he was stuck fast. Maven Thom, in a rather stunning display of athleticism for a man of his age, made a running leap for the small space that remained between Simon and the door, just barely clearing the approaching foam. The foam continued to climb up Simon’s legs and chest, covering his neck and face in seconds, until he was completely encased in the hardened foam.
Walking alongside his apprentice’s horse, Sethil Longmere, magus of the Third Circle, Magi Master of Dormir’s army, and a man who had seen more years than most men could count, did his best to keep his apprentice Rousche from falling off his gelding. The dun horse had a sure foot and a good temper, but it seemed unlikely the animal was used to a grown man lying face first in its mane, legs sprawled behind, dangling with each step.
The hope is indeed that some will experience and believe: The purpose of a number of spiritual gurus is to demonstrate to God-fearing men faux spirituality.
General belief is “There is no real magic, only tricks” but a great magician compel people not to trust that belief and make them believe, after all There does exist a real magic.
Fiction writers, magicians, politicians and priests are the only people rewarded for entertaining us with their lies
Magic is not just for the entertainment, but to inspire people to be creative enough with their lives.
So, apart from casting runes, what other hobbies do you have? Forbidden rituals, human sacrifices, torturing? –
People don't believe me when I tell them I'm a magician who makes portals to other worlds. So I tell them I'm a writer instead.
Perhaps priest and magician were once one, but the priest, learning humility in the face of God, discarded the spell for prayer.
Learning the secret of flight from a bird was a good deal like learning the secret of magic from a magician.
He is indeed the true enchanter, whose spell operates, not upon the senses, but upon the imagination and the heart.
Did anyone think this canon of druggie men were out of control? Only in the most admirable of ways! Out of control like a shaman or a space explorer, like a magician sawing himself in half. Out of control like a poet.
I am a M.A.G.I.C. child.. Motivated And Growing In Christ! …I hope you too are a M.A.G.I.C. dreamer!
The core practice of magic is: The execution of a willed intent to create change in the material world, which either defies, hastens or purifies the consequences of natural cause and effect.
Very few are brave enough to look at the portals to higher dimensions of conscience that open before their eyes, either they’re confronting them from one perspective or another. These portals represent amazing opportunities for the ones with the courage to see them and cross them. But only a very powerful person possesses the power to open one for others. And if you think that person is what it seems, you will neglect the magician hiding behind the illusion.
Magic : when you create something from the materials around you to astound and make the audience say Wow. Magic happens on mundane days. It happens when you least expect it. It brings a spark to our drab and monotonous days.
Captain Harcourt-Bruce was not only dashing, handsome, and brave, he was also rather romantic. The reappearance of magic in England thrilled him immensely. He was a great reader of the more exciting sort of history - and his head was full of ancient battles in which the English were outnumbered by the French and doomed to die, when all at once would be heard the sound of strange, unearthly music, and upon a hilltop would appear the Raven King in his tall, black helmet with it's mantling of raven-feathers streaming in the wind; he would gallop down the hillside on his tall, black horse with a hundred human knights and a hundred fairy knights at his back, and he would defeat the French by magic.That was Captain Harcourt-Bruce's idea of a magician. That was the sort of thing which he now expected to see reproduced on every battlefield on the Continent. So when he saw Mr Norrell in his drawing-room in Hanoversquare, and after he had sat and watched Mr Norrell peevishly complain to his footman, first that the cream in his tea was too creamy, and next that it was too watery - well, I shall not surprize you when I say he was somewhat disappointed. In fact he was so downcast by the whole undertaking that Admiral Paycocke, a bluff old gentleman, felt rather sorry for him and only had the heart to laugh at him and tease him very moderately about it.
The light changed slightly. Mari looked up and over at one wall. There was now a narrow, roughly door-shaped hole in it. Standing in the hole was Mage Alain. Mari stood up, realizing that her mouth was hanging open. That wall was solid. I felt it. There wasn't any opening. She watched as the Mage took two shaky steps into the cell, then paused, some of the strain leaving his face. She blinked, wondering what she had just seen, as the hole in the wall vanished as if it had never been. One moment it was there, the next it was gone. ...Mari took a long slow breath. 'They use smoke and mirrors and other 'magic' to make commons think they can create temporary holes in walls and things like that. It's all nonsense.' Mages actually can make real holes in walls. No.Her head hurting with increased intensity, Mari glowered at the Mage. You didn't make a hole in the wall?I made the illusion of a hole in the illusion of the wall.Mari looked at Mage Alain for what felt like a long time, trying to detect any sign of mockery or lying. But he seemed perfectly sincere. And unless she had completely lost her mind, he had just walked through that solid wall. ...We can get out the same way that you got in? Mari asked. Through imaginary holes in the imaginary wall? She wondered how her guild would feel about seeing that in her report. Actually, she didn't have to wonder, but she wasn't about to turn down a chance at escape. The Mage took a deep breath and swayed on his feet. No.No?Unfortunately— Alain collapsed into a seated position on the cot next to her—the effort of finding you has exhausted me. There were several walls to get through. I can do no more for some time. I am probably incapable of any major effort until morning. He shook his head. I did not plan this well. Maybe the elders are right and seventeen is simply too young to be a Mage.Mari stared at him. Are you telling me that you came to rescue me, following a metaphorical thread through imaginary holes, but now that you're in the same cell with me you can't get us out?Yes, that is correct. This one erred.That one sure did. Now instead of one of us being stuck in here, we're both stuck in here.The Mage gave her a look which actually betrayed a trace of irritation. He must have really been exhausted for such a feeling to show. I do not have much experience with rescues. Are you always so difficult?
Rosy ferried the drinks back to the table, slid the Guinness his way. “You said you have a show. Is it a comedy?”“No, but you will laugh, I hope, after hearing my qualifications.” His eyes glittered. “I do magic, with a twist. The twist is, my clothes are the first thing to disappear.”Rosy gaped.“Yes. I do magic… naked. I not only have a big ego.” Marek wiggled his middle finger. “I have a big wand.
For the rest of the night he sat by himself under the elm-tree. Until this moment it had never seemed to him that his magicianship set him apart from other men. But now he had glimpsed the wrong side of something. He had the eeriest feeling - as if the world were growing older around him, and the best part of existence - laughter, love and innocence - were slipping irrevocably into the past.
If we are to wield great magic, then let us learn from great teachers: the alchemists -- magicians par excellence.
The world was fucking awful. It was a wretched, desolate place, a desert of meaninglessness, a heartless wasteland, where horrific things happened all the time for no reason and nothing good lasted for long.He'd been right about the world, but he was wrong about himself. The world was a desert, but he was a magician, and to be a magician was to be a secret spring - a moving oasis. He wasn't desolate, and he wasn't empty. He was full of emotion, full of feelings, bursting with them, and when it came down to it, that's what being a magician was. They weren't ordinary feelings - they weren't the tame, domesticated kind. Magic was wild feelings, the kind that escaped out of you and into the world and changed things. There was a lot of skill to it, and a lot of learning, and a lot of work, but that was where the power began: the power to enchant the world.