A Flesh and Blood Fan Fiction Site

"It is cold." The words were more than a statement of fact, but less than a question. The sounds that escaped her lips seemed to be an admission of a greater truth. Once, it may not have been true. Perhaps, it was always true. Without emotion, without feeling. "Stormbind," the harsh voice behind her cut through the piercing chill and snapped the mage out of her contemplations. The last step brought her face-to-face with a wall of ice, the shimmering smear of her own ref

"It always starts with a pulse. Not quite a feeling, but more than intuition. Those who have had the experience liken it to the first beating of a heart. However, the second pulse is what's needed to start the fire. Most people feel the first, then spend the rest of the days never nurturing its touch again. The loss of that feeling, the snuffing out of potential, bring some to despair and others to madness. Entire religions have been birthed and died a fiery death in the

"What I want is to stop the suffering," A soft voice whispered to the magus in front of her. Head down in reverence, Cylan could barely comprehend being in front of such a powerful wizard. A snort was her reward. "Spare me, child," came a musical melody that hid disdain behind a small veneer of loveliness, "what you really wish is only to bring suffering unto those of your choosing." A soft rustle forced Cylan to look up, startled. Verdance moved like a leaf in the breeze