Adam P. Knave

Since the fall of Man and the return of Magery and our older ways, most disputes were settled in a civilized manner: sword to the face, mace to the neck, acceptable societal situational handlers

Still, the car started, so we drove off to the movies. Popcorn happened. Previews, ads, and an annoying kid all went down like clockwork. The picture started and then ended a while later, the world unchanged by its passing.

You ate my dog, you undead freak!__ey! Watch the slander. I hear the acceptable term is __orporeallychallenged_ now. No need to be rude.

A single thought, he considered, could do all sorts of harm. Harm to what, he wasn't sure, but he identified it as harm.

He felt like his own heart might stop beating just from acknowledging the concept. The sadness, the sorrow, and the loss, they were living things, funnily enough.

What is this place?" "Nothing at all. Everywhere there is. Both at once?" Wereberry offered.

He didn't want to get his hopes up, but he also refused to be a pessimist about this moment. Everything could go either way.

The potential, for anything, was overwhelming to a degree that bothered him. It wasn__, he thought, the idea of power. It certainly wasn__ that nervous feeling T.C. would get in the pit of his stomach when he knew he had an incredible opportunity in front of him, that amazing brief pause before an act of creation. This was something else. Something to fear and respect.