Tag Archives: wizards

Sorcerers, Magicians, and Warlocks – What’s the Difference?

We are a bit spoiled for choice, in the English language. When we need a word, and another language has one that’ll do the job, we’re quite happy to appropriate it – words like schadenfreude, or (my personal favourite) l’espirit de escalier (“the spirit of the staircase”, which is the French term for that moment that you come up with a cunning riposte, moments (or hours) after it’s too late.


But, crucially for the discussion I’m about to have with myself, and that you can see right here, right now, on the screen of the device of your choice, is about synonyms. And then we’ll get into the cool stuff people should put into their fantasy novels bit. That’s coming, I promise. And this little bit about synonyms leads directly into it.

It’s not much of a tangent.

Now, the synonym group that I want to talk about in particular are words that are related to practitioners of magic.  Continue reading

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The Magician’s New Apprentice

Flower - an Unfettered image, by Terry Whidborne

Flower – an Unfettered image, by Terry Whidborne

I fell down,
into an ink-black,
confessional
darkness.
Swallowed whole.
It whispered
broken promises,
and told me
all the secret sins of my generation.
I obliged.

The voice,
disembodied,
led me away from the places I used to know.
The ghosts of places
I once haunted.
It taught me new illusions
and new conceits, as its
secrets awoke in me a strange flower –
a black mist, an emptiness, a magic
I had not known.

I fell down,
into that ink-black,
confessional
darkness, and stepped out
into the gas-lit streets,
weaving their blinding neon
into the curses that I already knew.

Ancient words,

never uttered on these

stained, goat-path, cobbled streets,

ancient words of power.

 

I scratched runes onto broken,

kicked-in doorways, hexes and wards.

Pictoglyphs, untranslated but
still-heeded by the mob.
I summoned vast intelligences,
forgotten demons, unloved gods.
They danced with me.
They surrendered their power.
Not willing, but willed.

I fell down,
I consumed that
ink-black, confessional
darkness. I made the world my own,
and cast off the fetters of mortality.
And now you, child.
I pass unto you this black flower,
my soul.
Together, we can watch
the world
catch aflame.

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