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[Isilven]

The first time I spoke the words that would become the power to heal wounds, I knew it could only be Corellon's gift to me. The words grew on my tongue, taking root and blossoming into power that rushed through my body and into my hands, making them warm, tingly. As I touched my brother, the power did not surge, but flowed, like water being gently poured from a decanter.

When one heals another, the soul of the one being healed will invariably react, and the healer will be able to feel it. Some bump gently against my hand, like a cat wanting to be petted. Some launch up to meet my power, melding lightly around my touch. Some will stay in contact just enough for the body to be healed, and then they are quickly away.

Some have souls like slippery fish, they will not stay in contact for very long, and are constantly slip-sliding away from my grasp. Once, and only once, have I healed someone without a soul... that being Imoen, after we rescued her from Spellhold. It was like plunging into ice cold water, but there is no wetness, and the sound of the cold, dead, empty wind rushes up through your hand and into your head, rushing around until the magic is done and you remove your hand.

But healing is not all we do. Offensive spells, such as the flame strike, feel like electricity comes through the crown of your hand and out through your fingers. In those spells, I feel not like the power comes from me, but like a conduit for Corellon's wrath.

But for all others, the prayers I say every night seem to stay in my heart and are released when I speak the words of power. The magic lives within me, through me, and it is all thanks to Corellon Larethian, our Elven Father.

[DalreïDal]

Hey Isilven,

Short, but excellent work. Nice imagery.

[Solar's Harper]

Curse my lack of time depth. Is it just me or does the narrator seem familar?
Looks nice Isilven, and very detailed.