Lionel

In Sornieth, where magic burst from the ground in plumes of smoke clouding the Ashfall Waste, filtered between the leaves in the Viridian Labyrinth, and coursed through the wires binding the Shifting Expanse together, the power of those wielding the magic could easily differ based on many factors. Runes cast on parchment were always more powerful than incantations cast via words; after all, ink stayed on the physical plane longer than vibrations in the air ever could. Passion was another way that dragons could create more effective spells; the more desire one had for a spell to work or the more they enjoyed their way of casting it, the stronger the outcome would be.

Poetry had always had a soft spot for young Lionel, and as a hatchling, there was never a moment in which there wasn’t a quill and parchment in between his claws, scribbling away. As he grew and became a powerful mage, it was only natural that he would intertwine his art with his job, words on pages becoming effective enchantments, the lyricism of each stanza expressing itself in sparks and dashes of light carving open the air. The better he became at putting lines on paper and the more he practiced his craft, the more his magic grew, captivating those around him until the word “limit” was a mere idea meant to amuse him. After all, knowledge was power, and in the eyes of Lionel, power was just as boundless as the magic weaved in between the cracks of Sornieth itself.