Magicians

Heimdall and Loki would lie entwined in death, the rainbow bridge bathed in white light, the need for guards gone. The ravens set loose upon the world transmuted into golden dragons. That will be the day the last Magician dies.

Thrall, enthralled... be appalled.

A pallor upon you lies when Magicians are in your parlor. Whispering through airwaves, soundwaves, and ensnaring webs. Their words, thoughts, and voices, floating through your door.

The past is before you, laid upon the table. The future behind, out of sight.

Magicians spin time, hopes and desires. Statuary images to catch and enliven dreams. You've been told the lights are out while a Magician holds a guttering candle in front of the sun.

How about a free sample? How's it taste? Oh wait, you mean I have to buy that?

Magicians... leaders, purveyors of passivity, conformity. The last blast of Gjallarhorn calling all who hear. Magicians one and all. Upon the Bifrost bridge, you'll stand up.

The door is open.