Sparks of the Tempest The flames from the brazier were so intense, her skin was ready to blister, yet Lysha's concentration did not waver. The crown of thorns resting on her brow sent sharp waves of pain through her skull, yet her movements did not waver. The winds of the frigid north tore mercilessly into her exposed body, freezing the scant metal garments she did wear to the tenderest parts of her flesh, yet her spell never faltered. The sparks rose about her hand as the spell neared completion, yet Lysha took all feelings of joy and satisfaction and kept them buried deep within. Aside from the spell she wove, she was aware of nothing but her suffering: the cold, the heat, the stinging on her brow, and the burning emptiness in her heart. Suffering was all she knew. Suffering would fuel her spell. For suffering was the spell's purpose. One final time, she spoke the chant... "Let the sparks of my pain give birth to the Tempest of Suffering. May the Tempest return my anguish a thousand-fold upon those who planted its seeds. May the roots of their suffering grow deep into their souls and punish them. May the fruits of their pain be poison to those near them. May their anguish drive them to madness and ruin. And when death comes at last, May they die alone. Forgotten. Unburied. So mote it be!" By Klytus, Grand Magi of the AOL Duel of Magic klytus@aol.com Thank you for looking.