Sorcery (introduction)

Sorcery

“‘Dalla told me something once. Val's sister, Mance Rayder's wife.

She said that sorcery was a sword without a hilt.

There is no safe way to grasp it.’

‘A wise woman.’ Melisandre rose, her red robes stirring in the wind.

‘A sword without a hilt is still a sword, though,

and a sword is a fine thing to have when foes are all about.’”

• A Storm of Swords, George R. R. Martin

H umans know that they are experiencing only a narrow band of reality. Their dogs can smell scents that their noses cannot. Their cats can see through darkness their eyes cannot penetrate. They know that to some things they are truly blind. And that is terrifying.

Just beyond the bounds of human perception there are different worlds, different realities. And sometimes— just sometimes—forces from these realms will cross the threshold and actually enter our world. These intrusions are never subtle. Just like water and oil reject each other, the realms of men and the realms of spirits are anathema to the other. When they interact, the universe itself is warped and torn with the wrongness of it all. That is terrifying, too.

Some people, however, willingly participate in this cosmic blasphemy. They seek to see beyond the veil of this world. They open the door to the things that lurk on the threshold and offer them entrance.

These people are sorcerers. Nobody likes them.