Lore of Null Mage Flynn of the Psychic Leap

Spells fail to connect with flesh, with eye,
with ear. Enchantments don’t bewitch my mind
at all. That’s why I wander far and find
the cast-off treasures in strange places. I
part chaos with my staff, disguise my face
to every passer-by. Odd, circumspect,
evasive. Power asks us for respect—
and, always, doubt. A funny sense of place,
the Psychic Leap. My cat brushes the calves
of sufferers to calm them. Curls in laps.
The weepers sip their cups of tea. Perhaps
they’d grow strong on their own. But all we have
in terrible and wonderful our lands
are shoulders, backs—and, most of all, our hands.

Entered by: 0x3e17…7e9e and preserved on chain (see transaction)