You nod back at Henry, and move your line of sight to your sword. You're rather certain that this task will be easy for anyone with any inherent magical ability at all. Given the magic nature of your species, it should be a snap for you. Or, at least you think so. Focusing energy along with an incantation is simple enough, but you can't very well do that here without catching your blade on fire or blasting it out of your hands. After a moment of nothing more than staring, you relax and look back up to Henry. Once again, he is looking at his five books, which, somehow, he is still managing to juggle.
Without looking down to you, he continues with his own personal experience, "Of course, a person's favorite book eventually changes, especially after being read for the twentieth time. So, as time went by, I ended up with several different titles. I tried to make each one have a different set of materials, like different covers, binding, you know, bolk parts. Just like the experiences of others, each one had the same qualities after a bit of charging. Seem as though you could hold a rock and it would work just as well, heh. Unlike other wizards, I ended up holding onto my old 'weapons' after getting a new book. Ol' sentimentalities, I suppose!" He shrugs and laughs for a bit before composing himself and moving on. "Given the fact that my channeling weapons are books and not actual weapons, it also kind of helps that I seem to have picked up the ability to channel through more than one of these at once. It's allowed me to create all kinds of combinations of spells with ease. I once drowned a guy while burning him to death! Neat, right?"
You immediately try and shake that image out of your head, and after failing, go back to focusing on your weapon, if for nothing more than a distraction. You hold it straight up, this time, and look at it in the dead center before closing your eyes altogether, so you can think. You begin trying to think about magic in general, and begin trying to think of it as a physical force, imagining it running through you. You think of it as in your veins, your nerves, and then as you as a whole. You are a magical being- no, you are magic itself! Your eyes snap open, and your pupils have dilated to tiny ovals, oh-so slightly revealing your draconic nature. Your breath becomes shallow before you begin holding it altogether. You begin focusing even more intently on your sword, going cross-eyed. You hold it even higher, with the hilt just under eye level, and the golden colored decoration on the blade being just inches away from your forehead. Then, a foreign thought enters your head. You're certain that you didn't put it there. Suddenly, you are envisioning your sword as an extension of yourself, with magic flowing through it just as easily as yourself. Time around you seems to slow, and your lungs seem to be ready to burst from holding your breath, but you find yourself unable to exhale. Your arms feel suddenly weak, but you are unable to let go. Your senses seem to disappear: you hear nothing but your own heartbeat, seemingly slowed down to a constant rythym of once every ten seconds. You see nothing but the sword in your hands, darkness seeming crowding around you. You feel nothing, as even the floor under you seems to melt away, though you would swear that a gentle breeze was blowing through your hair. Slowly, the gold ornament above the hilt seems to grow. The spikes on it seem to get larger and larger, growing upwards to the top of the sword, meeting at it's tip.
Then, you're completely overloaded with the return of your senses. Time returns to normal, you can hear Henry, still juggling and speaking, not ten words into his new topic, and the floor returns to under your now slightly numb legs. Then, all at once, you look away, towards Henry, exhale, release the sword, and let your legs give out. Simotaneously, the golden lines adorning the sword seem to both explode and implode, as the lines both shoot out an assortment of sparks and seemingly melt away into the blade, turning it's color into a bright, hot red. The sword, as you relinquish its hilt, doesn't drop to the floor as you are currently doing, but flies away from you. As you hit the ground, eyes still open and pupils returning to normal size, you see the sword across the room, along with Henry's smiling face turning from looking at it to you.
The last thing you experience before succumbing to sleep is Henry yelling, "Do that again!"
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