Applications of Magick:

Magick in Everwealth is less a discipline than a series of calculated trespasses against the natural order, playing god with each use, every application a different way of prying open the seams of creation. Whether cast in the open or whispered through hidden runes, all of a mage's work begins with the same blasphemy, bending The Arcane's power to mortal will. Spellcraft tears power directly through the soul, enchantment shackles that power into steel and bone, divination forces truth from a world that never volunteered it, and ritual magick stitches new shapes into the fabric of the real. These acts are not mere tools, they are violations and leaps of faith over treacherously lethal gaps refined into technique by a mountain of dead sorcerers before them. Even simple workings, a warding charm or a spark of light, leave behind faint scars where the sinew of the world resisted and was forced to yield. The Coalition insists these applications can be sanitized and contained, boxed neatly into schools and tiers, but magick remains stubbornly feral. In the Guild halls, sanctioned mages coax fire into precision and bind storms into diagrams of ink and blood. Yet in the shadows, hedge mages twist raw forces into unpredictable forms, creating magicks that do not resemble anything found in textbooks.   Alchemists ferment wonder and poison in equal measure, their brews rewriting flesh with incremental heresy. Conjurers reach into realms that answer only in hunger. Even healers, the most beloved of practitioners, are known to give too much of themselves, leaving part of their soul behind in every wound they mend. But the true horror of magick’s application is not in what it does to the world, it is what it does to the wielder. Overuse frays the tether, distorts emotion, and leaves lingering echoes of spells that refuse to fade. Evokers speak of phantom heat on their tongues long after the flames die, illusionists wake unsure which memories are theirs, necromancers hear whispers in their marrow. Specified spellcraft twists and corrupts the unprepared, but every mage color or creed fears Magebane, a terrible affliction to be sure; The body has it's limits, just as you cannot lift what you are too weak to carry, you cannot cast what your body cannot bear, those who do find themselves crippled, immolated, mummified or erased entirely. The more one shapes the Arcane, the more the Arcane shapes back. It does not matter whether the caster is licensed or outlawed. All who practice magick in Everwealth gamble with their identity, their sanity, their body and their place in the world. And sooner or later, every mage learns the same truth, the Arcane never forgets a debt, and never forgives a misstep.