Life-Force
The Price of Power
What Is Life-Force?
Life-force is the essential vitality that anchors a person to the physical world. Every living being possesses it—but for humans, life-force serves as both the foundation of existence and the limit of magical potential. Unlike magical energy, which is drawn from ingredients and external sources, life-force is finite. It cannot be replenished on command. Using magic gradually separates a caster from the material plane, and if pushed too far, that tether can be lost entirely.How Is Life-Force Used in Magic?
Whenever a human connects to the magical aspects of the world—through spells or potions—they momentarily shift their alignment with reality. This temporary detachment allows them to cast magic, but at a cost.- The more complex or powerful the magic, the greater the toll.
- Life-force is not spent in equal measure—it drains faster with recklessness, emotional instability, or repeated use.
- Each casting chips away at the self, especially when a spell fails or is forced.
- Over time, frequent casters begin to feel this wear in ways that words cannot fully describe.
“The world feels… thinner, like I’m only visiting it now.”
Restoring Life-Force
Life-force can recover slowly over time—but only under strict conditions:- The user must abstain from consuming magical ingredients or potions.
- They must not cast magic, nor be exposed to magical effects.
- Recovery requires rest, isolation, and reconnection to the natural rhythms of the body and world.
Signs of Life-Force Depletion
As a caster’s life-force wanes, signs begin to show. At first subtle, then unmistakable:- Mild Depletion → Fatigue, detachment, dreamlike states.
- Moderate Depletion → Loss of appetite, absent-mindedness, lack of emotional response.
- Severe Depletion → Fading voice, blurred presence, inability to cast even the simplest spell.
Final Consequence: The Drift
When life-force crosses the final threshold, the caster is no longer truly here. Some vanish in sleep. Others are seen walking into forests and never return. A few are found, lifeless, with no sign of injury—only a faint shimmer in the air, as though reality failed to hold them.“She blinked, and for a moment I saw stars in her pupils. Then she was gone.”Those who Drift cannot be saved. No spell, no potion, no ritual can return what has passed beyond the veil.
The Ember of Aendrel
They say Aendrel was a quiet man—too quiet, perhaps, for a simple weaver. He knew the wild herbs too well, remembered the old songs too clearly. When the Devouring Mist came early one night, rolling down from the hills like a silent wave, the village of Farwood had no time to gather ash or build their fire walls. There was panic—children missing, livestock scattering, and too little fuel to last the night. Aendrel stepped forward. He took a satchel from beneath his floorboards, filled with herbs and tinctures no one had seen before—some glowing faintly, others sealed with gold thread. One by one, he consumed them, murmuring prayers and songs long forgotten. Those who watched said his skin flickered like firelight, and the grass around his feet browned and withered. He walked into the center of the square and raised his hands. A wall of flame burst forth—not chaotic, but steady, unwavering. A perfect ring of protection that held through the night, burning with a heat that the Mist dared not cross. When dawn came, the flames faded. Aendrel was gone. All that remained was his satchel—empty, scorched, but intact. On its inner flap, embroidered with silver thread, was a single line: “To Aendrel, Elder of the Circle. May your path burn bright.” signed Archdruid Elvareth.
“He didn’t burn out. He chose to become the fire.”
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