Magic

Magic in Morganos manifests into many forms, but the general consensus divides the into several "schools of practice"   Fire magic in Morganos is raw, volatile, and deeply tied to the emotions of the caster. It manifests in eruptions of heat and light—streams of flame hurled like spears, radiant pulses of area-consuming heat, or precise jets designed for surgical devastation. Practitioners channel this elemental fury through open palms for wider area denial or closed fists to compress their wrath into piercing blasts. It responds to passion—grief, courage, rage—and punishes those who waver. Fire mages often leave battles with scorched nerves and blackened emotions, their tempers shortened and their souls stoked. Visually, fire adapts to the caster’s essence: crimson for the wrathful, blue for the hateful, gold for the radiant-hearted. But all fire demands a price—it always burns something.   Lightning magic crackles from the fingertips, swift and vicious. It dances across the air in jagged arcs, often leaping between targets with kinetic fury. Cast using the pointer and middle fingers extended like a forked conduit, lightning spells thrive on immediacy—there is no time for hesitation. It calls to the instinctive, the chaotic, and those who embrace the unpredictable. Though potent, its backlash is violent: uncontrolled muscle spasms, nerve overloading, or disorientation. For most, accuracy suffers—but Edric, shaped by wildness and honed by training, channels it with unnatural precision. Wherever a storm mage walks, the air tingles, hair rises, and the smell of ozone precedes danger.   Ice magic whispers rather than shouts. It is the art of control, of preservation, and of suspended emotion. Its spells take form in spears, walls, or creeping mists that sap motion and warmth from everything they touch. Casters wield it through minimal, deliberate gestures—sharp angles of the wrist, a held breath, a single point of focus. Ice obeys those who have known loss, those who stand apart, and those who have buried their grief in snow. The price is isolation; prolonged casting leads to emotional coldness, distant empathy, and numb limbs. Visually, it paints the world in crystalline patterns—fractals of frost blooming mid-air, footsteps muffled by creeping hoarfrost.   Water is the element of grace and restoration, of flexible thinking and emotional clarity. Mages manipulate it through broad, flowing gestures that mimic the tides—open hands rotating like waves or sweeping motions like rising currents. Its manifestations range from cutting whips to gentle restorative mists, and from barriers of liquid force to condensation drawn from breath. Water mages feel everything—they’re empathic, intuitive, and often exhausted by their own emotional reach. Casting too much can lead to dehydration, fatigue, or even psychological echo: feeling others’ pain as their own. But in battle, they are the tides themselves—ever-adapting, always shifting, impossible to corner.   Wind mages are the dancers of the magical arts. Their casting style is fluid, evasive, and rarely predictable. Each spell is birthed through full-body motion—pirouettes, twirls, sweeps of arms and legs that blur into the very air they command. They summon gales to lift them skyward, send slicing gusts at foes, or wrap themselves in invisible shields of kinetic force. Wind speaks to the restless, the unrooted, the ever-curious. But with that freedom comes fragility—windcasters often feel disconnected from time and place, as if constantly half a second ahead of the present. Around them, leaves dance, dust rises, and silence never lasts long. Earth magic is the discipline of resolve. It is slow, deliberate, and unstoppable once set into motion. Casters draw power from the ground through bracing stances, grounded limbs, and slamming gestures that mimic tectonic shifts. They raise walls, hurl boulders, armor themselves in shale, or make the battlefield itself into a weapon. Earth resonates with the loyal, the stubborn, and the dutiful. Its feedback is heavy—slowed thoughts, aching joints, or a creeping inflexibility in mind and spirit. But what earth magic lacks in speed, it repays in certainty: the mountain does not need to chase you—it waits for you to break upon it. Gravity magic is subtle, cosmic, and terrifying in scope. Its users bend the laws of space itself—crushing foes with weight, hurling them into the sky, or turning time into a slow, syrupy crawl. Cast through spiraling hand motions and wide stance control, gravity spells require intense mental clarity and philosophical grounding. They appeal to the obsessive, the analytical, and those who see balance in everything. Feedback includes migraines, vertigo, and dissociation. The visual effect is often imperceptible until it’s too late: shadows deepen, light bends, and sound falters before a gravitational shift. Only a few, like Maldrakhar, ever master this school fully—and even fewer survive its use.   Necromancy is a dialogue with what was—and with what refuses to be forgotten. It is the art of raising not just corpses, but truths buried in pain. Necromancers cast with stillness or slow, prayer-like gestures. They use open hands to beckon or clenched fists to command. Their magic includes reanimation, soul-binding, entropy, and memory manipulation. But their greatest strength lies in what they give up: part of themselves. The cost is always personal—something of the caster is lost, twisted, or echoed. Their auras decay, their sleep shortens, and their names fade from memory as death takes more than it returns. Visually, necromancy is all balefire and shade—colors not meant for sunlight, whispers that do not need mouths, and green light that never warms.