What is the Wyrd?

Welcome to the Sanctum travelers, and welcome back for some. Sit, get comfortable - today's lesson is one I know some among you have been waiting for.

Yes, I see the light of wonder in some of you. That's good, you've seen a bit of what is possible and now you want to learn to sling spells, bend the world to your whim... or at least not fall all over yourselves the next time someone else does. That means you need to understand The Wyrd.

It goes by many names: Aether, Magika, Arcanuum... Old names, approximations and guesses. It was actually one of the Rainienni who first called it The Wyrd, and as you'll see - that name resonated with those of us Euosans who had always known magic as a reliable and precise thing.

Now most of you youths come from a time where the Wyrd hums in the air, right? You can taste it when lightning cracks, or when the moon catches on the lake just right. Those of you who don’t know what to make of that feeling. either grew up in a dead land or only know the teachings from elders that did. Rainien was a place where the Wyrd was siphoned away from its very conception. Don’t take it personal, but out there, in the world as it is now - well. the world’s got more bite, but also more to grasp if you can do it with care. You’re like folks seeing color for the first time and feel ready to paint masterpieces. Maybe you will, I hope you will.

See, The Wyrd’s not “magic” the way the old books talk about it anymore. Like everything else, it got torn up and spread out and smashed together into something raw. It's become the blood in the world’s veins. Everything that breathes, burns, or breaks leaks a bit of it. Our arcanists used to read and study and dictate, where now we must learn to listen... then take what we need.

But here’s where you pay attention, because this is where most bright sparks blow their fool heads off:

The Wyrd is alive. Oh, not like you or me, but it doesn’t like being manhandled. You pull too deep, twist it wrong, make it dance a tune it hates… and it bites back harder than any beast in the marshes.

Now, mechanically speaking: yeah, keep those old books open, the old words aren't completely foreign to the living Wyrd... but words and formula don't cut it anymore, and drawing on the Wyrd ain’t free. Every spell taxes your nerves, your soul, your luck, whatever you're willing to put in. You want to hurl a firebolt? Fine. Draw through your focus, your training, your control. Slip up, and the Wyrd burns you instead. Slip up bad enough and the land burns.

Those of us who grew up around it have it easier when we learn to let the flow move through us gentle-like. Like steering a current instead of damming it with harsh demands and calculations. Those from the silent lands? You fight it, wrestle it, fear it, and that fear makes you sloppy.

Some of you will take to it. There is always an exception that proves the rule, you start small... with light, heat, a whisper through the ether. And over time, maybe you’ll weave miracles. Others’ll stick to steel, and I don’t blame you. A sword never demands your sanity as payment.

But just so you remember every time you bend the Wyrd, it bends you back. You leave a mark on the world, and the world leaves one on you. And if you think that sounds poetic, you’re not listening hard enough.

I wasn't always half-blind, and I wasn't always so sage. Welcome to the Wyrdlands.