◀ The ContinentMithyaloka

The Lore of the Continent

The Four Forces

All power is a combination.

At a Glance

AuraThe life energy within one's own body, in muscle and bone and blood. The force of warriors and knights: strength, speed, and endurance beyond mortal limits. Reached through the Aura Heart, a center of power within the chest.
ManaThe life energy of the world outside the self, permeating all that lives. The province of mages and sorcerers: the shaping of elements, the construction of spells. Reached through Mana Veins, an internal meridian system.
PranaThe energy of the spirit, drawn from the universe itself: the spark of consciousness, the force of thought and will. Exceedingly rare. Prana Eyes glimpse possible futures; Prana Touch heals what was thought beyond mending; Prana Mind, closed to humans, reaches further still.
BrahmaCausality itself. Not manipulation at all, but cooperation: alignment with the correct flow of cosmic fate, so that what happens leans your way. It cannot be forced. It can only be joined.
The RuleOne force with training. Two for the exceptional. Three for legends. All four is something else entirely.
The PriceTo practice magic of any kind is to go against the natural order, and the order answers. Every working carries a cost. With Prana the cost is heaviest.
The MeasureA ladder of ranks from A to SSS, and War Candidate status, verified by assessment and held from S-rank upward. War God is a title, won at the War Games.

Body, World, Universe, Fate

Four fundamental forces govern the practice of magic across the Continent, and all power, from a knight's sharpened blade to a sorcerer's conjured flame, is born from some combination of them. The Continent's scholars have named, cataloged, and taught them for millennia. The academies of Arcanmere test for them, the martial schools cultivate them, the temples pray through them, and the Desert Sect measures them. Two are energies that a practitioner learns to command. Two are states of enlightenment that cannot be commanded at all.

Aura

Drawn from

Life energy within the self

Reached through

The Aura Heart, a center of power within the chest

Who

Warriors and knights

Easiest to learn, hardest to perfect

Mana

Drawn from

Life energy in the world around

Reached through

Mana Veins, an internal meridian system

Who

Mages, sorcerers, and war-mages

Learned as formula and pattern

Prana

Drawn from

From the universe: the spark of consciousness

Reached through

Prana Eyes, Prana Touch, or, in those not born human, Prana Mind

Who

Seers, oracles, and healers

The initial enlightened state

Brahma

Drawn from

Causality itself

Reached through

None. It is joined, not reached

Who

A handful of beings in recorded history

The finalization of the enlightened state

Top row: two sides of one coin, the life energy within the self and the life energy of the world around it, which a practitioner learns to command. Bottom row: the two enlightened states, the first of which is perceived and the last of which is only joined.

Aura

Aura and Mana are two sides of one coin, and the coin is life. Aura is the life energy within the self: the energy held in muscle and bone and blood, found in animals, in people, and in a few of the fungi, and in nothing that does not live. It is the force of warriors and knights. Every living being possesses the pathways it moves through; the trained warrior develops them to superhuman capacity, and the discipline that does so is the foundation of every serious martial tradition on the Continent. Aura is cultivated at the Aura Heart, a physical center of power within the chest. The heart does not typically form until adolescence, though a teacher may set a child on the mental path toward it years before it stirs. It is the easiest of the four forces to learn and the hardest to perfect, which is why knights and warriors throughout history have devoted whole lifetimes to it.

What it buys is the body enhanced beyond mortal limits: strength, speed, endurance, and a reinforced frame that absorbs blows that would break ordinary bone. Practiced further, it leaves the body. An adept reads an opponent's intentions through their aura before the blow is thrown; a master projects it outward as a pressure that can drive lesser men to their knees; at the highest ranks it becomes visible, a distortion in the air around the one who has fully roused it, and a practitioner of that rank can push life energy into dead matter and command it: stone hardened by it, walls raised from it, the ground itself made to answer. Sorkhold drills its war-mages in brute-force projection. Chandran's soldiers carry a lightning-attuned variety in the blood. A person's natural reserves sit above or below the common baseline, and everything after that is cultivation.

Mana

Mana is the other side of the coin: the life energy outside the self, the energy that permeates the living world, plant and fungus as much as beast, and lies in the ambient field of every place on the Continent, to be drawn from the air, the stone, the water, and the flame around a practitioner. It is the province of mages and sorcerers, and of the war-mages and battlemages that the great kingdoms field beside their soldiers. To channel it, a practitioner must develop Mana Veins, an internal meridian system through which environmental energy can be drawn in and directed. The most powerful mages are said to have Mana Veins that run throughout their entire bodies, so that they draw power from every direction at once. Not everyone has the architecture. A court mage tests a candidate for Mana affinity by looking for the veins, and finds nothing in one who was built for a different force.

Mana is the force of the shaped element, the constructed spell, and the bent rule: wards and barriers, projected bolts, and the enchantment worked into a blade or a ring so that it draws on the world's energy and channels it through the bearer. It is the most academic of the forces. Arcanmere has spent millennia cataloging magical ability and building systems of training and advancement around it, and the mage-schools teach Mana as formula and learned pattern, refined across centuries of study. The great workings lean on maanthrika, a crystalline catalyst refined from mountain ore, without which the most demanding spells and the most lasting enchantments cannot be made.

Prana

Prana is the energy of the spirit, drawn not from the body or the environment but from the universe itself. If Aura is the energy of life, Prana is the energy of consciousness: the spark that makes a mind a mind, the force of thought and will, the thing that sets a thinking being apart from the creatures that merely live. It is exceedingly rare, rarer than Aura and rarer than Mana, and most beings never touch it at all, because the connection it requires cannot be built by training. One either has the spiritual architecture or one does not. It is said to run in bloodlines, though it can skip generations or appear unexpectedly where no seer was known before. Some peoples carry the affinity more naturally than humans do; the dwarven lines are the best known.

Prana takes three forms, and only two of them are open to humans. Prana Eyes grant foresight: those who possess them may glimpse possible futures, see the threads of fate that bind living things, and read a soul the way others read a page. The sight flows strongest through direct contact, which is why an oracle asks for your hands. Prana Touch grants healing: it works not on the wound but on the disruption of life force beneath the wound, and so it can mend what was thought beyond mending. Prana Mind is the third form, and no human has ever held it. It belongs to the other peoples of the Continent, and even among them it is rare. It greatly widens what Prana can do and compounds the practitioner's Aura besides, and it is the root of the arts the Continent calls the mancies: telepathy, necromancy, pyromancy, metalmancy, and a slight telekinesis, the moving of small things by will alone. The same force runs the other way. The energy that knits a body back together is the energy behind every curse, and a Prana burn eats its victim from the inside out. Every Prana working is paid for by the one who works it: a healer spends their own spiritual reserves, and one who overdraws them can be permanently damaged. Prana is called the initial enlightened state. It is the first step toward understanding the deeper nature of existence, and there is only one step after it.

Brahma

Brahma is the fourth force and the rarest, and it is not a force one wields. It is not manipulation at all, but cooperation: alignment with the correct flow of cosmic fate and destiny. Brahma cannot be forced or controlled. It can only be joined, as a leaf surrenders to a river's current. It is the finalization of the enlightened state, the highest tier of magical achievement, and in all of recorded history only a handful of beings have ever touched it.

Put plainly, Brahma is causality. It is the force that decides which of the things that could happen does happen, and to touch it is to have that decision lean your way. A being aligned with Brahma does not cast anything. The blow that should have landed misses by a finger's width; the road that should have been barred is open; the one chance in a thousand comes up, and keeps coming up. It cannot be trained, because fortune is not a skill. No academy teaches it. The theoretical literature that exists describes it in terms so abstract as to be useless, and the few who have brushed against it agree that it is the fundamental force of existence itself, the power that maintains the fabric of reality, and that it is not meant to be grasped by mortal hands. The histories hold that to force what should only be joined exacts a price that no one pays willingly.

How They Combine

Most beings, mortal and immortal alike, may learn to wield one of these forces with sufficient training. Exceptional individuals might grasp two, becoming the warriors and mages that shape the course of history. To awaken three is the province of legends. To touch all four is something else entirely.

Everyone on the Continent carries Aura and Mana; that is what it is to be alive. Using them is another matter. To practice magic of any kind, a person must first seed an Aura Heart, and about one in three ever does. Of those, one in nine goes on to develop Mana Veins. Of those who can channel Mana, one in nine can so much as sense Prana, and of those who can sense it, one in nine can use it. So of every thousand people on the Continent, some three hundred and thirty can raise Aura, thirty-seven can shape Mana, four can feel Prana, and fewer than one in two thousand can wield it. Brahma is not on the scale at all: a handful in recorded history.

Think of a person as a bowl. Every bowl holds the four forces in its own proportions, and the proportions are set largely by blood, which is why certain families keep their power for so long, and partly by everything that comes after: the land a person grows up in, the body they build, the talents they lean into. Two people of one bloodline, with the same makeup and the same gift, will express it differently if one trains as a runner and the other as a brawler. The blood supplies the force. Training and inclination shape the art.

The rule of one, two, three, and four is the spine of the system, and everything else hangs from it. A knight's blade carries Aura. A war-mage's bolt is Mana. The healer in the field hospital is working Prana, and a working that binds two forces into one is the mark of the exceptional. The named arts of the Continent are combinations, each drawing on the forces in its own proportion, and the rarest arts demand three. Solon's own martial art, the histories say, required Aura, Mana, and Prana together simply to learn.

The forces move through separate architecture. The Aura Heart, the Mana Veins, and the channels of Prana are distinct, and a person may possess one and lack another entirely: strong in the spirit and without a single vein for the world's energy, or the reverse. Nor do the forces sit still beside each other. A practitioner who overspends one draws on another to cover the debt, and the body pays for the conversion; and some disciplines war against each other within a single body so completely that the combination cannot be held at all.

The forces awaken. Training builds the pathways, but the force itself stirs in a person, and most who are born to more than one meet them years apart. Even the Agnivansha, who have centuries to spend, require decades to touch each force individually. To awaken three at once, untaught and without a catalyst, is the stuff of the oldest histories; the last being recorded to have done it was Abaddon himself, in his hundredth year, and the awakening is said to have opened doors in the mind that normally stay sealed.

One law sits over all four. To practice magic of any kind is to go against the natural order, and the natural order answers. Every working has a cost and a rebound: the warrior who burns through his Aura collapses when it is spent; the mage who overspends Mana draws on his own body to cover the debt; the seal that shields a city drains its caster to the edge of death, and the forbidden seals are paid for in years. With Prana the law bears down hardest. A Prana working always accrues a cost, and it is charged to the one who worked it.

Two of the forces are steps on a single path. Prana is the initial enlightened state and Brahma its finalization; the one is the first step toward the other. And some power comes from the blood rather than the training. The Sangam line carries the affinity for thunder even where the art itself has faded; the Chandran line carries lightning in its eyes; the tribes of the north carry the dormant blood of the Jotun. A gift carried in the blood does not pass through the gates that learned magic must: a person can be born to Prana who never seeded a single Mana Vein. Bloodline gifts run on the same reserves as everything else the body does, and they are spent the same way.

The Named Arts

Every named art of the Continent is one of these combinations, refined by a people or a bloodline until it took a name of its own. The origins of the oldest of them, and the beings who made them, are told in the mythology. Here is what they are.

Seal MagicA Dragon art, not made by human hands, written in Suryati, the magic tongue of the Elder Dragons that few humans can even pronounce; the script itself shifts meaning with the reader's aura. Seal Magic works by binding reality, creating fixed points that cannot be altered: barriers, bindings, containments, and restrictions the Dragons could write onto a soul itself. It is the one mortal art that draws on all four forces at once. A seal fixes an outcome, and fixing an outcome is a touch on causality, though the sealer only brushes Brahma and never joins it. Its cost scales with the working. A personal barrier is within a skilled practitioner's means, a city-scale one can kill even a master, and the forbidden techniques are paid for in the caster's own years. The art of the patient and the meticulous.
Stellar MagicThe dragon magic that every Elder Dragon possesses, as much a part of the Agnivansha as their flame-cores or their power to transform. It is theirs alone and beyond the reach of mortals.
Storm MagicThe Elemental Art of Lightning and Thunder: the art with which Solon, the first War God, defeated the Agnivansha. It passed to his heirs in two halves, and the halves became the arts of two kingdoms. Its making is told in the mythology.
Thunder MagicThe harder half of Storm. Concussive force through the compression of the air: the ancestral art of Sangam, which could once split mountains and shatter armies. It faded generations ago until only the affinity remained, and its barrier of entry is now so high that even those born with the affinity can no longer cross it.
Lightning MagicThe other half of Storm. The art of the Chandran blood: it cannot be learned, only inherited, and the blood runs wide enough through Chandran that the kingdom fields whole companies of lightning-wielders born to it. In the royal line it shows in eyes that crackle gold.
Wind MagicThe diminished remnant of thunder in the Sangam line, and elsewhere the simplest of the elemental arts, with beginner's exercises that children master.
Fire MagicThe demonic fire magic of Sorkhold, whose warriors carry it into the Crimson Desert's arenas.
The Radiant PathMangholstadt's Church trains Aura through frameworks of faith and discipline. Its power is forged in prayer rather than battle, and its High Oracle can hold War Candidate rank without ever having fought a war. The Church also lays a lightning of its own on its knights as a blessing: a learned art that looks like Chandran's and is not.
Core SunderingA forbidden technique of the old wars, with a price its users pay in their minds. The histories say it will drive the one who uses it mad. Its workings are not written here.

Measuring Power

The Continent measures individual combat power on a single ladder, and everyone uses it: the academies that train, the courts that hire, the Desert Sect that assesses, and the intelligence briefings that decide whether a fortress can be taken. The ladder counts power, not deeds.

War Candidate is the status on which the ladder rests. It is not merely a title. It is a recognition of ability, verified by assessment: by the assessors of the Desert Sect, or by equivalent authorities in a warrior's home nation. A War Candidate's body has been cultivated until it withstands forces that would reduce ordinary men to paste and rebuilds itself faster than medicine can explain. Kingdoms hire them as teachers and as weapons at fees that strain treasuries; a single year of one's service can cost ten years of pay. The status begins at S-rank; an A-rank, however respectable, is not yet a War Candidate. And the status is a measure of power, not of war: the High Oracle of Mangholstadt's Sun Throne is a War Candidate who has never fought one.

AThe lowest rank a chronicle troubles to record, and the last one below War Candidate status. Respectable by any standard: the product of some twenty years of dedicated cultivation, and enough to earn command in any army on the Continent.
SThe first rank of War Candidate. The senior field posts of a kingdom's army are held at this rank and above, and a garrison's champion is an S. Prodigies reach it by thirty.
SSOne of the most powerful warriors on the Continent: able to crush lesser men with a thought and command armies through force of will, to cut through battalions, and to charge fees that would bankrupt a minor city. An SS does not fall to anyone below SSS, and to an SSS only on that one's best day.
SSSThe highest tier of War Candidate below War God. Perhaps thirty living beings hold it at any time. Each is a walking army: a single body whose personal capability exceeds the output of formations numbering in the thousands, whose aura blazes visibly at full activation, and who can annihilate a fortification alone. The measurement exists to define the ceiling of human capability, and this is the ceiling. Nothing can be more powerful than an SSS-rank.
UUndefined. A placeholder the measurers keep for a hypothetical: whatever incomprehensible realm of power might lie beyond SSS. No serious, sound mind believes such a thing could actually exist.
War GodNot a rung on the ladder but a title, claimed by the last warrior standing at the War Games. The histories count two: Solon, the first, and Androghengis Chandran, the second.

The ladder assumes magnitude. Each tier is the one below it at higher intensity: more aura, more mana, more speed, more force, more duration, the way a bonfire is a campfire at higher intensity. That assumption is why the measurers keep a U on the chart, and why no one expects to use it.

The title above the ladder is won in the Crimson Desert. The War Games have been held since before the Second Yuga by the Desert Sect, the keepers of the Games and servants of Hashem, and they begin on Year Day, the winter solstice. They are open only to recognized War Candidates, and they are not a tournament. They are a crucible. The last Games began with forty-seven confirmed War Candidates; three survived to the final day, and one walked out as War God. The Games reward neither courage nor cowardice, only being the last one standing, and the victor claims the title along with three wishes, granted under the Sect's ancient compact and bounded by the Sect's power and knowledge. It is the wishes, as much as the title, that the strongest warriors of every generation come for.

Combat rank is one scale. Skill within a single art is another, and the Continent grades it on a craftsman's ladder: beginner, intermediate, master, and, for the rarest, grandmaster. The two are spoken of together, but they are not the same measure and they do not convert; a rank on the ladder does not say which forces or arts were cultivated to earn it.