Throwing great balls of fire, summoning strange creatures to your aid or invoking the wrath of your deity to smite your foes, nothing screams “Fantasy!” like magic. In fact, the addition of magic into any other genre (with the possible exception of horror – we’ll have a look at that in another post) pretty much transforms the game into a fantasy setting. Yet it is all too easy to forget to put the “magic” in magic, if you get what I mean.
Consider the following. Your character, walking home one night, is confronted by a thug. He points a crossbow at you and demands that you hand over everything of value. “Haha!” you say, “I shall do no such thing. For I have a Magic Missile up my sleeve!… er, that is, memorised. I cast magic missile.” Perhaps a card is produced, dice are rolled, and the encounter ensues as normal. But where’s the essence of the esoteric? Where’s the sense of the Weird? It has disappeared behind the useful and descriptive name, the simple functionalism of the mechanics and the oversaturation of magic in the setting. Overuse makes the arcane mundane. And in this, it loses much of its charm.
The counter-argument might be made that a high fantasy setting requires magic to be run-of-the-mill, ordinary. Yet I don’t think this is necessarily the case. As with the horror genre, the target of the emotive experience created at the gaming table should primarily be the players. And what is the point of playing a high fantasy game if you are not viscerally aware of its mood, its feel – its magic?
With the problem in mind, let’s look at some of the reasons why magic often loses its esoteric aura in fantasy games, and how one might rekindle the occulted flame.Naming
Spells.
In most fantasy games the spells available to the magician are usefully and descriptively labelled – most of the time with nice, clipped, short titles. “Magic Missile.” “Charm Person.” “Summon Hamster.” All very functional, very handy. There’s something to be said for having short, easy to remember names for your powers – your fellow players will all know exactly what you’re doing when you call out what action you’re taking, they’ve all read the rules in the rulebook and are aware of the extent and limitation of what you’re trying to achieve. The GM knows the rules instantly, or can look them up if they’re complicated or otherwise obscure. But for this ease of use you sacrifice flavour. If you’ve ever read any magical text from history – either medieval, renaissance or ancient – you’ll be aware that these magicians NEVER gave an easy description of their procedures, let alone named their workings with a nice easy to understand phrase.
Greek magical papyrus. +2 vs. Rods/Staves/Wands...
I have run quite a few magic users in my time, and I have found that one of the most successful ways of adding flavour to your character is to play around with the names of spells. And no, adding “Gnoofla’s…” or “…of Lipitz” doesn’t add anything to the mystique. My favourite character of all time (so far) was a D&D 3rd edition mage by the name of Ichabod, who had a moth-eaten old cat by the name of Ezekiel as a familiar. I took pains to flesh out his spellbook in some detail. Thinking about the way the ancient magicians used to write, I characterised Ichabod’s spellbook(s) as philosophical musings, each chapter describing how individual bits of the world were threaded together in an esoteric manner, and how these threads might be reworked by the initiated. The outcome of this paradigm suggested names for my spells – they were the headings of the different chapters in my books. I wrote them in an old-worldly kind of way, and the subsequent flavour added to the campaign was significant.
So, to take our previous example: Ichabod is walking home one dark night and is confronted by a thug who demands his valuables. I pronounce “I employ the workings contained in Chapter 3 of my spellbook, ‘In which the Creation and Impulsion of Matter is discussed, and containing a Method by which a Useful Projectile may be fashioned’ (Magic Missile).” Yes, it takes longer – but it’s so much more fun, and really lends an air of esoteric speculation to your wizard.
Over-saturation.
This is the state of having magic up the wazoo. Campaigns in which magic is prevalent frequently overdo it – you have a magic candlestick, which lights the way when you wake up on your magical bed to use the magical gazunder +2 of smell slaying. Or maybe, when you feel the need, you don’t even bother getting up – you just do a little cantrip. Magic is everywhere, magic is normal – and so magic is boring. Magic should not be boring. Even if you’re playing in a setting where magic is a daily experienced fact, don’t get to the stage where magic becomes ordinary! If you reach this stage, magic is no longer magical. Even in high-magic campaigns I would council to make magic a rare thing – possessed by the few, not to be undertaken lightly or on a whim.
Introduce an element of rarity. Restricting magic-workers to a minority has to be worked into the setting, so if you’re playing a published setting, this option might not be available to you. But if possible, don’t have the world populated by thousands of wizards. That just makes it a whole lot less special when your character pulls out his spell book.
The issue is not just about the number of wizards – it’s also about how those wizards act in the world. Some magical characters only solve problems by casting spells at them. You should be able to see this problem developing while at the table. Confront the players with a problem. Now pay close attention to the spell casting players – if their first reaction is to look through their spell sheet for a quick solution, you have an over-saturation problem. The solution: Make spell casting cost something. This doesn’t have to be in the form of money. If, for example, there is a material component to the spell – then have the player account for his supply of components. Have the player negotiate with a supplier – make the supplier an interesting and difficult character, perhaps none too trustworthy or scrupulous. Have someone come looking for that skull you just bought from him. Or make them forage for their components. Now, I’ve never really played with spell components much – our group has largely just assumed you had the necessary materials, unless they were particularly expensive or unusual. Having to count out how many owl feathers you have in your possession and how many doses of bat guano you’re keeping about your person might make for an annoying game. So I am currently experimenting with a different idea.
Back when I was young I watched an old black-and-white movie about Sinbad the Sailor.
The evil vizier, who just happened to be a magician, played the principal antagonist. And what they did with this fellow was quite interesting and emotive – every time he worked magic he aged a few years. His hair turned white and fell out; wrinkles appeared on his face and he slowly wizened and aged. This idea might be applied to your own game: at character creation the aspiring wizard must choose whether his spells will age him, mutate him or slowly send him insane. Now watch while your wizard player looks for ways to avoid using the precious, powerful magic! I can just see some of you out there tut-tutting. “He wants to gut my character class of its power! This totally ruins the balance of the game!” Well, fair enough. So apply this idea judiciously. What you lose in power, however, you’ll get back in flavour. Or perhaps you’ll allow your Mage to undo some of this magical degradation through the appropriate unspeakable rituals…
Monty Haul.
Don’t forget the magic items when deciding on the level of magic in the game. If you have a +2 shirt and a +3 pocket watch, or a belt of muffin top +1 you really haven’t added any mystique to the game. I realise there are some balancing issues in restricting the amount of magical items you dole out to your players, but I would urge you to combat that issue by other methods than by handing out nondescript and non-interesting magical items. I think a game is made much more interesting when you give your magic items a back story. This also provides adventure hooks and creates a much deeper and more interesting world.
Description!
How many times have you seen a player announce “I cast Magic Missile. 4 damage.” Without so much as a sound effect (“Dakka-dakka-dakka!” – thanks, Balazar!) nor any description whatsoever. You’re doing it wrong! Describe! Maybe not in all its visceral detail, but at least mention lights, sounds, colours – Make it visceral!
Once again there is an elephant in the room which requires discussion. And that is Call of Cthulhu, my favourite RPG of all time. On reflection, much of the advice I’ve provided in this article seems to argue that you treat your high fantasy magic like the magic described in Call of Cthulhu… Am I showing my biases? Well, yes. But that’s only because Call of Cthulhu gets it so right! The tone of esoteric intrigue, of slow degradation and insanity attached to magic is all extremely atmospheric, and ensures that magic is not taken for granted or “normalised.” It is special.
And isn’t that what you want in a fantasy game?
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