On Magic: Exploring TTRPG Fantasy Physics

The common signifiers of the fantasy genre are pretty consistent at this point. Dragons are pretty central, as are variably-sized humanoids with unusually-shaped ears. A pre-requisite, surely, must be the presence of a scruffy bloke in a hood, mysteriously puffing from a pipe in a tavern. There are castles. There’s a monarchy. If the fantasy genre was a stew, these would be the recognisable chunks of veg floating at the top. 

But these are all sole aesthetic signifiers of the genre, and not its defining feature. To understand what the genre is, we must look past the veg and into the composition of the broth¹. We must look at the magic. 

A fantasy setting cannot exist without some degree of magic. This magic can be a clear and apparent factor of the setting (akin to the systems of our daily lives, such as writing, cooking, or art), or an ambient, invisible presence within the setting (closer to, say, the laws of physics). However, magic should always exist in one form or another. Even in settings where this magic cannot be accessed, it should inform the frameworks by which our characters interpret their circumstances, much as we once understood our surroundings via a framework of gods, demons, spirits, and sympathetic spellcraft. 

But magic is a varied and ever-changing thing. To our ancient ancestors, it was the force that held up the sky and dictated the passing of seasons; to later, post-Christian audiences, it was the method by which one communes with God, the ultimate force of magic; by the time we reach the Renaissance, magic has become a science, an observable phenomenon that can be traced, catalogued, and understood; now, to a modern audience, magic belongs exclusively in the realm of fiction, as real to us as the unicorn. Each of these is a different framework, a way of understanding the forces that shape our reality. These are magic systems. 

When it comes to writing fantasy magic systems, we can generally break it down into four main groups:

• Alchemical Magic

• Innate Magic

• Semantic Magic; and

• Religious Magic.

Each of these systems has its place within the fantasy genre, but today we’re going to specifically focus on how each system manifests as a gameplay feature. Each of the following systems lends itself to a distinct gameplay framework, informing the nature of the setting and mechanics accordingly. Our job, as designers, is to pick the right one. 

Alchemical Magic

This is perhaps the most common magic system, and a direct response to our increasingly scientific, secular world. In an Alchemical Magic system, the magician combines disparate ingredients to achieve their desired results. For instance:

Eye of Newt + Toe of Frog = Charm of Powerful Trouble” 

As the above example demonstrates, this is the magic system used (at least partly) by the witch coven in Shakespeare’s Macbeth. It is reminiscent of a scientific or mathematical formula, in which X + Y = Z². Sometimes the ingredients are not literal, physical ingredients, but ritual requirements - the correct actions performed in a set order, perhaps, augmented with magical items. 

Due to its transactional, formulaic nature, this system is also incredibly useful for a game designer: I have used this system in Right Hand Path, Suburban Shaman, and We Stalk the Hedgerows, as it provides ample opportunities for players to engage with the in-world economy. If a spell requires, for instance, a sample of goblin blood, the players must be willing to engage in the game’s systems to seek out that ingredient in order to perform the spell and progress their game. For a more esoteric edge, I also added non-physical ingredients to certain spells (the magician’s morale, for instance, or their reputation) to create a sense of interacting with a world beyond the seen.

Innate Magic 

This system is more nebulous, and perfect for writers of young adult fantasy fiction. The Innate Magic system assumes that magic is a sort of inherited trait, granted either by one’s genetics (a la the Hero lineages of the Fable franchise), or access to a specific substance or object (a magic wand, an enchanted sword, the space cocaine of Frank Herbert’s Dune). This is an ideal magic system for settings in which specialness is a key priority for the consumer, as it provides a perfect setup for the “chosen one” narrative: Fable’s Hero of Oakvale is part of a long lineage of heroes, connected by their blessed blood³; King Arthur is the divinely-sanctioned king of England by writ of his magic sword; Paul Atreides gains control of all spacetime because he is the best at taking space cocaine. 

In terms of game design, the Innate Magic structure works best for games where magic is novel or rare, allowing the player to instinctively outpace their competitors. This is perfect for games in which the power fantasy is a core tenet of the design rationale: Dungeons and Dragons has nine magic-using subclasses, but it is only the Sorcerer (whose entire class is configured around Innate Magic) that has an in-built lineage all-but guaranteeing Chosen One status⁴. 

Semantic Magic

Given that most fantasy fiction is written by, well, writers, it perhaps shouldn’t be surprising that many magic systems centre around the power of words. A Semantic Magic system is built upon the knowledge of a specific mystical language, in which individual words are spoken in order to achieve a desired effect. This tradition actually borrows heavily from half-remembered practices of the Catholic church, whose foundational magics are communicated exclusively in Latin. This is perhaps the most common and accessible shorthand for magic aside from “wave your hands in a weird way”, as the mystical language of the Semantic Magic is immediately recognisable as exotic and mysterious. This is also the magic system best used to communicate the intelligence of the magician, as in order to harness the forces of magic one must become a polyglot. 

This magic system is actually fairly rare in gameplay, as it requires players to on some level learn a whole new language. This is easy enough to achieve in a video game⁵, but for a TTRPG player it is perhaps unfeasible to develop a passing knowledge of, say, French just to cast a fireball⁶.

I’ve never tried this myself, but I feel an interesting use case here would be breaking each spell into its requisite parts, and associating each part with a set syllable. For example: 

• Fire = tân

• Big = mawr

• Circle = cylch

• Health = iechyd

Therefore: Tânmawrpel = Large Fireball, while Iechydcylch = Healing Circle. 

These syllables could then be uncovered during gameplay, and a player’s progression would be tied to seeking out and adding new syllables to their character sheets. 

Religious Magic 

Perhaps my least favourite system, but not for the edgy new-atheist reasons you might initially suspect. Most commonly found in settings where gods take centre stage, Religious Magic takes inspiration from the miracles of prophets, the prayers of the pious, and the contracts we enter with entities of a higher power. This magic system draws its power from a metaphysical source such as a god, demon, belief system, or other entity. Examples abound in writings inspired by Judeo-Christianity (and specifically, the miracles of Jesus), but can also be seen in the Force of Star Wars, Warhammer’s Ruinous Powers and the Imperium of Man, and the corrupting, empowering influence of Lovecraft’s Elder Gods and Great Old Ones. 

There is a transactional nature to Religious Magic that makes it especially useful in roleplaying games, though this is often difficult to manage in-game. To return, begrudgingly, to Dungeons and Dragons, there are three classes that claim their power from this source: Clerics, Paladins, and Warlocks. In the former two, the transaction is simple: Behave in a manner befitting your god, and receive that god’s blessing. For the latter, this transaction is more nebulous and nuanced, as the player must offer something unique to them: their soul, their service, their firstborn son, etc. 

Now, while this sounds ripe for roleplay opportunities, few modern players and GMs are willing to engage with this system. I do think Religious Magic has its place in game design, but I am reticent to implement it myself due to what I call the Warlock’s Dilemma: 

Generally, I believe that a player’s actions should always have consequences. However, having your powers taken away sucks. Therefore, this magic system is already replete with potential game design pitfalls that I personally wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. I’m sure there are compromises and examples in which developers have bypassed this issue (if you have one in mind, comment below - I genuinely love being proven wrong), but the immediate issues with this magic system are elegantly undone by resource management in the case of Alchemical Magic, narrative availability in the case of Innate Magic, and mechanical engagement in the case of Semantic Magic.

Conclusion

Ultimately, the magic system of a setting should inform the gameplay, theme, and narrative you are trying to tell with your game. Each system has its place and function, and your role as a designer is ultimately to customise the system of your choice to fit your narrative. Hell, you could even mix-and-match: All of these systems, for instance, can be found in Dungeons and Dragons. Whichever magic system you settle on in the end, don’t be surprised if it behaves in unexpected ways. 

It is magic, after all. 

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¹ I skipped breakfast to write this. Can you tell?

² This system also has similarities to following a recipe: A similarity I used to full effect when developing The Gastronomancer.

³ Which does raise some uncomfortable questions about race, genetics, and “superiority” that, frankly, Peter Molyneux is not equipped to handle.

⁴ Do I think all Sorcerer mains are egotists? Yes, absolutely. Do I hold that against them? Also yes.

⁵ My favourite example of this magic system comes from Skyrim, in which the language of dragons - the Thu’um - is capable of rewriting reality on a fundamental level. When two dragons battle, they are not merely flying around breathing fire at one another: They are debating, weaving the weight and ferocity of fire into their arguments.

⁶ They’d probably call it something pretentious like a “flambé”.