Seers often speak of auras, emotional impressions left on an item or place after intense or prolonged exposure to the minds of mortals. Favored objects often carry an impression of their owner or memories of their use. An otherwise ordinary ring, for instance, might bear the joy of marriage, the image of the woman who carried it many long years, and the sorrow of betrayal that caused her to cast it away. Much like words in a book, those with the sight can read these impressions to reveal clues to an item's history.

This works much the same with locations, which may be similarly marked by strong emotions. An old graveyard may carry memories of somber funerals. A battlefield may echo with mingled fury and fear from past conflicts. A room, otherwise featureless to ordinary sight, may bear a deep scar if torture or murder occurred there.

The more recent or powerful the emotion, the more vivid the aura. Stronger auras may grant a seer glimpses into details of the events surrounding them, including the words spoken or the people present. Likewise, older or weaker auras may only give a vague impression.

New auras tend to overwrite old ones, as well, so attempting to read the aura on an individual is only likely to give an impression of very recent or chronic emotions. An orphan may give off an aura of loneliness, for instance, or a monk an aura of serenity. Using auras in this way may help determine an individual's disposition, but most people experience too wide a range of emotions to make it useful. Other methods tend to be more effective for determining trustworthiness or morality.

Reading auras is not without risk, however. The act of opening up one's sight in this way makes the mind vulnerable. Auras that are especially potent, such as those surrounding immortals or artifacts, or distasteful, such as those surrounding beings of the Astral, Nether, Pit, or Beyond, may overwhelm the viewer or worse. Seers have gone mad and even died opening themselves to auras too powerful or alien for their minds to comprehend.

The fleeting hand of Baam
Will light the darkness
And fill the peaks
With a cosmic voice

There written
Upon the barren rock
Words of power
For those who read
And notes of truth
For those who listen

The song of ages
The music of the stars
A magical chorus
A testament of eternity
That echoes in the soul

Black fruit is a magical plant said to grow only in areas where nature has been corrupted by the dark arts. Some speculate that it occurs spontaneously, or perhaps that it propagates its seeds via extraplanar means in a twisted mockery of natural processes. However it takes root, the plant seems to draw nourishment from death, eventually bearing the vile black fruit for which it is named.

A piece of black fruit appears to be a roughly apple- or pear-shaped pome with a jet black exterior and a seedless, dark purple mesocarp. And while the fruit is fragrant and sweet, it is deadly if eaten. Most who ingest the tiniest piece of raw fruit die instantly.

The true horror of the black fruit, however, lies in its aftereffects. A creature who dies by ingesting it rises several hours later as a zombie. Such zombies are easily recognized from the purple-black ooze ringing their mouths. Because the merest amount of black fruit can achieve this effect, stories exist of whole gatherings or even entire villages dying and rising as undead in a single night after eating a communal meal tainted by it.

Such a potent substance has found other uses, of course, particularly in the hands of necromancers. The black fruit acts as one of the key ingredients necessary for achieving lichdom, and can be used to enhance many other forms of undead creation. It is so potent, in fact, that, for many applications, only a passing knowledge of the dark arts is necessary to achieve results.

First mentioned in a small leatherbound journal kept by a witch in the Wraithwood’s extension onto Jastrey, Life Pearls are Nether-tainted Animae from the Prime. These are generally only found on strong imbrications of the Near Prime over the mortal realm that have been exposed to powerful Necromancy in some way or another. Typically, Anima only try to attach themselves to mortals, but under the circumstance of additional souls inhabiting a vicinity, they can absorb some of that energy and morph into the Life Pearls. They appear as small dime-sized berries with a pure white exterior and a pitch black interior. The similarity of their creation to Black Fruit has caused many who are knowledgeable of these berries to handle them with extreme caution, but those who have taken the brave step to consume them have noticed that they imbue the consumer with large amounts of vigor. The long term side effects of exposure have yet to be determined.

Mana is a term that describes magic which has condensed into a physical substance, typically a crystal but occassionally a liquid or some other rarefied form. It is chiefly used by enchanters to fuel lasting enchantments laid on magical items, with potent or long-lasting enchantments requiring larger, more concentrated mana.

Formation

Mana occurs naturally in areas of strong magic, such as on a ley line, near a gateway, or in a partially imbricated location. It is possible to establish the appropriate conditions through spells, allowing enterprising tradesmen to manufacture mana artificially. Whether it is harvested in the wild or cultivated under controlled conditions, however, mana formation is a time-consuming process, with the largest and choicest crystals taking months to form.

In recent years, it has been discovered that mana grows more heavily on or near the verge, suggesting that the Void itself is a realm with magical qualities. This has prompted brave and foolish entrepreneurs to risk the maddening effects of the hollow wind in search of mana and the riches it can bring, a high-stakes gamble sometimes referred to as "mana madness." Some have even gone so far as to attempt mining off the side of a shard. And while the deposits of mana growing there are said to be considerable, such expeditions almost universally end in disaster.

Properties

Mana can be recognized from similar substances because it glows faintly and tingles to the touch. Depending on the conditions of its formation, it may become infused, giving it a distinct coloration. Mana grown in a graveyard, for example, may be deep purple or black, while mana grown deep under ground may have a brown or metallic coloration. The underlying nature of the mana itself is irrelevant, as the process of enchanting strips it of any contaminating influences, but some specialized works of magic may require mana with a specific infusion.

Creating a Portal

The creation of portals is one of the principle foci of wizardry. Whereas other spellcasters have some ability to create portals to the realms with their magic is most strongly attuned (the Astral for seers, the Maelstrom for sorcerers, the Nether or the Pit for warlocks, the Prime for theurges, etc.), wizards have refined a unique method of portal creation that is agnostic to the destination.

Regardless of the magic involved, the key to erecting any portal is proper attunement. The process itself involves joining the present location to a separate, distant location. This is simple enough for a reasonably adept spellcaster. However, controlling the end point of the gateway requires an object that is strongly attuned to the desired destination. This object is commonly referred to as a conduit.

A conduit may be any item that has spent a great deal of time in a single area. The less this item has been disturbed, the better. Thus, a piece of stone from a castle wall or a flower from a garden often serve as excellent conduits for reaching those locations. Of course, since the item must be taken from its resting place to serve as a conduit, they tend to lose their attunement rapidly.

There are substances that retain their attunement long after they have been moved from their original location, however. A magnetic mineral known as lodestone, for example, can be buried at a desired destination, whereupon it becomes attuned rapidly and retains its attunement almost indefinitely.

Symmet weed is another popular, though less permanent, conduit. This plant has the unique property of growing in perfectly symmetrical pairs. If one half of a pair is removed, it remains attuned to the other half regardless of its location. In this way, portals can be created without any prior attunement by sending matched pairs of symmet weed to the desired endpoints.

Even people can act as conduits for places they frequent, such as their homes. Because people are less stationary, however, their attunement is weak, and so portals using people as conduits tend to be skewed.

Without a proper conduit, the end point of a gateway may vary wildly or the gateway may fail to precipitate at all.

Permanent Portals

It is possible to erect a permanent portal adjoining two locations. Doing so is a painstaking process that involves cultivating enough conduit material (usually lodestone) at both locations over a period of months. The material is then moved to opposite ends and constructed into doorways. Wizards at each end must then perform coordinated rituals to precipitate the portal itself. Doing so during particular celestial or lunar phases helps ensure that the resulting portal does not break down over time.

Risks of Portal Travel

Portals are notoriously fickle. Weak attunement can result in a skewed destination, causing travelers to arrive miles off their mark. In addition, local magical phenomena can interfere; a portal created in a verdant druid's grove, for example, could end at the right location but deposit travelers in the Near Prime instead. Even celestial events can distort otherwise safe and well-established portals.

Thankfully, a portal that ends in solid matter simply fails to precipitate. However, this hasn't stopped reckless travelers from unexpectedly ending up high in the air, underwater, underground, or in similarly hazardous environments, such as volcanoes. This is to say nothing of arriving in the middle of areas infested with hostile monsters or on private premises. More than one portal traveler has had to explain themselves when they inadvertently intruded on a privy, a bed chamber, or a well-guarded treasure vault.

Legend tells of the Wayfarer's Wind, a magical force that moves travelers from one place to another, seemingly at random and always against their will. According to reports, the wind may strike individuals or groups, in different places and at different times of the day. Most often, this only occurs once, but some stories tell of individuals who are cursed by the Wayfarer's Wind, waking each morning to find themselves in a different place. These individuals may trudge through the dunes of Sirison one day only to find themselves in the tundra of Glesmyr the next. Many scholars have posited possible explanations for the wind, but none have ever been proven conclusively.

Theory #1: Chosen of Ivelis

The mistrals of Ivelis ascribe special favor to the Wayfarer's Wind as the will of the Wanderer in the Wind himself. According to them, Ivelis will occasionally send travelers on a journey in order to teach them a lesson or guide them towards their destiny. Those cursed to wake each day in a new place are particularly blessed according to the mistrals, who insist that Ivelis has sent them on a grand journey to accomplish some great deed. Only when they have come to know the journey's purpose and fulfilled it will Ivelis then allow them to settle. Unsurprisingly, those caught up in the Wayfarer's Wind are seldom so optimistic about its effects.

Theory #2: Origin Points

Kessek Lestral, the famed head of the Berylline Syndicate who charted the leylines upon which Orn later shattered, posited the theory of origin points. According to the theory, for every creature, object, and force in existence, there exists an origin point, a discrete location on a discrete realm to which that entity resonates, anchoring it to reality such that, if the entity were removed from its origin point, it would be drawn inexorably back to it.

Ordinarily, the origin point is fixed, moving only with the entity to which is corresponds. Certain spells can be used to shift it across spatial and planar boundaries, dragging the affected entity along with it. Notably, spells of summoning temporarily separate a creature from its origin point. Thus, much like an elastic band drawn taught, a summoned creature will snap back to its origin point when the spell that summoned it has ended.

It is theorized that an origin point can be eradicated entirely. Exactly what might happen to an entity so disjoined is purely speculative. Such a creature may shift chaotically from one location to the next, possibly even between multiple realms. Without any means of tethering itself to reality, an entity so affected could even drift beyond the boundaries of reality into the Beyond, lost forever to the uncharted and alien realms that exist outside our own.

As there have been no recorded incidents of this occurring, however, the body of research to support the theory is minimal. While the effects of an origin point can be effectively or even indefinitely counteracted, actually removing the originating resonance involves tampering with the very fabric of reality. At the very least, it is an impossible feat by current magical standards, and remains little more than an interesting conjecture.

Theory #3: Vlqmk, the Hungerer

In the great Beyond, outside the bounds of reality, dwell terrors too great and terrible to fathom, creatures the size of continents with powers to rival the immortals themselves. Most of the time, these beings are unaware or uninterested in our world, caught up as they are in alien motives only the mad can comprehend. Occasionally, however, one of these beings takes notice.

To those who have any knowledge of the Beyond, the name of Vlqmk the Hungerer evokes particular dread. An immeasurable mass of gaping, grinding, fang-filled maws and groping tentacles, the Hungerer craves nothing less than to devour all that it perceives. With an insatiable appetite, it stretches forth its tentacles through the veil of reality, grasping for the tastiest morsels it can get ahold of. Thankfully, it cannot manifest itself, or else the whole of reality would be in peril. The force of its hunger, however, is so potent as to draw the objects of its desire towards it.

Only one tale has been recorded of an individual unfortunate enough to become caught in the Vlqmk's clutches. Regulus Thuurden, a dwarven architect of some note, was verified to be one of the creature's victims. It is said that, some weeks before his disappearance, he began shifting wildly from place to place. He would wake every morning somewhere else in the world, as if thrashed about by some gigantic force. Toward the end of his life, he spoke of terrible nightmares, of dangling on tentacles over great mouths the size of valleys. Ultimately, though his friends made every effort to save him, Thuurden was ripped from reality body and soul. Those who witnessed his disappearance have difficulty recounting the gastly horror they saw on the other side.