Magic That Could Still Be Physics
By Nelson McKeeby
Adding Magic to Campaign 80
In 1980, Dwimmer entered Negentropy, just before Campaign 80 commenced. One of the players advocated for magic in the game, suggesting that magic could simply be science that people hadn’t yet comprehended. This idea drew inspiration from Arthur C. Clarke’s renowned concept that sufficiently advanced technology would be indistinguishable from magic. While I was intrigued by this possibility, I was hesitant to resolve it by simply adding a list of spells. Negentropy was already being constructed around the notion that unusual occurrences should still have consequences that could be examined, understood, and utilized in gameplay. Magic had to align with this approach.
Some of the material originated from Oasis, another game I was running. Oasis already incorporated magical concepts, such as the Five Lanterns, and it was practical to integrate a portion of that structure into Negentropy, similar to how I later incorporated the Oldari and Kindred material. However, this transfer was not a straightforward copy. Once these ideas entered Negentropy, they had to operate within a setting where science, engineering, medicine, logistics, and physical limitations were already integral to the game. While the Five Lanterns could remain enigmatic, they transformed into tangible devices stationed globally that could be tapped as sources for Dwimmer. A magical system that had originated in a fantasy setting was now compelled to establish infrastructure.
The Outcome Had to Be Feasible
The rule I ultimately settled on was straightforward. Dwimmer had the potential to bring about extraordinary transformations, but the final physical state had to be one that could actually exist. The mechanism behind these changes could remain unexplained, but the result itself could not.
That distinction allowed me to retain magic without rendering every other field of knowledge in the game obsolete. A practitioner could utilize Dwimmer to heat or cool an object by transferring energy between locations within a system. Matter could be organized or disorganized, and carbon could be transformed into diamond because diamond represents a specific arrangement of carbon. Steel could be made stronger by altering its physical structure, which in turn modifies its properties. Damaged tissue could be encouraged to heal because healing is a genuine biological process. None of these actions required me to assert that a human mind could perform them through known physics. Dwimmer provided the extraordinary mechanism, but the intended outcome still had to align with a state that matter and energy could occupy.
This became the defining line. I was comfortable permitting a process that science could not explain if I could still elucidate its actions on the physical world. This connection ensured that Dwimmer remained consistent with the same reasoning I employed for Project technology. The world could contain impossible mechanisms and still resist impossible consequences.
Magic as a Problem of Description
The true limiting factor was the practitioner’s ability to logically describe the intended change within their own mind. Dwimmer did not respond well to vague wishes. The user had to comprehend their desired outcome sufficiently to conceptualize the operation as a coherent mental model.
For instance, if a practitioner aimed to make steel tougher, simply stating “make the sword better” was insufficient. The user needed to understand the specific property being altered and the physical changes that could achieve it. If the objective was to convert carbon into diamond, the user required a meaningful understanding of what diamond was and how its structure differed from the starting material. Similarly, if the goal was to heal tissue, the user had to comprehend the tissue’s repair mechanisms, the damaged structures, and the biological processes that needed to be supported.
This concept made knowledge directly applicable to magic. Metallurgy could enhance a person’s capabilities with metals, while medicine could improve magical treatment of injuries. Chemistry, physics, biology, and engineering could all broaden the range of operations a practitioner could formulate. The same principle that made knowledge important for ordinary problem-solving also made it crucial for Dwimmer. Learning more about the world increased the complexity of the changes a person could attempt to impose on it.
Holding the Operation in Mind
I conceptualized “explaining” a Dwimmer operation as a psychological act. The practitioner had to maintain a complex thought with sufficient stability and precision for the intended change to occur. Intellectual knowledge of the facts was only part of the challenge. The person also needed to train their psychology to sustain that thought structure while using Dwimmer.
This is where ritual came into play. A practitioner might dance, sip a potion, utter a phrase, handle an object, or use a wand or another focus. These actions were not necessarily magical batteries or containers of spell energy. Instead, they were techniques for placing the mind in a state where the required thought became easier to maintain. A repeated dance could regulate attention and sequence, while a potion could alter perception or concentration. A wand could provide a physical focus that helped the practitioner keep an imagined direction, boundary, or structure stable.
This made ritual personal. Two individuals might achieve similar effects through different practices because the ritual was an integral part of their trained psychology. The effective practice was the one that allowed that person to form and maintain the operation. Therefore, Dwimmer allowed for things that appeared recognizably magical while still adhering to a system grounded in cognition, training, and physical consequences.
Heat, Cold, and the Movement of Energy
Heating and cooling were early examples of useful technology because their physical effects were easy to comprehend. Dwimmer could manipulate energy within or between systems. A practitioner could make one region warmer by adding energy to it or cooler by removing energy from it. This immediately introduced limitations. Heat didn’t simply disappear because it was inconvenient. Cooling one area meant that energy had moved elsewhere. Heating required energy to be concentrated from a source.
This approach gave magical effects the same kind of accounting that I wanted technology to have. A refrigerator moves heat, while a heater transfers or releases energy. Dwimmer could achieve this transfer through a mechanism beyond the capabilities of ordinary science, but the temperature change still adhered to the principles of thermodynamics. The effect could be extraordinary without becoming arbitrary.
This reasoning could be applied to many other operations. A practitioner could concentrate energy, disperse it, or move it through a system in ways that conventional machinery couldn’t. However, the practitioner couldn’t alter the underlying relationships. The world after the operation still contained the energy and matter involved.
Organization and Disorganization
The concept of organization was particularly appealing because Negentropy itself originated from my interest in entropy. Dwimmer could organize or disorganize matter, but organization required an intended pattern. A complex outcome demanded a detailed description.
This is what made examples like diamond or altered steel valuable. The effect wasn’t simply about claiming that one substance had become “better.” The practitioner had to comprehend the specific arrangement being created. Diamond is a particular structure of carbon, while steel properties depend on its composition, phase, heat treatment, grain structure, and other physical conditions. The more precise the desired result became, the more precise the practitioner’s mental model had to be.
That revelation brought about consequences for ignorance. Someone who was aware of the hardness of diamonds but lacked a meaningful understanding of their structure would have significantly less to work with compared to someone who comprehended the material. Attempting to enhance steel without comprehending the reasons behind its variations could result in suboptimal outcomes or even hinder the formulation of a coherent approach. Dwimmer rewarded explanations because they were integral to the mechanism.
Healing Without Ignoring Biology
Healing presented the principle with its most challenging aspect. Human tissue possesses the ability to repair itself, enabling Dwimmer to support and expedite processes that the body already performs. The practitioner could assist in organizing tissue, maintaining circulation, or providing support to a physiological process that was faltering. The difficulty lay in comprehending what the body truly required.
For instance, a practitioner could ensure that oxygen-rich blood reaches the brain when normal circulation is compromised. This intervention would not render oxygen unnecessary; instead, it would sustain a process that the brain physically necessitates. While a practitioner might be unable to simply generate a substantial volume of new blood from scratch, they could enhance the body’s capacity to produce blood by accelerating or supporting genuine biological mechanisms. A wound could be healed through tissue manipulation because tissue repair is physically feasible, but the practitioner still needed to possess knowledge of the appropriate structures’ locations and the conditions required by the cells.
This prevented Dwimmer from becoming a generic healing-point system. Individuals who understood anatomy and physiology could formulate more effective interventions because the body was not a symbolic object labeled “injured.” It was a living system. Magical healing transformed into another form of applied knowledge, and inadequate understanding could be as perilous as poor technique.
Why Knowledge Increased Magical Power
This concept yielded a very appealing outcome: education could enhance a practitioner’s power without altering the quantity of Dwimmer available. For instance, someone who delved deeper into chemistry would gain more accurate descriptions of transformations. Similarly, a medical practitioner could attempt more intricate healing techniques. A materials specialist could even formulate alterations to metals, ceramics, glass, or other substances that a less knowledgeable practitioner might not even recognize as feasible.
The character’s mind became an integral part of the equipment. Dwimmer provided access to an extraordinary capability, but the user’s education determined how intelligently that capability could be harnessed. This approach aligned more closely with Negentropy than a fixed list of spells because the system could naturally expand as players acquired more knowledge about the subjects involved.
Furthermore, this concept eliminated the need for an effect to be defined by a single, rigid formula. Two practitioners could approach the same objective from different perspectives based on their unique understanding of the underlying problem. For instance, a physician might focus on restoring tissue perfusion, while another practitioner with a simpler model might prioritize stopping visible bleeding. Despite their differing approaches, both practitioners could still take effective actions, but their understanding influenced the precision and scope of their abilities.
The Five Lanterns
The Five Lanterns were one of the most prominent elements that were seamlessly integrated into Negentropy from Oasis. In Negentropy, they transcended their mystical symbolism and became tangible devices strategically placed around the globe. These Lanterns served as conduits for accessing Dwimmer.
I appreciated this aspect because it provided magic with a tangible geographical presence. Dwimmer was not an inherent and uniform phenomenon across all locations and conditions. Instead, there existed distinct sources of Dwimmer scattered throughout the world, each associated with specific objects and locations. Even if a practitioner encountered a phenomenon whose engineering or origin remained unknown, it still possessed its own infrastructure. The Lanterns continued to exist regardless of whether the practitioner comprehended their true nature.
This also made the Lanterns compatible with the broader setting. A Project scientist might encounter one as a device, while a Dwimmer practitioner could perceive the same object as a source of magical power. These descriptions didn’t necessarily contradict each other. The difference could lie in each observer’s understanding of the mechanism and their knowledge of how to use it.
The Lanterns played a crucial role in preventing magic from becoming an unlimited personal authority over reality. A practitioner worked through something that existed in the world, not simply declaring a wish. Their training still controlled the operation, but the capability was connected to a larger system.
Science and Magic Could Describe the Same Event
One consequence of this was that I didn’t need to separate science and magic into distinct universes. A scientist could observe a Dwimmer effect, measure its consequences, and describe what had happened without being able to explain how the practitioner caused it. Conversely, a practitioner might know how to produce the effect through training and ritual without possessing the scientific vocabulary used to analyze the result.
This division felt natural to me. People often know how to operate a process before they have a complete theory of its underlying mechanism, and scientific investigation often begins with phenomena that are real before their mechanisms are understood. Dwimmer extended this situation significantly. The causal mechanism might remain beyond conventional science, while the physical event remained measurable.
This allowed the game to maintain both perspectives. Dwimmer could feel magical to the person performing it and still be an object of investigation to a Troubleshooter. The Project didn’t have to declare something unreal simply because it didn’t fit an existing theory. Instead, it could observe, measure, compare, and learn.
Dwimmer and X-Tech
Dwimmer and X-Tech emerged as similar concepts with distinct operational mechanisms. X-Tech enabled machines or materials to surpass conventional engineering limits by leveraging advanced companies, alien sources, or exceptional manufacturers to create extraordinary creations unavailable to the ordinary industry. On the other hand, Dwimmer empowered trained individuals to bring about physical transformations through an extraordinary mental process intertwined with the magical system.
However, both systems were constrained by their outcomes. An X-Tech battery, while possessing more energy than an ordinary battery, still had a finite energy capacity. Similarly, a Dwimmer practitioner could manipulate energy in ways beyond conventional machines, but this energy still resided within the system. X-Tech could produce exceptionally capable materials, while Dwimmer could reorganize existing matter into physically meaningful structures. Despite their differences, the two systems could achieve similar results from different perspectives.
This was crucial because I aimed to create a setting where advanced technology and magic coexisted without one rendering the other obsolete. X-Tech was not disguised magic, and Dwimmer was not merely a machine controlled by thought. Their methodologies were distinct, yet they shared a commonality in respecting the consequences of the physical state they produced.
Why I Opted for a Spell List Instead
A conventional spell list would have been simpler to compile. It could have provided detailed descriptions of each effect, its usage frequency, and the numerical cost associated with it. I was already familiar with games that employed such spell lists. However, the challenge lay in the fact that a fixed spell list would have severed the connection between magic and the research methodology that was shaping the rest of Negentropy.
I envisioned practitioners engaging in the same inquisitive questions that engineers or physicians pose. What is the underlying mechanism? What alterations are necessary? What obstacles hinder the desired outcome? What information is lacking? These answers would determine the course of action.
Dwimmer made the game more challenging, but that difficulty was beneficial. Players who wanted to perform unusual actions couldn’t simply search a list for the closest named spell. Instead, they had to explain the intended physical change. This explanation provided the game master with concrete criteria to evaluate through the Five Rules and any relevant real-world knowledge.
The Five Rules remained applicable. Dwimmer didn’t replace the game ladder; it offered characters alternative ways to attempt actions within it. The Five Rules still served as the framework for determining whether an intended outcome was trivial, probable, possible, improbable, or impossible given the circumstances.
A practitioner might have a clear understanding of an operation but still encounter difficulties due to its complexity, limited resources, disrupted concentration, or the absence of necessary materials. Knowledge could define the intended action without guaranteeing success. Conversely, an operation could be simple enough for a trained practitioner that repeated rolling added no value.
Most importantly, Dwimmer couldn’t transform an incoherent proposal into a possible one. If the player couldn’t describe a physically meaningful result, the problem existed before considering probability. The dice weren’t there to rescue an undefined mechanism. The operation had to become intelligible first.
As I delved deeper into Dwimmer, I began to view ritual as a form of mental technology. A wand, dance, potion, gesture, or repeated sequence could be understood as a tool used to shape attention and cognition. Its significance lay in what it enabled the practitioner to achieve with their own mind.
That also explained why magical traditions could vary. One culture might teach controlled movement, while another might use words or diagrams. A practitioner might rely on a physical focus that had become an integral part of their training. None of these practices had to be universal because the external form wasn’t necessarily the underlying cause. The purpose was to create a reliable psychological state capable of holding a challenging operation.
This allowed culture to have a place in the magic system without forcing every tradition to adhere to the same visible ritual. People could discover different methods for achieving similar cognitive control. Traditions could preserve effective practices even when their explanations for those practices were mythical, religious, philosophical, or simply incorrect.
Magic could be studied without being reduced to mere science. I never needed Dwimmer to cease being magic in order for it to be compatible with science. The setting didn’t require a final chapter in which a scientist explained every wand, ritual, and Lantern as ordinary machinery. The unknown mechanism was part of what made it Dwimmer.
What science could do was study the event. It could measure temperature changes, analyze the altered steel, examine the diamond, observe blood chemistry, record energy transfer, and compare successful and failed operations. It could discover regularities. A practitioner could improve through the same process by learning which mental descriptions produced reliable results.
That distinction protected the mystery while making the consequences accessible. Negentropy could contain phenomena that were not explained by current science without abandoning the idea that the world itself remained coherent.
A constraint became the source of creativity.
Dwimmer, despite its physical impossibility, didn’t diminish the player’s imagination. Instead, it compelled them to explore mechanisms. If a problem couldn’t be solved by simply naming a desired outcome, the intriguing question became what sequence of physical changes could achieve it.
This kind of thinking resonated with me in Negentropy. The Pipe Car’s interest lay in the tradeoffs between power and mass. Equipment’s intrigue stemmed from the finite space of the Cylinder. Knowledge’s fascination came from the way understanding expanded a character’s recognition and potential actions. Dwimmer adhered to this pattern, where constraints necessitated a more precise problem description.
A player familiar with the physical system could often discover approaches I hadn’t anticipated. This was preferable to relying solely on a spell list, as the game could evolve alongside the players’ growing understanding. The world provided the potential states, while Dwimmer offered an extraordinary path between them.
Dwimmer’s Contribution to Negentropy
By the time Campaign 80 commenced, Dwimmer had become an integral part of the game. It had arrived because a player desired magic, and I had addressed this request using concepts from Oasis and Negentropy’s existing framework for knowledge and physical consequence. The Five Lanterns introduced a source of magic within the world, while Ritual provided practitioners with a means to train and control their minds. Knowledge offered increasingly precise models of desired changes, and the game ladder provided a method for resolving uncertainty.
The crucial decision wasn’t whether magic was secretly science. I didn’t need to settle that question. The more important decision was that magic must produce a result that could still be understood as a physical state.
This principle allowed Dwimmer to remain enigmatic without becoming arbitrary. A practitioner could perform feats beyond the capabilities of any known machine, yet the resulting object, body, or system still had to make sense. Magic could challenge our understanding of mechanism while still respecting the reality of consequence. This balance allowed Dwimmer to seamlessly integrate into Negentropy.