Evocation is the Art of Force and Elemental Fury. It is the discipline that channels raw energies — fire, lightning, ice, thunder, radiant light, and shadow’s chill — shaping them into bolts, blasts, and waves of destruction.
Unlike Alchemy, which refines matter, or Conjuration, which beckons from afar, Evocation creates nothing and summons nothing. It channels. The world already trembles with flame beneath the earth, lightning in the skies, and radiant fire in the stars. The evoker is the conduit, the hand that opens the sluice and lets that flood of energy pour forth.
Historically, Evocation was both the most beloved and most hated discipline of the War of Darkness. It burned armies, leveled fortresses, shattered sieges, and split the earth. But it also left wastelands where once lay fertile fields, and scarred the land with storms that raged for decades. The Weeping Cliffs of Caldoran, still streaked with molten rivers two centuries later, are testimony to evokers’ unchecked might.
Thus, Evocation is not merely power — it is the reminder that all creation rests upon destruction.
The purpose of Evocation is immediacy. Where other Paths weave, charm, or refine, Evocation strikes.
In War: It breaks sieges, scatters armies, turns a hopeless defense into victory.
In Survival: It calls fire to warm, light to guide, thunder to frighten beasts.
In Ritual: It fuels other Paths, providing raw energy for wards, enchantments, and alchemy.
In Faith: Priests sometimes call it the “tongue of the gods,” believing Evocation to be the most direct echo of divine creation.
Evocation is the bluntest of Paths — but also the most necessary. Without it, civilization would be ever at the mercy of destruction, yet it is Evocation itself that often threatens to become the destroyer.
The Nine Laws resonate violently with this discipline:
Balance: For every bolt loosed, some recoil must be borne. The body of the evoker often bears scars of their own fire. Many masters are pocked with burns, their skin etched with lightning’s kiss.
Conservation: The evoker does not create flame from nothing — he channels what is latent. Thus, to call fire is to draw heat from air, to call ice is to leech warmth from life. Misjudged, this balance may slay allies as surely as foes.
Limitations: Force spreads, fire consumes, lightning arcs. No spell of Evocation is wholly contained. This Law is why cities fall not only to enemy soldiers, but to the overzealous defense of their own evokers.
Reflection: The evoker becomes a mirror of his storms. His temper grows short, his will explosive, his eyes too bright with fire. Legends speak of those who burned themselves hollow, walking torches whose humanity was the first fuel of their fury.
Thus, Evocation is both the clearest and the most dangerous demonstration of the Codex’s truths.
The dangers of this Path are so obvious that they are etched into every scarred battlefield across Erkovia. Yet they extend beyond flame and thunder:
Excessive Consumption: The body is not a bottomless conduit. To channel beyond one’s strength invites collapse, as blood vessels rupture and bones char under the strain.
Collateral Ruin: Fire and lightning strike not only the enemy. More armies have been undone by their own evokers than by their foes. A single misplaced storm has routed entire battalions.
The Lure of Violence: Evocation tempts with immediacy. While other Paths require patience, Evocation offers instant triumph. This breeds arrogance — the belief that all problems may be solved with more fire.
Burning of the Soul: Repeated channeling scorches the essence. Evokers have been known to combust at death, their bodies nothing more than tinder long saturated with fire.
Thus, kings and academies alike keep tight chains upon evokers, for though their power may defend a realm, it may as swiftly reduce it to ash.
The evoker is paradox: both protector and destroyer.
In Courts: Few evokers serve openly, for their talents are ill-suited to intrigue. Yet many rule through fear, their very presence a reminder of fire held in leash.
In Academies: They are both prized and scorned. Prized for the energy they provide in ritual, scorned for their lack of subtlety. To the evoker, however, subtlety is but wasted time.
In War: They are siege engines made flesh, able to raze fortresses and scatter armies. Every general covets their presence, though few dare let them linger near the civilian heartlands.
In Faith: Priests interpret Evocation differently — some as divine gift, others as blasphemy, for to wield such creation-fire without godly blessing is to trespass upon heaven.
Thus, the evoker is always needed but seldom loved, a weapon wielded cautiously, for all know that a weapon may turn in the hand.
"Thus is the Path of Evocation, sixth among the Nine. It is the art of storm and flame, of raw force unbound. It is the most terrible of Paths, yet the most simple, for it is only power, and power burns all alike. Let the evoker remember always: what he channels may one day channel him. The storm has no master, and the fire no friend."
