Thaumatologists today generally consider Dragon magic among the most forceful of the known magical styles in the world: potent, destructive, and difficult to counter or dispel. Draconic magicians have a ready explanation for this very apt perception. What is a dragon? we ask. Only the most jadedly scientific would spout a reply along the lines of “a magical race, possessed of these reptilian features and that supernatural capability"; dragons resonate too strongly with myth and legend for that. Rather, dragons are one and all the embodiments, the incarnations, of elemental force and celestial responsibility. Even the youngest are ancient because of this metaphysical connection, the fact that a dragon is avatar and governor of one or more eternal ontological truths--Fire, River, the Mountain, and the like.
Dragon magic, then, works on that same level and with that same attitude, each spell shining with Truth, Will, and Principle, the draconic magician saying “This occurs because I have decreed it; it is so because I am.” Dragon magic and the draconic language are so intimately connected that if you study the one, you study the other. In sharp contrast to English, the verb “to be” in Draconic is not a casual assertion or passive construction, but bears the force of a god's I AM, and so each spell has such a declaration as its foundation, defying denial. It is thus both unpredictably individual and flexible, reflecting the intention and strength of its will-worker, and totally universal, manipulating the most abstract of philosophical concepts. It does not lend itself to experimental study or transcription into grimoires, and its effects are only rarely subtle, tending instead to demand the attention of all in the vicinity--especially those with any magical sensitivity.
Draconic spells, like the distilled wizardry known as “sigils,” are composed of one or more runic words. Unlike sigils, however, they do not take easily interpreted Verb+Noun formats. For example, arranging the words “fire, destroy, self,” which in sigils would be a recipe for suicide by immolation, instead (typically, at least, remembering the flexibility of intention) grants the caster the ability to breathe flame: “I AM an agent of destruction-by-fire.” The dragon magician writes the runes in the air or on an appropriate surface, intones the words, and asserts her will. The successful invocation of an effect calls forth shining images of the runes around the caster, colored by her elemental or conceptual affinity--it is, as I have said, an unsubtle magic. Images of the runes themselves sometimes serve as foci. Dragon mages often craft commonly used runes into ritual implements, such as a calligraphic depiction on a fan or a watermark on a knife, or wear runes embroidered in clothing, embossed upon armor, or even tattooed on the skin. These inscriptions glow brightly during a casting, affirming the effect its master speaks.
Dragon magic is, of course, the birthright of the race of Dragons, and it is a jealous magic indeed. No one who lacks dragon blood has any hope of mastering Dragon magic. Someone of legendary willpower may manage to invoke one or two runes, or someone with a deep conceptual affinity--say, a fire elemental--might prove able to use some runes with that resonance. The actual spell effect, however, tends to be feeble and fleeting, not at all worth the effort of attaining it, especially compared to other magics that come more naturally. A source of bragging rights or a conversation-starter, no more. Among those who do possess the birthright, the power of a given rune tends to vary based on how closely the rune-word resonates with the concept the dragon represents in the world. In this way, Dragon magic resembles elemental affinity magic, though its concepts range more broadly.
Users of Dragon runes can improve their skills in three significant ways: