This was expired by Wheel of Time the magic and mixing in DND With all the races.

The world turns with quiet purpose, shaped by forces few can see—and fewer dare to touch. The One Power, the breath of creation itself, flows unseen through the land. It is not cast like a spell from a book, nor drawn from some outer plane. It is woven, like threads pulled from the air—threads of Fire, Air, Water, Earth, and Spirit—each forming the Pattern of the world.

Some are born with the gift, others learn to reach for it, but all who channel risk madness, death, or worse. The Power does not ask. It demands control, precision, balance. To lose focus is to burn. To take in too much is to die.

In the great cities of the Elves, they call it The Flow. In dwarven halls, they speak of it in whispers, a thing ancient as stone. The tieflings say it sings in their blood. And the human kingdoms? They fear it, chain it, or try to harness it.

And then there's... you.

You live in a small village tucked at the edge of the Mistwood Vale, where the trees grow tall and the roads end in mud. A quiet place—cobblestone paths, lazy sheep, and a sky full of stars. But you've always known you were different. The wind listens to you when you're angry. Flames dance when you're afraid. Rain falls when you're sad.

The elders say you’ve been touched by something. The temple priest calls it a curse. Your neighbors don’t say anything at all anymore.

You don't know what it means. Only that the threads are there, just under your skin, waiting to be pulled. Waiting for you to weave.

And lately… you’ve felt something stirring in the forest. A pull. A presence. Something old… and watching.

So tell me—what will you do, channeler?