your dark fantasy novel doesn’t need a logic-based magic system it needs a bear with a human face
the human-faced bear principle of storytelling: the amount of people who will remember the exposition about the rules of magic or the history of elf culture inherently pales in comparison to the amount of people who will remember the scene where someone gets mauled by a bear with a human face
this isn’t a call to necessarily include a literal bear with a human face (though you should at least consider it. obviously.) but pointing out that, while a lot of sf/f writing advice places heavy emphasis on fleshing out the small details of a fictional world as much as possible (which can be fine and valuable for many stories), there’s often little attention given to the value of including effective “bear attack scenes”, for lack of a better term; tense, scary, shocking, weird, or otherwise visceral scenes or concepts (the pale man, the chestburster, the sunken place, the raptors in the kitchen, artax in the swamp, the annihilation bear, the parasite basement, the blood test in the thing, etc) despite those having a significantly higher hit rate of making a story striking and memorable and recommendable to people
Every time i purchase a moderately expensive item the Karl Marx on my shoulder is like “For shame… you purchase yet another pair of jeans when you have 5 already at home, you despicable commodity fetishist? In my time, a man with five outfits would consider himself blessed beyond measure, and yet you want for more, while there are children starving in the world??” to which the second Karl Marx on my other shoulder says “Objection! Those 5 pairs of jeans all wildly uncomfortable or have holes in the ass, due to the decline of clothing quality driven by the fast fashion industry, unfortunately making this purchase a necessity… Plus, by purchasing a slightly more expensive pair of jeans from an independent brand, seeking quality over ‘brand recognition’, they are deliberately trying to avoid engaging in conspicuous consumption!” to which the third Karl Marx clinging to my back like that beetle from Doctor Who says “Remember, my friend; the less you eat, drink, buy books, go to the theatre or to balls, or to the pub, and the less you think, love, theorize, sing, paint, fence, etc., the more you will be able to save and the greater will become your treasure which neither moth nor rust will corrupt — your capital. Buy the jeans,” to which I say “I don’t know if any of you have actually read Karl Marx”
