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Vampire the Requiem, Werewolf the Forsaken, Mage the Awakening, Storytelling System and Legacies White Wolf's use of the term Mysterium in the Mage the Awakening product line in no way challenges score in the Prime Arcanum. echecs16.info - Ebook download as PDF File .pdf), Text File .txt) or read book online. Forsaken, Mage the Awakening, Storyteller System and Storytelling System are White Wolf's use of the term Mysterium in the Mage the Awakening product.
However, the "origin story" of magic and mages is less ambiguous or at least given more lip-service than that of vampires or werewolves. In the mythic past, a mysterious island existed with a single towering mountain, encircled by dragons that lived upon its summit. The mountain called to humanity through dreams and visions. Over time, the dragons left and the mountain continued to call. Some humans answered the call and sought it out. The humans who moved there discovered the first secrets of magic, and through magic they created the mighty city-state now known as Atlantis , Meru, Lemuria , etc. Over time, the mages became filled with hubris , and began fighting over how it is best to lead the world.
Ancient curses and cultist bullets try to keep the secrets of Atlantis submerged and mages ignorant, and must be dealt with. Probably a mixed-Order cabal Sanctum would be too muddled symbolically to work.
So I really, really appreciate the effort to make the core book information thematic, flavorful, and comprehensive of the good and bad qualities of the Orders. Arcanum favored fall in priority of prime, life, matter, mind, forces, spirit, death, space, fate, and time.
Onyx Path Publishing: Many Worlds. One Path. Alright, lots of discussion of the power of the Egregore merit, little of the preview. If its valueless then it must be worthless. Recently, the mystsrium has begun to delve into modern cities, applying the disciplines of sociology and even burglary to its research.
Durallian Delinquency Star Wars: The secrets of Atlantis are encoded in oral tradition and ancient customs. Typically mages work with a mage educated in fate to ensure favors paid, elsewise they might have to wait for the possibly corrupt council to take lengthy periods of time addressing debtors.
The ranks of initiation have various symbolic titles for each awajening the five degrees, such as third-degree member. I think a decent example is in Avatar: Mystagogues are initiated into greater levels of trust as they advance, but are expected to uncover arcane secrets of equivalent value or to dedicate their lives to preserving them. So, with the new Nimbus rules, what happens when a low-Wisdom, Egregore 5 Mystagogue walks into an Order Sanctum Athenaeum or otherwise?
Some humans answered the call and sought it out.
The humans who moved there discovered the first secrets of magic, and through magic they created the mighty city-state now known as Atlantis , Meru, Lemuria , etc.
Over time, the mages became filled with hubris , and began fighting over how it is best to lead the world.
The Fallen World is the world where humanity now exists, and the Supernal realm is the realm of magic, where the victorious mages of long ago now reside. The Abyss that separates the two worlds prevents most of humanity from awakening to magic, and hampers the power of mages trapped in the Fallen World.
Mages believe that the Supernal Realm is the truth of reality and the origin of magic. It is ruled by the Exarchs, powerful mages who have established themselves as its rulers. The Exarchs wish to snuff out the memory of "Atlantis" and knowledge of magic so that they will remain the supreme masters of reality.
They are more godlike forces than human beings now, however this means that they must influence the Fallen World through servants. Resistance against the Exarchs is possible because of the Oracles, a small number probably five of Atlantean mages who also reached the Supernal Realm.
They each created or maybe are one of the Watchtowers, which are locations in the Supernal Realms that can cut through the Abyss. They serve as paths towards magic, allowing Sleepers humans unaware of magic to awaken to it. Each mage visits a Watchtower during their Awakening—through means perhaps accidental, or perhaps resulting from a person's nature or understanding—and their magical abilities are forever affected by that journey.
Fragments of the organizations, artifacts and writings from the First City survive to the present day, and mages hope to use this knowledge to further their various causes, by gaining a stronger connection to the Supernal Realm. Characters[ edit ] The process of awakening can be slow or fast, but there are two major ways in which the event may manifest: the Mystery Play in which the mage's senses blur the real world and the magical symbolism of their awakening and the Astral Journey which takes place entirely within a dreamscape of the prospective mage.
In both sorts of "awakenings", the mage-to-be goes on a journey that culminates with them arriving at or in their respective Tower and inscribing their name upon it. Paths and Orders[ edit ] There are five Paths of Magic that have a sympathetic connection to one of the Five Watchtowers, each with a particular style and focus.
A Mage's Path is decided with his or her awakening. Acanthus: Enchanters who work with luck, intuition and destiny. Mastigos: Warlocks who work with perception and inner demons. Moros: Necromancers who work with death, mortality and material things. Obrimos: Theurgists who work with the divine and mundane energies infusing the world.
Thyrsus: Shamans who work with all aspects of the natural world. After awakening, a mage typically joins one of the five Orders, although some choose to remain free of political connections, or remain outside of mage society due to ignorance, and are called apostates.
Best to keep him interested. We originally thought you got it from the University of Chicago archives, maybe through your wife, but I had a contact of mine come up empty looking for it. He shrugs. Well, I made it up. I thought this Scribe of Blasphemy fgure you see in a couple of cofn in- scriptions was kind of interesting.
When its time to weigh your heart in front of the gods, he tries to switch the papyrus that contains your sins with a forgery full of terrible things. I thought it was reminiscent of the King in Yellow. You could have some fun extrapolating it into an Ancient Egyptian version of those Chambers stories.
I know, Mr. But you ended up with something else, didnt you? Yeah, it never seemed like it really hit my goal for the piece. Well, instead of creating a compelling fctional document, you created well, not actually a real bit of Egyptian scripture. Tink of it as a possibility, like one of your alternate universes. Tink of the worst of all possible worlds, where torture begins at birth and where the only miracles that exist serve to keep the victims alive and sufering long enough to breed and continue it all, forever.
Tink of a world where the only god is composed of every story of sufering in its universe, and its thoughts are processed in a loop of time that plays back every horrifc permutation, like a computer that calculates its instructions with formu- lae of pain.
Somehow, you found that god, Ken. You wrote a bit of its prayer book. Tat makes it more real than it was when it was just a shell, cast into the darkness when this world was born. Tere are some crazy people who want to make it real enough to replace our world. His eyes stop darting, and the rest comes along quickly. I tell him about the Red Word: the cult that worships the Scribe and collects fragments of its unspeakable history. Teyre cannibals; they believe that the act steals the victims place in Earth, opening a tear in the world-narrative that their master might be able to seep through, one sentence at a time.
And thats where I come in, Ken. Youve seen what I can do the pyrotechnic end of it, anyway. Tat was a simple trick from a vast body of knowledge the same knowledge that sometimes hits you when youre writing at 4 am. Tese are fashes of the Mystery, as potent as a bolt of fame.
Its my job to keep the fre that frees people, and snuf out anything that might rage out of control and burn them, or burn us all. Mel and Ken Hart cry on the corner, under yellow city lamplight.
Fear as well as the sorrow of parting lends a desperate tightness to their embrace. Melanie Hart didnt see the fre in my hands, but she believes him because she loves him.
A wavy line of October chill whips my spine, and I grab Kendall Harts shoul- der. Mels with Slam, on the way to his cabal and then to relatives in Indiana. Kens with me, through the border of the street light and into the deep blue Chicago evening.
It gives his natural sense of curiosity some breath- ing room. Whats going to happen to that womans body? Shes going to look like she had a heroin overdose. Slam dropped her behind a little buttressed nook around the corner from you.
You burned her to death. Yeah, but I fxed that. Pick up the pace, will you? Hes trundling along in front of me, and I like to walk fast. Where are we going? Not telling. Dont worry Mr. Hart Ken. I dont want any harm to come to you or your wife. Youve really helped us over the years, and we dont want that to stop. Youre part of some secret society, right? Some sort of what, Hermetic rite? Te Golden Dawn and all that? Teyre jackasses, Ken. You were absolutely right when you wrote about them being dodgy old mens clubs with questionable politics.
Actually, we got a chuckle out of it around the local caucus. In English, we call ourselves the Mysterium. We think the real name is. He grimaces and clutches his ears. I dont know what that was, but it hurt. Its the language of magic the language of knowledge itself. Other languages are approximations. Teyre mediated by your own prejudices and your natural tendency to accept the world at face value. It sounds Gnostic. Kendall Hart frowns. I know he thinks Gnosticisms as silly as old men babbling in Enochian.
In part. We call the world the Lie, but think of it as a place where the signal of knowledge is obscured by a hell of a lot of noise. You were born into it, so the static of the Lie sounds so familiar to you that clean knowledge sounds scrambled. But the Lie is beautiful, too.
Its the source of metaphor, poetry, artful ap- proximation. You have to respect it. Magic the true world is the stark skeleton upon which we hang the fesh of our lives. Magic describes things as they really are, like a form of mathematics that also de- scribes the numbers that compose it. Does that make sense? Te map is the territory. Tats a good way of putting it. I stop. Teres a small red smear in my minds eye.
Back at the apart- ment, I sampled that cultists particular disease indigenous Americans called it the chenoo sickness and bound it to a Space spell designed to detect other aficted. I place the red smear of sickness within the great shape of Space and read numbers and distance from threads and spots of crimson. Teres an old door to my left. I turn, take a lunging step and bind the wind and snapping fabric of the move to the frst two knuckles in my hand. Te door fies open, splintering at the deadbolt, and Ive broken my hand.
Get in, Ken. Teyre coming for you. I tug at his sleeve with my good arm. Te alarm sparks, electricity yearning to course to its bells and warnings, but I kill it fast.
I follow him in, and we explore a dark, messy storage room together. My head brushes against hanging, ragged fabric; faint blue light catches arabesque patterns in its folds. Kendall Hart sits on a table and leans against a box full of mannequin arms. Te cultists shotgun is wrapped up in my coat.
I knock it out of my armpit with my bad hand and cradle it, ambling toward Hart. You still know how to shoot? Tere are three slugs left in this thing.
He takes the gun. Te door creeps open. Tree shadows leap out, framed in city light. I cant see them, but one of the can- nibals has a precise mid-Atlantic accent. He says, I can smell your wounds. Its quite attractive, but were willing to forego our usual proclivities. You know we want Mr. Just a couple of little burns. Say howd you fnd out about our author friend, anyway?
I think youre probably too injured to work one of your tricks under so much public scrutiny, Khonsu, so Ill play. Besides, its funny.
Harts publisher is very impressed with his sales.
He showed me the frst half of Dark Musings II. If you hadnt been so diligent in buying his books, we would never have found Mr. Hed be safe in mid-list obscurity. But you know how authors always moan about the death of the mid-list, dont you? Cannibals in the book trade, eh? Not surprised.
You and I share a certain passion for the written word. Tats what you Mysterons I like Mysterymen. Keep talking. Kens hands are shaking, thank God. Breathing magic, I steal the little vortices built by every tremor and channel it back to his gun. Air to fre, air to fre. Another, rougher voice says, Eat?
I signal to Hart: shoot. A roar. Hart lands on his ass, and his glasses go spinning. Tat spell always generates one hell of a recoil. Air turns to fre, and the frst slug explodes into an angry, orange tongue. Tree men scream. Two run in- side. Te frst one lopes in like a gorilla in burning, dirty overalls. Harts hands go steady. His second shot splits the cannibals sooty forehead.
I hit the second guy chest to chest. Hes wearing a blackened, cream-colored suit; his tie fashes cerulean in the fre. I grab his face with both hands and batter the back of his head of a table corner once, twice. I Awakened in front of the Trone of Heaven and gave its occupant my name, and He gave me the names of all things. Every name has a sign. All Forces are a few simple arcs, brushstrokes of a cosmic rune. Down in the Lie, in this burning room, the man in the cream suit bites of two of my fngers.
I draw the wind across my right hand, casting it to the target like an arrow. Knucklebones grind and shift, but my ensorcelled hand smashes his collarbones like dry sticks. Left, right. Te cannibal doesnt scream.
He smiles and says, I ate your friends, motherfucker. My right hand takes both eyes, three knuckles deep. Take me to my wife. Metal taps my head.
I smell fre extinguisher foam and open my eyes. Its the same room, but darker now, and blurry. Kendall Hart brushes the tip of my nose with the shotgun. How long have I been out? Twenty minutes. I bandaged your hand. Teres still one shell left, so take me to my wife.
I cant do that yet. Are you going to shoot me, Ken? Why cant I see her? He adjusts his grip and squints. You have a knack for knowing things. I dont know where you get it from. I sit up very, very slowly. He tracks my face with the gun. Your wifes with people I can trust to keep her safe, but I cant trust them not to use you.
You used me! You bastards have been using me for most of my goddamn career! I dont care about your secret world, and whatever mob or cult you represent.
But let me tell you something, now that I fnally have an opportunity to direct the fucking conversation. Im listening. I bet you think youre enlightened. You said it wasnt Gnosticism, but when it comes right down to it, you talk the same way, about some kind of capital-T Truth that excuses running roughshod over lower things like, me, Mel like our whole lives.