A young Mage must navigate the shadowy mystic underground while mastering the mystic arts.
Winter of Magic (Mage the Ascension)
- Thread starter notanautomaton
- Start date
- Created
- Status
- Ongoing
- Watchers
- 29
- Recent readers
- 0
- Threadmarks
- 4
-
Statistics (2 threadmarks, 2k words)
User Total notanautomaton 2 Threadmarks Reader mode -
Loading…
A New Year
notanautomaton
I've got 99 quests, I've finished one
12/31/2003
Snow drifts down from the sky, dusting the grass and trees with white beneath the flickering light posts. The sounds of cars and trains and humanity are muffled by trees and distance. The scene might be pretty, but the only person around doesn't have room in their mind to take it in. They're too cold, too tired, to even notice. The figure slumps down onto a bench, grimacing momentarily at the cold and wet from melted snow. This was far from the way they'd expected their birthday to go.
Their general circumstances would have been unexpected a few weeks ago, but being in the park at all at this time of night isn't the way they'd thought they'd be ringing in the new year. Who'd have thought that the guys running the shelter would be so uptight? Salvation their ass. They remind themselves that the bench is only a place to rest their feet for a minute; they'd need to find somewhere with a little warmth to spend the night.
They try to cheer themselves up a bit by thinking about the new year; this one might have ended badly, but they just need to figure out something a little more permanent, get back on their feet. Really, getting kicked out was probably for the best. No need to deal with all those bastards that want to make them something they're not: their perfect child, their good little charity project, whatever. As soon as they get off the bench, they'll be back to living as they are.
They aren't sure what they'll do next. They might be able to beg enough for the subway, or maybe they'll just find some alley with a cardboard box. That's a lot of walking though, and their bench has gotten nice and warm and comfortable. They'll move in just a minute. Just after they rest their eyes for a second...
1/1/2004
Their peaceful sleep is disturbed with a jab, then another, by a stick or something. They'd been having such a nice dream too... They want to tell whoever's messing with them to stop, but that seems like so much work.
"Hey... hey, kid. Kid, you alive?" The voice is indistinct and muffled, like they're far away or talking through a blanket.
They wish whoever it is would shut up and let them have their rest. Is that too much to ask, resting on a bench?
"Kid, wake up, come on! Ah shit... Hold on kid... Don't go back to sleep! Stay with me."
They're jostled off the bench and shaken around, before being left in an awkward position over the jabby-person's shoulder. With a spark of defiance, they let the warm, fuzzy sleep welcome them back.
When they open their eyes, what do they see?
[] The stars, projected onto the ceiling (Order of Hermes, favoring the sphere of Forces)
[] You see little beyond the fur blankets your covered in, and the roaring fire in front of you (Verbena, favoring the sphere of Life)
[] A burning flame sitting atop an altar, casting the room into flickering shadow.(Celestial Chorus, favoring the sphere of Prime)
[] A wall covered in decorated masks in varying styles (Dreamspeakers, favoring the sphere of Spirit)
[] A backlit, many-armed statue in an otherwise pitch-black room (Euthanatos, favoring the sphere of Fate)
[] A futon in a small, bare room (Vajra Brotherhood, favoring the Sphere of Mind)
[] A room draped in gauze, the smell of incense filling the air (Cult of Ecstasy, favoring the sphere of Time)
[] A crackling tesla coil, in a room strewn with scrap metal and tools (Sons of Ether, favoring the sphere of Matter)
[] A cot in a room that's crammed with electronics, lit by flickering LEDs (Virtual Adepts, favoring the sphere of Space)
[] A bedroom bedecked in macabre decorations and black lace (Hollow Ones, favoring the sphere of Death)
Snow drifts down from the sky, dusting the grass and trees with white beneath the flickering light posts. The sounds of cars and trains and humanity are muffled by trees and distance. The scene might be pretty, but the only person around doesn't have room in their mind to take it in. They're too cold, too tired, to even notice. The figure slumps down onto a bench, grimacing momentarily at the cold and wet from melted snow. This was far from the way they'd expected their birthday to go.
Their general circumstances would have been unexpected a few weeks ago, but being in the park at all at this time of night isn't the way they'd thought they'd be ringing in the new year. Who'd have thought that the guys running the shelter would be so uptight? Salvation their ass. They remind themselves that the bench is only a place to rest their feet for a minute; they'd need to find somewhere with a little warmth to spend the night.
They try to cheer themselves up a bit by thinking about the new year; this one might have ended badly, but they just need to figure out something a little more permanent, get back on their feet. Really, getting kicked out was probably for the best. No need to deal with all those bastards that want to make them something they're not: their perfect child, their good little charity project, whatever. As soon as they get off the bench, they'll be back to living as they are.
They aren't sure what they'll do next. They might be able to beg enough for the subway, or maybe they'll just find some alley with a cardboard box. That's a lot of walking though, and their bench has gotten nice and warm and comfortable. They'll move in just a minute. Just after they rest their eyes for a second...
1/1/2004
Their peaceful sleep is disturbed with a jab, then another, by a stick or something. They'd been having such a nice dream too... They want to tell whoever's messing with them to stop, but that seems like so much work.
"Hey... hey, kid. Kid, you alive?" The voice is indistinct and muffled, like they're far away or talking through a blanket.
They wish whoever it is would shut up and let them have their rest. Is that too much to ask, resting on a bench?
"Kid, wake up, come on! Ah shit... Hold on kid... Don't go back to sleep! Stay with me."
They're jostled off the bench and shaken around, before being left in an awkward position over the jabby-person's shoulder. With a spark of defiance, they let the warm, fuzzy sleep welcome them back.
When they open their eyes, what do they see?
[] The stars, projected onto the ceiling (Order of Hermes, favoring the sphere of Forces)
[] You see little beyond the fur blankets your covered in, and the roaring fire in front of you (Verbena, favoring the sphere of Life)
[] A burning flame sitting atop an altar, casting the room into flickering shadow.(Celestial Chorus, favoring the sphere of Prime)
[] A wall covered in decorated masks in varying styles (Dreamspeakers, favoring the sphere of Spirit)
[] A backlit, many-armed statue in an otherwise pitch-black room (Euthanatos, favoring the sphere of Fate)
[] A futon in a small, bare room (Vajra Brotherhood, favoring the Sphere of Mind)
[] A room draped in gauze, the smell of incense filling the air (Cult of Ecstasy, favoring the sphere of Time)
[] A crackling tesla coil, in a room strewn with scrap metal and tools (Sons of Ether, favoring the sphere of Matter)
[] A cot in a room that's crammed with electronics, lit by flickering LEDs (Virtual Adepts, favoring the sphere of Space)
[] A bedroom bedecked in macabre decorations and black lace (Hollow Ones, favoring the sphere of Death)
Character Sheet
notanautomaton
I've got 99 quests, I've finished one
Z
Tradition: Euthanatos Initiate
Affiliation: The Royal Sepulcher
Enlightenment: 1
Paradigm: 0
Spheres:
Fate 1 (favored) (LOCKED)
Mundane Skills:
A Strong-Willed, talented teenager
Tradition: Euthanatos Initiate
Affiliation: The Royal Sepulcher
Enlightenment: 1
Paradigm: 0
Spheres:
Fate 1 (favored) (LOCKED)
Mundane Skills:
A Strong-Willed, talented teenager
Last edited:
Awakening
notanautomaton
I've got 99 quests, I've finished one
Sleep falls away awkwardly, in fits and starts. At times they hear indistinct voices, only to fall back in. They aren't sure how long it takes them to make themselves wake up, but it doesn't feel like it was short. Looking around, the room they've been sleeping in is... strange would probably be the best way to put it. The bed is extremely comfortable, a luxury they haven't had for weeks, but the walls are lined with strange statues as the only decoration, and the only illumination is from a backlit, many-armed dancing statue of an androgynous figure. But before they have a chance to dally on looking around, they hear raised voices coming from beneath them.
Going to investigate, they slide open the door to the room, trying to sneak down. If the people that found them aren't as nice as their actions imply, they might have to book it. The hallway is far more normal, but in a depressing way. It's dark, with the only light coming from downstairs, and the only decoration is discolored, peeling wallpaper.
As they carefully lower themselves down the stairs one step at a time, the voices become more distinct, and the fact that they're arguing becomes clear. The current speaker seems to be a woman, yelling in anxious tone of voice.
"...had no right to bring in some stranger off the street. We don't know if they're a facade, or a grey man, or fallen! Sure, you got your karma, did your good deed, that's all well and good until we wake up dead!" They don't know what they could have done to make her think that they're... any of those things, whatever they are. There's no way of telling if she's well; maybe she's on drugs, or is schizophrenic like some of the other homeless people.
Creeping further down, they spy a strange quartet clustered around a small dining room table. Through a gap in the banister, they can barely make out each of them, but what they see makes them doubt that they woke up at all. The current speaker is a white woman wearing a shapeless black dress, gesturing with some sort of cane or walking stick, but sitting next to her is a soot-covered black man with long, matted grey hair, and a wild beard, who's dressed in a way that would be perfectly at home in a homeless encampment.
On her other side is an Indian-looking woman who's dressed like a Mardi Gras parade threw up on her, all bright clashing colors, with the most understated parts of her outfit being a sliver necklace worked to look like skulls and a silver belt designed to look like arms grasping each other. The final person looks male, but since he's sitting facing away from them they can only really make out that he has a bald, brown skinned head. When he speaks it is in a commanding, intelligent baritone.
"You know as well as I do that we checked the kid over, and didn't find anything that gave the slightest indication of any of those things. We cannot discard providence because of paranoia, not if we are to live instead of merely survive."
The woman goes to respond "But..."
Only to be stopped with a raised hand. "This is no longer a discussion my friend, but an order. I was brought to that park for a reason, and we will see that through to the end. Now, won't you come down child? You'll give yourself a cramp on those stairs."
Not seeing another option, they slink into the small dining room. No longer having to peek through a bannister, they see the beaten-up table, the way it's illuminated by a single bulb, the stack of dishes in the sink. But they also see the face of the man that rescued them. They see his calm, inviting expression, and a face that seems prematurely lined.
"What is your name, kid. And how did you come to be freezing to death on a park bench on New Years?"
They take a moment to work up the words. "My name's... my name's Z. One letter. My folks didn't like who I am that much, so I had to go make it on my own. Then the shelter kicked me out for pretty much the same reason. But I'm not a kid, I'm eighteen!"
"How long have you been eighteen?"
"...How long's it been two thousand and four?"
He smiles indulgently, the way adults always do when they think kids are being precocious. "Well then Z, while I would have saved anyone from that park, not just anyone would have woken up in our home. Have you ever had feelings? Premonitions that you should take one street instead of the other, that you shouldn't trust someone who seems like a friend? Have you ever had those feelings be proven right?"
Z shakily nods their head. "Y-yeah, but doesn't everyone have those."
"Perhaps. But in your case, it means something more. It means that you are like us. It means that you are a magi... or at least, that you have the potential to become one. We are the wise, those who know the hidden order of the world, and who try our best to return it to balance. You could become such, and so I know that it was fate that brought us together."
Z can't stop their eyebrows from furrowing. "Look, I'm thankful for saving me and all, but I'm not just going to jump right into the first cult with a fun pitch."
The man smiles. "Some skepticism is to be expected."
He turns to the gaudily dressed woman, and asks; "Would you indulge us with some proof my dear? Something that cannot be faked."
She looks rebellious for a moment, but with a raised eyebrow from the man she raises her arm above the table with a sigh.
The lights flicker and fade, revealing that her palm is glowing with a soft light. As Z looks on, the glow solidifies and turns to flame, before daintily floating off of her hand. One flame becomes two becomes four as they split apart, and soon the entire room is illuminated in floating flames. Z reaches out their hand to touch one, but instead of burning their hand it is only pleasantly warm. At that moment, there's no doubt in their mind that there is wonder and magic in the world. They can almost overlook the way the woman's face is screwed up in concentration or discomfort
"Now my young friend, you a choice. You can join us and learn our wisdom, or we can blindfold you and drop you off somewhere you will be safe, and you can attempt to discover magic on your own. Perhaps before we could have found something else, but these days that is no longer an option."
"I will warn you that this life is hard, that it is dangerous, that it is nothing like the children's books would have it. Some days you will hate me, you will curse me, but in the end you will find that there is nothing like this life. You will find spiritual fulfillment and even joy, if you can accept it."
"Even untrained you will likely find that you can live a comfortable life without us, and I can guarantee that you will start on the right path should you leave us. Now, will you take my hand? Or will you take the path to a normal, happy life?"
In that moment, there was no choice. Z clasps the man's hand, and smiles.
"Welcome to the Euthanatos, my young friend."
How do you spend your time? Please vote in plan format.
Major Action:
[x] Initiation (Locked)
Socialize:
[x] Meet the Magi (Locked)
Study Magic (Pick Two):
[] Reading Omens for Dummies
[] How to Fight and Not Die
[] Introduction to Meditation
[] Theology 101
[] Beginner's Philosophy (Also covered by Initiation, doubling down is optional)
Going to investigate, they slide open the door to the room, trying to sneak down. If the people that found them aren't as nice as their actions imply, they might have to book it. The hallway is far more normal, but in a depressing way. It's dark, with the only light coming from downstairs, and the only decoration is discolored, peeling wallpaper.
As they carefully lower themselves down the stairs one step at a time, the voices become more distinct, and the fact that they're arguing becomes clear. The current speaker seems to be a woman, yelling in anxious tone of voice.
"...had no right to bring in some stranger off the street. We don't know if they're a facade, or a grey man, or fallen! Sure, you got your karma, did your good deed, that's all well and good until we wake up dead!" They don't know what they could have done to make her think that they're... any of those things, whatever they are. There's no way of telling if she's well; maybe she's on drugs, or is schizophrenic like some of the other homeless people.
Creeping further down, they spy a strange quartet clustered around a small dining room table. Through a gap in the banister, they can barely make out each of them, but what they see makes them doubt that they woke up at all. The current speaker is a white woman wearing a shapeless black dress, gesturing with some sort of cane or walking stick, but sitting next to her is a soot-covered black man with long, matted grey hair, and a wild beard, who's dressed in a way that would be perfectly at home in a homeless encampment.
On her other side is an Indian-looking woman who's dressed like a Mardi Gras parade threw up on her, all bright clashing colors, with the most understated parts of her outfit being a sliver necklace worked to look like skulls and a silver belt designed to look like arms grasping each other. The final person looks male, but since he's sitting facing away from them they can only really make out that he has a bald, brown skinned head. When he speaks it is in a commanding, intelligent baritone.
"You know as well as I do that we checked the kid over, and didn't find anything that gave the slightest indication of any of those things. We cannot discard providence because of paranoia, not if we are to live instead of merely survive."
The woman goes to respond "But..."
Only to be stopped with a raised hand. "This is no longer a discussion my friend, but an order. I was brought to that park for a reason, and we will see that through to the end. Now, won't you come down child? You'll give yourself a cramp on those stairs."
Not seeing another option, they slink into the small dining room. No longer having to peek through a bannister, they see the beaten-up table, the way it's illuminated by a single bulb, the stack of dishes in the sink. But they also see the face of the man that rescued them. They see his calm, inviting expression, and a face that seems prematurely lined.
"What is your name, kid. And how did you come to be freezing to death on a park bench on New Years?"
They take a moment to work up the words. "My name's... my name's Z. One letter. My folks didn't like who I am that much, so I had to go make it on my own. Then the shelter kicked me out for pretty much the same reason. But I'm not a kid, I'm eighteen!"
"How long have you been eighteen?"
"...How long's it been two thousand and four?"
He smiles indulgently, the way adults always do when they think kids are being precocious. "Well then Z, while I would have saved anyone from that park, not just anyone would have woken up in our home. Have you ever had feelings? Premonitions that you should take one street instead of the other, that you shouldn't trust someone who seems like a friend? Have you ever had those feelings be proven right?"
Z shakily nods their head. "Y-yeah, but doesn't everyone have those."
"Perhaps. But in your case, it means something more. It means that you are like us. It means that you are a magi... or at least, that you have the potential to become one. We are the wise, those who know the hidden order of the world, and who try our best to return it to balance. You could become such, and so I know that it was fate that brought us together."
Z can't stop their eyebrows from furrowing. "Look, I'm thankful for saving me and all, but I'm not just going to jump right into the first cult with a fun pitch."
The man smiles. "Some skepticism is to be expected."
He turns to the gaudily dressed woman, and asks; "Would you indulge us with some proof my dear? Something that cannot be faked."
She looks rebellious for a moment, but with a raised eyebrow from the man she raises her arm above the table with a sigh.
The lights flicker and fade, revealing that her palm is glowing with a soft light. As Z looks on, the glow solidifies and turns to flame, before daintily floating off of her hand. One flame becomes two becomes four as they split apart, and soon the entire room is illuminated in floating flames. Z reaches out their hand to touch one, but instead of burning their hand it is only pleasantly warm. At that moment, there's no doubt in their mind that there is wonder and magic in the world. They can almost overlook the way the woman's face is screwed up in concentration or discomfort
"Now my young friend, you a choice. You can join us and learn our wisdom, or we can blindfold you and drop you off somewhere you will be safe, and you can attempt to discover magic on your own. Perhaps before we could have found something else, but these days that is no longer an option."
"I will warn you that this life is hard, that it is dangerous, that it is nothing like the children's books would have it. Some days you will hate me, you will curse me, but in the end you will find that there is nothing like this life. You will find spiritual fulfillment and even joy, if you can accept it."
"Even untrained you will likely find that you can live a comfortable life without us, and I can guarantee that you will start on the right path should you leave us. Now, will you take my hand? Or will you take the path to a normal, happy life?"
In that moment, there was no choice. Z clasps the man's hand, and smiles.
"Welcome to the Euthanatos, my young friend."
How do you spend your time? Please vote in plan format.
Major Action:
[x] Initiation (Locked)
Socialize:
[x] Meet the Magi (Locked)
Study Magic (Pick Two):
[] Reading Omens for Dummies
[] How to Fight and Not Die
[] Introduction to Meditation
[] Theology 101
[] Beginner's Philosophy (Also covered by Initiation, doubling down is optional)
Chantry
notanautomaton
I've got 99 quests, I've finished one
The Royal Sepulcher
A run-down house somewhere near New York City, run as a Chantry by a group of Euthanatos.
Members:
????????
The Leader?
A brown-skinned, charismatic man who seems to be a leader. Walks with a cane.
??????????
A gaudily dressed Indian woman. Showed off some flying flames.
??????????
A White woman in wearing black robes. Was against including Z.
??????????
A Black man with matted grey hair and a wild beard. Dressed like he's homeless and is perpetually covered in dust.
A run-down house somewhere near New York City, run as a Chantry by a group of Euthanatos.
Members:
????????
The Leader?
A brown-skinned, charismatic man who seems to be a leader. Walks with a cane.
??????????
A gaudily dressed Indian woman. Showed off some flying flames.
??????????
A White woman in wearing black robes. Was against including Z.
??????????
A Black man with matted grey hair and a wild beard. Dressed like he's homeless and is perpetually covered in dust.
Last edited: