Tag Archives: Fiction

[White Wolf] Math’s Paradigm

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After a few months of playing this character in the Mage LARP, I decided to flesh him out. This was originally posted 26 Feb 2006.

1. What Tradition are you?

Hollow Ones

2. What type of mage are you? (mystic, technomage, etc)

Technomage

3. Do you belong to a subsection of your Tradition? What is your Specialty Sphere?

Not any more. Used to be a Mole, but things have changed due to in-game development.

4. Describe your views on each of the nine Spheres and how they relate to each other.

Correspondence – The Panopticon is here; you are always watched. Hall monitors. Security cameras. Motion sensors at traffic lights. Managers watching over your shoulder in cube-land. There is no longer a tree that falls that cannot be witnessed via orbiting satellite. If you can see it, you’re connected to it, and you can manipulate it.

Forces – Electricity, heat, light, microwaves, don’t you know that they’re all the same? Different wavelengths of electromagnetic radiation, that’s all they are. Hell, a simple read through the back issues of Discover magazine – for children, I might add – can tell you all about the bleeding edge of Forces. There’s even some respected theories that gravity is a form of electromagnetic attraction. How else would you explain the Strong and Weak forces that hold an atom together?

Entropy – Did you know that it’s been discovered that, in an atom, it isn’t just an electron that’s popping in and out of this reality? I mean, they’ve known forever that an electron’s location is up in the air until it’s observed. Now, they’ve discovered that the nucleus does this too. That means that without an observer, everything exists everywhere and nowhere. Once you observe, the only things that determine what’s what are chance and the observer’s will.

Prime – So, all energy is just electromagnetic waves oscillating at different wavelengths. Well, what about a wavelength of zero? What about an infinitely large wavelength? I would argue that it’s here that you find Prime, and here is where the line between zero and infinity is joined into a circle.

Matter – Matter is simply energy that is oscillating REAL slow. Huge, monstrous wavelength. Juice it up with enough caffeine, and it’s back to energy. I guess that while it’s being all sluggish, you could fine-tune it by adjusting its wavelength by tiny, tiny increments. I’ve read that the ancient Egyptians subscribed to a similar theory.

Time – Time is the only dimension that we only perceive in one direction. Just because our perception is naturally flawed, doesn’t mean that it can’t be assisted with technology that isn’t limited by our own perceptions. Theoretically, if we could create a field in which our perception of time, and the dimension (just like length, width, or depth) could be altered or disjointed, we might be able to move about in time in the same manner we move in three dimensions.

Mind – There is no separating thought and feeling, at least not naturally. The electrical impulses in our brains – the firing of our neural nets – are enhanced or inhibited by the chemical triggers of our emotions. The key to altering the mind lies in altering the triggering stimuli. Predicting the mind, similarly, lies in analyzing and predicting the patterns of reacting to stimuli. “Reading minds” is as simple as watching the brain record memories to cells just as a hard drive writes data to a magnetic platter of discs.

Life – The human body is a system, just like any animal’s body. Dissection in Junior High biology taught us that. Manipulating a system of electrical current, pumps, and tension simply requires understanding of that system. Wolverine’s healing could be accomplished today with nanite technology (don’t let them tell you it doesn’t exist) or with hacking the body’s own healing system. Have you even seen plants regenerate? Don’t you think that if a plant can do it, so can we?

Spirit – Of course I believe in spirit realms. The evidence of their existence throughout history is staggering, and science – quantum theory, specifically – has already explained it. For every choice that is made, a separate reality exists in which the path not taken, so to speak, was taken. Since time is an infinite direction, just like the other three, there are an infinite number of realities that have existed for an infinite amount of time. Of course communication happens between these realities. The choices that bring them into being imply that their boundaries are permeable.

5. Describe your Awakening. How does it affect your view of how magic works?

My Awakening was gradual, which I hear is a rare thing. It was a culmination of disquiet and unsettlement throughout my childhood and teen years. I had felt imprisoned by the public schooling system, and I put all my hope in escaping through graduation. When the Principal handed me that rolled-up piece of paper, I realized that I was just moving from one prison to another, whether I went to college or straight into the work force. All the tools to break free were around me, and around all of us, but we were cowed by a simple system of reward and punishment. That was the day that I started to pick up the tools, and I’ve been using them ever since.

6. Explain your view of magic, why it works, and how it works.

Magic is just inspiration and will. People don’t do extraordinary things because they were told that they can’t, and they believed it. I don’t buy that shit. If you are inspired by something, anything, then you question. If you question, then you start to look around you. This “magic” stuff is just the end result of fueling your will to understand with your inspiration.

7. How does magic affect your everyday life? How do you use magic in your everyday life?

Magic is everyday life. That’s not to say that you should use your greater will and understanding to get yourself a closer parking spot at the mall. There are too many watchers to fly that far above the radar. If you keep your eyes open to magic – inspiration – then you begin to see it everywhere. Magic isn’t as rare as the Traditions would like to think or the Technocracy wishes.

8. Describe the cosmology of the world. Is there a spirit world? If so, how does it interact with the physical world?

See description of the Spirit sphere.

[Fiction] Girl Ritual

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So, I haven’t written anything new in a while. And by that, I mean, not in worlds that I haven’t already created.

A few nights ago, I had a scene in my head that was demanding to get out. So, I let it out.

It looks like it’s going to be a lead-in to something bigger. Aren’t they always?

As always, looking for constructive criticisms. :)

She squatted low, so she could feel the heat from the new fire. It was newly birthed, and so its life was tenuous at best. Any of the drafts in this house had the power to kill her infant blaze; such an event would send her home with her task unfulfilled. Offending the powers that she planned to call upon was not a good idea. This was, really, the reason she was here in the first place. She gently fanned the small, orange flames, and then positioned her small frame to block a sudden gust of wind. Too little, and her progeny would starve. Too much, and they would be slaughtered.

Finally, a dry-rotted piece of two-by-four crackled to life. She was bathed in a sudden excess of orange light. She looked no older than sixteen, though her birth records would disagree. A stained blanket served her as a skirt. The rags of a hole-riddled t-shirt, taken from the corpse of a homeless man like a deer skinned for its hide, were wrapped around her chest for modesty’s sake. Streaks of dirt and mud adorned her skin in decorative patterns. Her blonde hair was wild, save for four small braids, each with a token or charm on its end.

More pieces of the old house caught as her children grew. The heat pushed her back, and her shuffling drove a splinter into her tiny foot. Frowning for a moment, she maneuvered her bony knees into a sitting position, and examined the sliver. It was wide, and she used jagged fingernails, multi-color polish chipping off with time and use, to pry the splinter out. A small droplet of blood welled up where it had pierced her skin, rolled down her foot and onto the floor.

So, it was to be that kind of rite. That kind of night. She smiled, because it was all that was left to her.

The hardwood floor was beginning to catch. She tilted her head up, and could now see the shattered rafters, tatters of pink insulation hanging like icicles. Her progeny were growing strong. The fire would soon spread outward along the floor. It would reach the rivulets of gasoline that she’d left, and it would race off into bedrooms and bathrooms; it would learn to climb and to descend stairs. In its creation, life, and death, her progeny would consume this abandoned house–a perfect sacrifice for the powers that slept in the city.

She whispered the words of awakening into the growing fire. Her children took the words as they did the wood. She named four names for the victims, paused, and then named two for the perpetrators. Standing slowly, she approached a broken window. She gingerly took a shard of glass and sawed off a tuft of her thin, straight hair. Approaching the fire, standing now, the girl tossed her hair in. She inhaled the stench of her burning hair deeply, sacrificing a part of herself in the sacrifice of the house. Tossing the glass into the fire, she turned around and headed for the open front door.

She slipped into her tattered shoes and walked out into the nighttime street. Another few steps, and the girl could hear the faint wailing of sirens. The emergency response was slow, but it would come. She sat on the dirty sidewalk on the far side of the street, facing the abandoned house. She would drink in the sight of her sacrifice until the firefighters tried to kill her children, or until there was no more of the sacrifice for the flames to consume.

[White Wolf] Phil’s Journal

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This was written after the 11 June game.

Mei Ling kept talking about the “puppy pile”, and how it would make me feel better. I have to admit that she was right. I was moping in my room in the house, wondering if they’d order me to strip when they came in (and gearing up to get all petulant about it, honestly) when there was a soft knock on the door.

They were polite. They didn’t push me. They were there to listen. They were patient, waiting for me to open up in my own time. Despite being the one that did most of the talking, I feel like I am infinitely closer to these two than I intended to be.

I was worried that I was going to lose Ling after I told her about the Quiet. Instead, she came back with an entire Cabal that she wanted me involved in. There’s so much that we’ve all talked about… I can’t write it all down…

[There’s a darker spot on the paper, and some smeared ink. The text starts again below that.]

Rapid-fire. This is how it was in the Quiet, or in that time that I remember as Quiet. Revelations and understandings would come in spurts, and so fast that I could only react for fear of drowning. My fortune in a year’s time is to be in California, fighting what seems to be Nephandi. If I still have no avatar, I will still fight. If I do have an avatar, then I will have succeeded where others have failed, if they have even tried.

The Weaver’s Song. The Dragon’s Song. An avatar that is of the Weaver, but not mad. One who serves balance.

Weaver affiliate Phil is off to The Well, somewhere in China, to meet his fate. See you soon.

[White Wolf] Phil’s Journal

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This was written after the 28 May 2005 game.

I am unable to express the relief that’s come from finally being free of the Quiet.  The madness that had been slowly growing since my time in Lansing is terrifying to me now, as it must have always been to those who looked up to me.  I am finally secure in my past and able to move on.

The phrase that repeats over and over in my mind is “Move forward, not backward, and not sideways.”  Mei Ling may be right in her guesses that a spirit has done me some great favor in rearranging the Tellurian so that my mind could be set to rest.  Her grandmother may be right that the Quiet may have damaged my memory in a significant way.  Any of these may be truth.  They all may be truth.  The truth of the past is not the truth that I am bound and determined to protect.  Unlike other Dreamspeakers, The truth that I must watch over is that of the future.

I will pause, for just a moment, to speak of the past.  I only do this because it is important to Mei Ling.  She disappeared from Berkley in California about 3 and a half months ago.  Apparently, she has knowledge of Spirit and Time that her ordeal has closed off to her.  Her avatar has accused her of trying to quash it.  If she believed that the umbral realm that made up her “past” was real, that quashing may have been required to keep her alive.  I do wonder why I, or a reflection of me, was there, in her umbral dream, but for once this curiosity does not rule me.

I worry for her.  My feelings are beyond any memory or Quiet.  Returning to California with her grandmother may be best for her, but I am still incredibly jealous of this male stripper apprentice of hers.  Apparently, they dated, and she guided him through his awakening.  Midas says that this experience, feeling the jealousy, is good.  I don’t disagree with him.  Ah, the rollercoaster of dating an Ecstatic.  If he can show her that her identity doesn’t stand on her past as its only foundation, then I will thank him.

That said, I once again look forward.  I once again think about teaching.  The simple and miraculous act of being there for someone, of nudging them in the right direction, of showing them the glories of the Umbra and of their own spirit, this is what I think of.  I will follow both Mei Ling and Will’s leads.  There is a neo-pagan group on U of M’s campus, and I intend to attend their meeting this week, and begin a search for those with minds open to all spirits, natural and tech.  I think that this would be a step forward.

If my old apprentice lives, and are paths are to cross, the spirits will bring her to me again.  I do miss her.  I think that of all people that I may have hurt unintentionally in my Quiet, she was the first.  But I move forward.

The Archmage Hermetic (what is his name, anyway?) has lost it for good.  It seems that he has had his lucid moments, but had never discovered the death of his wife during one of these.  Harry, after discussing ways to repair or re-make the ward, let on that she had died.  Not only that, but that Victor had been present.  I’m not sure if he got that last bit from Harry or Mei Ling.  God damn, but that girl has steel ovaries.  He totally flipped out, summoning Victor and his wife, and then set his Horizon realm on fire.

The good news is that the church node can be re-opened, and its trigger is the Life sphere.  Not only that, but the old ward can be re-asserted, or we can create a new one.  Those who do re-create it can pick and choose who may enter and who may not.  If Ann Arbor is to become a haven for mages, as Midas wants, this may be the only way.  It’s either that or we all learn to defend ourselves from all other suprnaturals, and to guard the Labyrinth from any Nephandi that may enter.

I hope that the ritual for re-creating the ward exists somewhere besides in the Archmage’s head.

Raven has challenged me to a contest of riddles.  I must best him, and solve his riddles, before he will re-teach me the art of opening the doorways in the gauntlet.  His riddles are incredibly complex, and he has guessed all of mine up to this point.  I am lucky that he has patience.  I am stuck puzzling out a five-minute long beast about shadow and light.  I have a feeling that the shadow and light represent the Umbra and the physical worlds, but there is a key in the riddle that will bring sense to it.  I will meditate on the answer in between work, visiting the young neo-pagans, and spending time with The House.

I hope that Mei Ling returns from California soon, so we can spend time together again.  Geh.  Roller coaster.

Nero was hanging around outside the house.  He left me a note.  Terry spoke to him.  I wonder if I should ask The House if it is okay for him to come in.  I feel wary, and I don’t know how much I can trust him.  Though I suppose that the Fae on campus must feel the same way about me.  “Thanks for all the books.”

I need to get an internet connection inside the house.  I wonder how Vinnie and Backspace connected.  I wonder if any of their equipment is still around the house.

[White Wolf] Phil’s Journal

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This was written after the 15 May 2005 game and the 18 May 2005 downtime session.

I’ve been filled with pity for myself since I left my apartment, went to my friend’s funeral, and found out he’d gone Nephandus.  It wasn’t mourning, like I told Midas.  It was pity.

Once again, I turn to a pen and these sheets of paper.  My need for organizing my thoughts is more pervasive than I’d thought.  Okay, breathe in, breathe out.  Re-visit old topics, add new info and discoveries, then move on.

– The ley lines, the sigil, the ritual, and the ward.

Harry is still translating.  We may figure this out on our own before Harry finishes translating.  This isn’t a slight against Harry; I’m sure French is a bitch.  Re-erecting the ward may now be a moot point.  The new Deacons have decided to be a safe haven in the newly-dangerous Ann Arbor.  Of course, this decision is made just before I find out why the damn thing is failing.

To my knowledge, the ward was designed to feed from three nodes in Ann Arbor.  (So many for such a small area.)  The node inside of The House, the node in the Chorister’s church, and the node on U of M’s campus.  (Go green!  Go white!)  As far as I know, the shutdown of the church’s node is common knowledge.  So, there goes 1/3 of the power.  Apparently, even with 2/3 power, the ward should still be kickin’.

Am I the first one to wonder about the batshit Hermetic’s little Horizon Realm?  Its entrance is opened from the node room.  Every artificially-created umbral realm must be fed quintessence, or it will collapse upon itself.  With the church node asleep and the Horizon realm sucking power from The House’s node, no wonder the damn ward is failing.

I have yet to figure out how old Ulysses is.  However, I did find out that the ward has existed for one century, not two.  This makes the math more plausible.

Victor.  Mei Ling took it upon herself to speak with the construct, and we learned a bit about the Chorister because of it.  She took her own life in shutting down the node.  She prayed, she died, and the church became quiet.  Apparently, there is something about the building that mutes Victor’s “smell” of us reality deviants.  I think that if there is any hope for the Chorister’s ghost, the node in the church, or for the church itself, it lies in Kevin and his Templar buddies.  Yeah, I’m surprised to hear me say that, too.  I’ve yet to find out what Rory or Backspace knew about Victor, and I’m beginning to wonder if I should even pursue it.

– The vampires.

For creatures of stasis, they don’t sit around much.  The one that took Nero has been contacted by those from Grand Rapids.  He’s not exactly been leaving us alone.  Now that I’ve stepped down from being Deacon, there is a much less friendly atmosphere in The House when it comes to blood-suckers.  Both Harry and Midas are pushed by Terry’s convictions, and they are pushed to violence.

I have to admit, since Cole has already stepped down as “Prince” in Grand Rapids, his promise of protection seems to carry little weight, if any.  The new “Prince” is the one who delivered the ring to us, and while that should calm me, I feel more uneasy than ever before.

Kevin and his aforementioned Templar buddies are in Lansing to fight the Lasombra and their vampire cult.  After having seen them in action – just a little – my mind is eased about my old house.

– The ring.

We gave the ring to Senor Guano.  The deal is over and done with, but it doesn’t feel that way.  After finding out about the change in power in Grand Rapids and that Duncan was the one to pledge a lifetime of servitude, it feels far from over.

What the hell happened to Vinnie?  Did he take off with Backspace when he found out about Rory’s death?  Why am I getting paychecks from his company?

– Wife?

Oh, god.  I don’t want to hurt anybody.

For the first time in my life, I am not alone.  For the first time in my life, there is someone in my world that loves me without reservation or condition.  And the sex is mind-blowing.

I was alone in Ann Arbor, convinced of my insanity (welcome back to the asylum, Phil) rather than of my existence and willpower.  I did not examine my situation.  I blocked out everything save The House.  It was my charge, after all.  It was Why I Am Here.  And then, in the middle of Rory’s death, Harry’s sexual divergence, and my drunken stupor, Mei Ling simply appeared.

Together, we have supported each other in a time that neither of us are from.  We have discovered more about our situation than I had thought possible, and we have been ready to give our lives for each other.  Have I mentioned the sex?  Because the sex really deserves mentioning.  And revisiting.  Often.

She keeps talking about babies.  Children!  The time spirit said that I have no wives that are yet alive.  In the dream quest to the house with the rooms and the wives, every wife brought me safety, sanctity, and security.  Not to mention the sex.  But none of them brought me happiness.  In the end, I went out of the house.  I went to the garage, where Harley was.  I woke him once more, and I left that place.

The home that I created in Lansing was like this.  The House, when I would only see it and nothing else, was like this.  Mei Ling is like this.  It is not my destiny, nor my desire, to settle in one place or time.  It is my lot to wander, as I am shown.  I will not be in Ann Arbor forever.  I am not the one for Deacon nor father.  But what about husband?

The time spirit said that I have no wives that are yet alive.  My Avatar has shown me that my faith in the wedding band is an old pattern, condemning me to do this again and again and again.  He has finally spoken to me, and he has said that my relationship with Mei Ling prevents us both from moving forward.  She wishes me safety, sanctity, and security.  These are not in my destiny.  In a field alongside the highway, I sat across a fire from him, and listened to him tell me that my destiny is to remain forever alone.

I can’t get the image of that man’s face, splattered across the motel’s parking lot, out of my mind.  Yes, he tried to steal Harley.  Yes, he pulled a knife on me.  I see the images of the body and Ling’s bloody hands every time I close my eyes.

– Crazy or Enlightened?

When I was in the house in the dream quest, I was all of the me’s from all of the when’s.  When I woke up with my hands around Mei Ling’s neck, and ended up on the floor with a broken nose (I’m lucky she didn’t try to kill me), I swear that I felt more me than I am now.  The nose healed.  The ridiculous amount of my blood reversed its flow and went back into my body.  These are things that I cannot do, and I have been assured that no one else caused these things to happen.

I had a thought, before everything snapped, that maybe it was another me that had wanted to choke her.  Kind of the opposite of the me that married (will marry) her.  Maybe that caused the snap.  Maybe it’s the paradox.  Maybe it was waking up with my hands around her neck.  Whatever it was, Quiet came back to visit me for a time.  I went back into the asylum, and once more came out whole.  Ling didn’t.  Quiet is still with her, and her love for me has twisted into obsession.  She and I must be separated for a time.  I hope that Will’s training will do the trick.  Either way, I let sleeping memories lie.

To Do:
– Contact Backspace about Victor and Vinnie.
– Decide what to do about the wedding band.
– Find Raven and re-learn how to open the doorways in the Gauntlet.
– Tell Harry what I’ve figured out about the node and the Horizon Realm.

[White Wolf] Phil’s Journal

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This was written after the 29 & 30 Apr 2005 games.

I’m no stranger to dichotomy.

I am, perhaps, a stranger to understanding.  The last few days have brought understanding in spades, and at this point, I can’t even bring myself to fear discorporation.  It’s not even death.  From my understanding(pah!), there are two major possibilities:  I will re-corporate as someone very close to myself, or I will begin a new cycle.

I’m beginning to become annoyed at people trying to come up with alternate explanations for Mei Ling and my timeline-hopping.  This was infinitely easier when I was sure that I was insane.  And after the last few nights, I’m certain that it would have been safer.  Maybe I can make more sense of it all if I lay it out on paper.

-The ley lines, the sigil, the ritual, and the ward

Losing Nero to the vampires has been a major blow.  Until Harry can finish translating his notes from French, we’re at a stand-still.  None of us truly realized how much Nero had done and was doing for the chantry.  Unraveling this mystery will hopefully tell us the ward’s purpose, and then we can judge for ourselves when it comes to strengthening or re-erecting the ward.

That brings me to those that erecting the ward.  The batshit Hermetic Archmage.  Aiko, the Ecstatic.  The Chorister – dead, whose voice is a thousand screams – who was wife to the Hermetic, mother to Ulysses, lover to Aiko, and who knows what else.  Ulysses was gone due to a father-son fight, when the – wait, no.  That’s impossible.  It’s been two hundred years since the ward went up.  Either he was born and raised inside the ward, or he has extended his own age.  I must find out how old Ulysses is.

Victor is related to these four in some way.  I will respect the deal that was made with us, and leave him alone.  I would bet, though, that Rory knew something.  Otherwise, Harry wouldn’t have flipped out when he heard that Victor was in the coffee shop.  The only others that might know are Backspace and that Arabic V.A..  I hate being so shitty with names.

– The vampires

Can it get any stranger than a war between the Mafia and a vampire?  Yes, yes it can.  But not by much.  The one in our own city has his deal.  We’ll leave him alone, if he leaves us alone.  He has Nero, and I believe his story about the oath to keep him alive.  I have to believe it, or I’d never sleep again.

We have allies in Grand Rapids.  Sure, they’re undead, but they don’t seem to suffer from Paradox.  Not a worthwhile trade-off from my side of the fence, but what are you going to do?  Oh, wait, I know.  We’ll free them from their curse, as Cole, the Prince (why not King?) asked us to do.  Ulysses said that attempts to do this have resulted in disaster.  Bah.  What’s a little disaster to Phillip Schuler?  Sheesh.  I have a feeling that the key to undoing the curse could be found in the rite used to give it to House Tremere.  Maybe Harry’s hard-on for destroying vampires can be turned to something constructive.

The cult in Flint and Lansing (FUCK FUCK FUCKITTY FUCK) may be as daunting an enemy as the Prince is an ally.  The one Lasombra has already tried to enter Ann Arbor, and will be able to as soon as the ward falls.  At the latest.  The horrors of the Abyss wrapped around them was eerie in its beauty.

At least we got the ring.

– The ring

Hermetic design.  Effects the spirit realm.  Specifically, the realm of the dead.  More specifically, the specters.  Are they evil ghosts?  Remnants of evil people, or changed by their post-death experiences?  What would have to happen to one’s soul to end up looking like the monster in the caverns?  Does it take a caul, or does humanity carry that horror within itself every day?

The ring brings irony after irony.  We took it from the vampires, but donning the ring induces a state like undeath.  We had to get it because the Archmage rescued Rory from the specters that the ring is designed to influence.

What association does Aiko have with the Specters, the Labyrinth of the underworld, that she can hold them at bay for those women that don’t bring men with them?  Would she do this for Mei Ling, and how horrible am I for even having the thought?

Whatever the consequence, we made the deal, so we must uphold it.  I will know who sacrificed their life to that madman.

– Wife?

Where in the shit do I start?  Is it even possible to have objective thought about this?  Hell, no.  The nightly romps don’t help, though by no means do they hurt.  Well, not in any bad way.  Argh!  See what I mean?

Okay, try again.  There was a time and place that I loved her.  It existed, and it w as truly me, acting, thinking, feeling as I do.  In a manner that I do.  Like the time spirit said, it was Phil.  It was me.  I don’t have the luxury of understanding the nuances that differentiate that version of me from, well, me.

When I heard that she’d jumped off of a fucking building, and could be dead, I was shaken.  No, I was devastated.  Back-to-back this was not.  Was it because I had assigned myself her protector (ha!) and translator for this brave new (old) reality?  I had an apprentice once, but this never happened with her.  I was far more of a father-figure.  Christ, I can’t even remember if the girl survived the Nephandi.

I put the ring on without hesitation.  The wedding band.  The chalk was gone and the ring was there.  She said I abandoned her.  Harley said I abandoned him.  He forgives me, but their memories agree and mine does not.  Maybe I am still crazy.  Wouldn’t it be funny if they were both figments of my delusional mind?  Hee!

– Crazy or Enlightened?

Two years in an instant.  The filing job with Mr. Schmidt.  The old house with Mei Ling.  Magic fading out of my life along with the danger and vibrancy.  The rightness of the day to day life.  I know that this was another test from my Avatar, and I know that I succeeded.  All those rooms, with all those wives, all those lives.  That house was MY house, I think.  The house that I always build, every cycle, trying to chase after a stability that I never really want.  I was all me’s that have been, I think, in all when’s that I have visited.

The Technocracy do not have Avatars; they have Eidolons.  The Technocracy are not Awakened, they are Enlightened.  Is it hubris to believe myself both Awake and Enlightened?  Does the crazy prevent the hubris?

Because I was all of me, everywhere and everywhen, I was able to find Harley.  In the dream, I awoke his spirit; this must have represented finding or reuniting with him.  Whatever the case, a missing companion – one that I remember – has returned, and for this I am happy.

Okay, this has helped.  Information I need to gather:
– How old is Ulysses?
– What did Rory and Backspace know about Victor?
– Can the rite that the Tremere used to become vampires be used to undo the curse?
– Who sacrificed their life to the Archmage?
– Am I falling in love with Ling, or am I just trying to be a white knight?

Okay, that last one is a bit more complex.  I need to convince Ling to physically train me – again – so that I am not so weak.  I need to get with both Harry and Ling, and probably Tim, to deliver the ring.  I need to re-learn how to open the doorways.  I need to try to forget the asylum.  I need to not think about why I left Ling and Harley.

Or maybe I do need to find that out.

[White Wolf] Phil’s Character History

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Time to switch it up a little. This is the character history for Phillip Schuler, as he began his life in the current Mage game…

As Phil stared at the row of fraternity houses, he became quite sure that wherever he was, it was not home.

In his memory, this row of houses had been home to any number of people of mystical persuasions.  They had possessed a source of power, a node, and had been the only ones in the state, aside from the Technocracy, to officially have such a thing.  Now, these houses were dead to him.  Oh, they still housed fraternity members, but there was no longer any mystical or magical facet to them.

There was another thing.  The newspaper and his cell phone agreed that it was nearing the end of February in the year 2000.  Phil was certain that this was wrong.  It should be at least 2002.  God damn, if only his memory were less hazy.

He had been in Lansing.  He had stayed away from his fellow magic-workers for as long as was possible.  Something had drawn him back in, and it had caused him great pain.  Phil eyed the clothing stores in disdain as he walked past.  There had been a friend, and he had died.  That’s right!  Phil had met the others at a wake.

But his friend had become corrupted.  Nephandus.  His soul had been turned inside-out, and even dead had sought corruption and descent.  He had fought the spirit of his old friend side by side with these orphaned and teacher-less mages.  And they had won.

Phil stopped for a moment in front of a chain costume and party store.  He frowned at a sudden memory of the smell of cotton candy.  His friend had not been the only one.  Other Nephandi had crept their way into Lansing, slowly creating a powerful Labyrinth.  One had smelled strongly of cotton candy.  It had worn a white suit.  Others had fought by his side.  Celican bin Thoth, of the Order of Hermes.  V of the Euthanatos.  Rebecca, an orphaned mage.  He remembered these clearly.

He remembered the baby.  The child who was the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth.  They had protected the child, hoping for salvation.  No one had been saved.  Phil scowled and moved on.

Rebecca’s mentor had protected the child, and then she had.  That had left Phil and V to manage the unorganized and opinioned Tradition mages and just as many of the orphaned.  They had done pretty well, considering.

Considering what, you ask?  Considering the Nephandi opening a portal to some twisted spiritual world between here and where their masters churned in darkness.  Considering the surge in Technocracy presence in response.  Considering the regular death and dismemberment of those he was just beginning to call friends.  Considering the lupines and the fluctuations of the spirit world and its infinite layers.  Considering.

They had run a couple of successful raids on the Nephandi, with the Technocracy as allies.  Their devices for harming spirits had looked strange, to say the least.  Things got even more hazy here.  Phil sighed and slumped into a bench.  He watched the Ann Arbor traffic go past, and remembered his Harley.  Poor bastard.  Maybe it was time to let go of that.  Something across the street caught his attention.

He stood up, paused for a moment, and rushed to the street corner, trench coat flapping behind him.  After waiting impatiently for the light to change, he rushed across the street.  He forced himself to slow down as he approached the bum.

It was Arland!  He had been one of the orphaned in Lansing.  His arms were scarred from razor slashes, just as Phil remembered.  He was as bald as a cue ball, just as he remembered.  He was covered in tattoos, just as… wait.  There were less tattoos.  There were less cut scars.  Phil frowned for a moment.  He tapped his staff on the ground.  He shoved his hand into his trench’s pocket and held the marble sphere.  The worlds of spirit and energy leapt into sharp relief, and Phil saw Arland as he was before he had awoken to his power.

He approached the bum Arland, and handed him a ten-spot.  Arland mumbled a slurred reply, and Phil saw how dilated the man’s pupils were.  He scribbled his cell number on a piece of scrap paper and handed it to Arland.  The wind shifted, and Phil almost gagged.   “If you need to talk, or anything weird happens, give me a call.”

“Uh, sure.”  The bum took the paper and Phil walked briskly away.  This might not be the same world, but it was pretty damn close.  That raven.  That cursed ancestor spirit.  Fucking tricksters.

Sure, it couldn’t help, much less deny, its nature.  Phil had come to it, not the other way around.  He had finally come to terms with what had happened in the glass tunnel.  The quest for the spirit had focused him and let him mourn.  He had mourned all of his fallen comrades, most of whom he couldn’t remember.  He had mourned Crashing Boom-Boom and the Harley Davidson.  He had celebrated for the spirit of the house, which he had released.

Phil had cut all ties, because it had felt like the right thing to do.  Then, after questing for what seemed like an eternity, he had collapsed into the raven’s nest and fallen asleep.  When he had awoken, it was staring down its beak at him.  He had asked it for the path to understanding.  It had told him that for this gift, Phil would seek out and console a lonely friend of his.  The raven had said that he was qualified, because the spirit inhabited a house.  Phil had fallen back asleep, and then woken up in the Ann Arbor train station.

He stopped in front of a used theatrical costume shop.  He had spent a lot of time with the spirit, and it was time to let go of Harley.  Phil sighed, gripped his staff tightly, and walked in the store.

The bell over the door jingled.

[] Todd returns the jar.

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This is the final entry of Todd’s story.

I left my throne a million miles away
I drink from your tit
I sing your blues every day
Now give me the strength
To split the world in two yeah
I ate all the rest and now I’ve gotta eat you

Well I sing

Built in my nightmares and using my name
You’re stroking my cortex and you know I’m insane
I’m squeezed out in hump drive and drownin’ in love
Encompass them all to a position above
– Monster Magnet, “Space Lord”
—
No change registered in Dr. Celestine’s expression; his face was still stone. He lifted the snifter to his mouth, and drank the liquor in one go. He sat the glass down next to the bottle, and visibly relaxed back into the chair. “Continue, Todd. You’ve got my full attention, dangerous as such a thing is.”

“There is a jar that has been missing from your Carnival for a long time. It probably disappeared in the middle of the mess with your artist and when your Freak Show master left. Lots of hubub, lots of ups and downs during that whole thing.” Todd’s voice, as well as his vocabulary, kept cycling between teenager and old man. It didn’t seem to bug Celestine, but Thunk winced every time that it happened. “At least, that would be my guess after reading all of the stories that Ralph found on the internet. I have to admit that whatever you did to stop them from writing was very effective. A font of information, whether any of those things actually happened or not, about you.

“Anyway, that missing jar was pretty important. I mean, you took it out of the trailer, here, and gave it to Mary for a reason. You could have simply entrusted it to her care, but instead you literally gave it to her. She was even able to keep the fact that it was missing concealed from you for, well, a long time. Once you found out, though, it couldn’t have taken you very long to figure out that it had gone missing the very weekend that Old Ralph had visited your Carnival. The same exact time that it unlocked something in him that could undo you. Once you figured that out, it was even easier to figure out that he’d only visited one attraction.”

Dr. Celestine nodded, a slow smile creeping over his face. “Bloody Mary Black’s Freak Show.” He poured himself another glass of brandy, setting the bottle carefully back on his end table.

“Damn skippy. So, the next idea that makes sense is that Ralph lifted the jar from Mary, and used it to track you through space and time. But that’s the bitch of it, Doc. Old Ralph never stole the jar. Whatever was opened up in Ralph, and now me, was done by the cage in the Feak Show. Mary was waiting for him, with the jar, when he got out of that fuckin’ crazy cage. She gave it to him, told him something that scared the bejeezus out of him, and told him to run for his life. And he did. Only, he couldn’t get this place out of his head because as much as he was its un-maker or whatever, he was still a part of it. And now I am.”

Dr. Celestine stopped swirling his glass, and set it down. His smile was full-blown, now, and he didn’t bother to hide it. “You mean to tell me that you’ve come back here entirely for the selfless return of property stolen by one of my employees?”

Todd coughed and looked at the floor. “Yeah. I mean, well…”

Dr. Celestine laughed, just as he’d done in Ralph’s library, from the gut. It filled the trailer and bounced off of the jars. “It was certainly one of your reasons, young Todd. Of that I have no doubt. However.” He slowly and dramatically pulled an ID card from his vest pocket. It had a spot where you could attach a clip or a lanyard. It had Sheila’s picture on it, next to the words “Hot Topic Employee.” He placed the card next to the bottle, his smile never even flickering.

It was Todd’s turn to wear the stony expression.

“It seems that it was not your only reason. Sheila now holds the golden ticket. She’s wandering through the Hall of Mirrors at this very moment. It’s a very noble thing that you’ve done for her, Todd. As any others that walk under my sign, she’s got a chance at survival, a chance at madness, and a chance at death. Luckily, I’m not as blinded as Mary is. You know that I won’t offer her a home, or a job. What do you expect to get out of squeezing a life’s worth of risk into a day or two?”

Todd stood up, and Thunk followed suit. “If she hadn’t been pushed, she would have lived her entire life with her eyes closed, and would have thanked god for it. Now, she doesn’t have that option, and her pride won’t let her fail. Now, if she survives, she’ll at least be something more than that.” Todd scowled after spitting out the last word.

Dr. Celestine laughed again, and the world seemed to reel for a moment. “Playing at deity, even with the best intentions, is the surest way to disaster.” He raised his glass to Todd, and then to Thunk. He drank it all at once, as if it was a shot. “Except, of course, at Dr. Celestine’s Carnival of Souls.”

Todd reached into his jacket and slowly pulled out a mason jar. It gave off the murky light of storm clouds. The miniature palm trees inside were whipped by wind and lashed by rain. The hurricane inside was strong and angry, as it had always been. “What is this, Dr. Celestine?” He handed the jar over.

“This, my new adversary, is a jar full of destruction.”
—
End of Todd