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I sat watching the proceedings as they unfolded. One young man stood before the gathering and spoke as he passed a folder of information around. I never saw the folder but a young woman with chocolate eyes and raven colored hair spoke to deny it all and warned him that he came close to stepping over the line. Arther silenced everyone in the room and told the man to continue with his report. He brought out a cat. He set it on the table and it began to speak.. I figured this was nothing new as I had heard many things speaking for the last few hours. But when everyone In the room began to look concerned including Alice I just got more confused. Arther spoke to his computer and suddenly they were speaking of following threads. My heart began to thump in my chest. This was all too much my head hurt and now they were talking about following threads. I watched Arther call Morgan. As she appeared a few moments later I was still amazed. I watched and listened. Such a Chaotic day had to end sometime. Suddenly they vanished and I was looking around. I watched the spot where Morgan had been but moments before and just as suddenly as she vanished she reappeared looking a little shaken. I moved to stand before her and was going to ask her if she was okay when suddenly more Chaos erupted and began to run rampant. I saw the man whom gave the report stand up with a gun and aim at Morgan and fire directly at her. One second later I see the same man stand up with a gun and aim at Morgan while a man refereed to as the Duke stood up and Shot the gun from his hands. This duke reminded me of John Wane. While all eyes were looking that direction I noticed another woman whom everyone had explained was Bunnie held up her hand and the air seemed to ripple around her and I heard Morgan hit the floor behind me. She was bleeding from the mouth slightly and I bent down about to assess her wounds I could see with the special ability I had been given that she was alive but in that second she was gone. When I looked up to speak the Higher-arch Arther was gone. I began to panic as things seemed to unravel. 279Please respect copyright.PENANAc2q92B4kby
I don't understand what came over me. For some reason I let panic grip me so tightly I freaked out. "DO YOU PEOPLE ALWAYS ATTACK YOUR OWN?" I must have looked like a frightened doe caught in the headlights for several people tried to talk to me and sooth me with their words. I would find out later that they were using their special skills in calming me down. Sherlock replied "We do not normally no this is most definitely not a normal Consilium. Please do not judge us all on the actions of a few." The speaker box tried to speak some but I do not even remember what it tried to say to me. The one man I remember was the one named the Professor. He was a professor at Brown University, I learned he taught History, which would make sense to me later that he would be the councilor for the Mysterium. We all spoke and I he believe was trying to convince me to become one of his ilk. I do not think I would fit in well with that group of people. The others were off again following those threads things. The Professor however promised to give me a few books that would help me understand more of what I had become. Bunnie came into the room and so did the woman whom they were trying to accuse of some sort of sabotage. She waited with us and she was patient and quiet until the man who did the accusing walked back in and offered himself to be arrested. "I will have you know I was here the whole time and it wasn't me." I nodded and said "That's right I saw Bunnie doing something." Bunnie glared at me then replied. "at least you Lacroix have an excuse and they believe you wouldn't attack a friend however I am going to be accused of attacking without anyone to believe me." "yeah well can you blame them?" That was the only banter between them.
The rest of the night flew by so fast I can hardly remember what happened. I don't even remember walking home but I somehow managed to get there. The next few days flew by in a whirlwind of colors and sounds, I remember getting a few books from the professor and going through them. I felt as if I couldn't absorb the information fast enough. I learned that the world was populated by people and monsters and creatures that made things go bump in the night. And all those stories parents tell their children were truer than one might think.
One night a few select people in lands scattered far and wide, had a dream of an island where dragons resided. It was a lone island far from the coast of any known land. A spire rose up from the center of the island pointing at the pole star; it seemed to the dreamers that this was the axis of the world, upon which the bowl of the sky turned. Upon this pole, at its Apex, nested the dragons. In the dreams these dragons of legend would rise up into the winds, one by one, circle the spire with their beating leathery wings, and set off toward the infinite horizon, to places the dreamers could not imagine. No other creatures stirred there and no spirits haunted there; no being dared to intrude upon the dragons' lair. As the dreams progressed, the dreamers came to realize that the dragons never returned. Each night, another dragon would leave, so that the remaining numbers grew smaller and smaller , until finally, the last dragon took wing and glided away, to the west, never again to be seen. The dreams continued and now the island was empty; nothing moved there. For many nights the dreamers saw the island abandoned and Forlorn, and knew that it waited for them. The Island had called to them, compelling them, seeking new inhabitants. Following the lead of the dreamers, small bands of mortals set out to sea from many different lands, each following the vision given to them in dreams, they sought out the island where, far from the land of predation, they knew they would be free to forge their own destinies, unafraid of the night.
They came to the island, following the pole star, and saw that it was exactly as had been seen in their dreams. Mortals from many lands, speaking many languages and following different customs, came together, and by silent assent settled in peace with no conflict, for they had traveled far fleeing from struggle. And still they dreamed. The island sent them new visions, and showed them how they might learn to master the strange sights to which their sleeping minds had been privy, they began practicing the techniques of hesychia, the "stillness" or "incubation," in which they retreated into dark caves and their bodies entered into a deep sleep while their minds traveled too far astral realms beyond the knowledge of other mortals.
There they met the others, the diamons of their own souls, the hidden twin of each soul traveler. These judges challenged them to prove by what right they came on the astral roads to the realms Supernal, and set them to a series of tests. Many failed, sent back to their bodies in sorrow, unable to again journey forth in dream. But some succeeded.
These few returned with their souls aglow, lit by a celestial fire. They could see into the Realms Invisible and know the secret workings of Creation, the principles and substances from which everything was wrought. Through the sympathy their far-journeying souls now shared with the Realms Supernal, and the knowledge they gleaned from studying realms visible and invisible, could call down the ways of heaven, the higher the principles that ruled over the lower realms of matter and spirit, They made their very thoughts real, imagination rendered into matter and flesh. They had discovered magic.
It was as if all mortals were asleep. Only the dreamers of the dragon isle who had returned victorious from their astral journeys were AWAKE. The magi dreamed with their eyes open.
They pondered how it was that they among all mortals had attained this gift. It seemed that only on their island refuge within its deep caves removed from the tumult of the senses, could their soul fly free of their bodily fetters and touch the Astral Stars. But mortals had lived in caves before, and had withdrawn from the world in deep meditation, yet none had Awakened. The magi suspected that the island itself had mystical properties. Had it not been the abode of dragons, creatures made from the celestial fire? Had it not guided them there through dreams? Had it not called to them, and had they not answered?
Investigating The depths of the caves with their new found vision, they unearthed huge crystals in shapes that suggested bones. Some believed they had found the remains of the dead dragons. The power resonant in the crystals had called to sensitive mortal souls like moths to light. Was this the secret of the isle's power? Crystals that resonated with Supernal energy? They named the caves the Dragon's Tomb, and built their city atop it.
Later mages, skeptics raised in the modern world, would scoff at the tale. They would know that places could well up with magical energy, and even take upon atmosphere of the Supernal Realms provided a shard from a Mage's soul, distilled into material from, anchored its higher energies. But Dragons? Surely not. The defenders of tradition would state that the dragons were dream emissaries, not literally winged reptiles, but Supernal ideas representing the concept of magic itself. The crystal "Bones" acted as conduits to the Supernal, the source of magic. In this way, some would say, Atlantis formed a natural version of what would later be called a "Demesne," a place pregnant with Supernal power where magic could be practiced as of old... before the fall.
The loose confederation of immigrants to the island soon organized into a city-state led by the magi. They called it Atlantis, which in their polyglot tongue meant "the ocean spire." Over time, the enlightened founded separate orders to fulfill the rolls of governance, from mystical militia to scholars to a priesthood of the Mysteries to guide them all.
The Magi of Atlantis traveled once more to the forsaken lands from whence they had come, searching for new clues into the Mysteries, the tantalizing yet obscure secrets that ruled over everything that was, is and shall be. Mortals there witnessed their power, and word of them spread as rumors and legends. Many left their homes to seek fabled Atlantis, the island of the magi. Only a few found it; the rest wandered the ocean for years. No chart marked its place; the stars no longer guided mariners to its rocky shores. Only those who saw it in dream could find their way. The newcomers went to the tomb and sent their minds inwards, but most of them failed the tests of their daimons and were lost in the uncharted wilderness of their souls. Their empty bodies took days to die. Others were severed from their bodies by the terrible demons they found dwelling within their own dreams. Only a very few in any group could pass the tests and become magi. Rumors came now and then of foreign Sorcerers, men and women who had also attained the Realms Supernal on their own, far from Atlantis, but they were rare, These people more often than not destroyed themselves by misuse of their power or were killed by commoners who feared their wizardry. Only on Atlantis were the Ars Mysteriorum mastered and codified for others to learn.
The practice of magic was intertwined with the theory of magic--how it was that the mortal mind was able to will reality to do what it wanted. The Atlanteans believed that the practice of magic was the purposeful incarnation by a mage of the Supernal -- the heavenly or celestial -- into the lower, prosaic realms of matter, including the subtle realms of the spiritual matter called ephemera. The mage, by virtue of his soul's attainment to the higher realms, could bring the ruler-ship of those realms down into the common world through sympathy, the principle that like can affect like regardless of distance.
But a sympathetic connection through the soul was not enough. The mind had to understand the complex Tapestry of the universe, how the Patterns of various things were woven into a whole. Only by understanding the threads could a mage weave them into patterns of his own devising. These threads were the Ten Arcana that comprised all of reality from high to low.
The Atlanteans also pondered the reasons behind their art. They knew with certainty that there was more to reality than what met the common eye. and that there was more than one state of existence beyond the material. They believed that behind the many forms and shapes of things, the world was in fact One, Heaven and earth together in a single continuum. Subtle veils divided the realms and states of being from one another, separating high from low and creating the illusion of division.
Mortal souls originated from on high and descended to the lower realm seeking manifestation in flesh. Once their sojourn was accomplished, they would ascend again to their source to be renewed. On their descent, they would strip away their celestial raiment and don garments of clay, discarding memories of the Realms Supernal. They arrived in the lower world ignorant, like children eager and curious to learn anew. When their cloaks of clay finally crumbled, they would rise again as sparks from a flame, called by the stars to return in glory, mature with the wisdom they had gained during their time among the limited and uncomprehending forms of the lower realm.
So it is said that mortals came to be, clay bodies worn by luminous souls in forgetfulness. But the reason behind why mortal souls were forced to descend at all became a source of contention. Some magi claimed it was how the universe came to know itself. Others said it was a punishment levied by mad and cruel gods, a terrible cycle designed to keep mortals from becoming more than gods. Still others said it was a challenge meant to be overcome, a trial that only the fit could pass. Only those whose souls had journeyed inward to the Astral Spaces and who passed the tests put to them by their daimons could remember the truth and so ascend in life and escape the cycle of incarnations.
The power to warp the very skein of Creation soon outstripped the wisdom of those who wielded it. The hubris of the magi rose unchecked. Many generations after the first had established Atlantis, their legacy turned sour. Mage turned on Mage, and so was born the first Wizards' war.
The victors claimed Atlantis as theirs, and drove the losers to the far corners of the earth. Then, combining their power, they wrought a great spell and erected a ladder to the Realms Supernal. They spurned the traditional astral paths by which a sorcerer could approach the higher realms by means of a soul journey, for they sought to walk the celestial reaches in their own bodies. They stormed the heights and claimed the thrones of the gods for themselves. Ruling from on high, no longer bound to earth, even their petty dictates and whims became real, for they stood over the lower realm and influenced it with their very thoughts. The subtle veils were rent, and the higher and lower worlds came together -- the pure mixed with the impure, and the universe trembled.
Spurned by the imminent destruction and corruption of the world, the exiled mages banded together and assaulted Atlantis, climbing the star ladder and wrestling with the celestial mages in their heavenly palaces. Their struggles were terrible. The two sides clashed in a chaos of realms, and the losers -- sorcerers on both sides -- were flung from on high back into the lower realm.
The ladder shattered, disintegrating into dust, leaving the victors beyond the reach of the earthbound mages. Where the ladder had been, reality cracked and fell into itself, creating a rift between the higher and lower realms, a terrible void that sucked life and energy into itself. The Abyss divided the realms once more, keeping the high, pure realm from the taint of the low. But this was no subtle veil, permeable to returning souls. It was a gulf of unreality, an aberration that was never meant to be. What was before a single world became two worlds -- the Supernal World and the Fallen World, with a vast Abyss between them.
The veil between the worlds of spirit and matter hardened, becoming the daunting Gauntlet, a barrier impassible except through magic. Shaken by the reverberations of the ladder's destruction. the foundations of Atlantis crumbled and the island sank beneath the waves. The mystical place that had birthed the magi was no more. The survivors would later wonder: Was this the primordial event that created myths of the flood and the tower of babel? Perhaps. Or perhaps the war reverberated throughout time itself, endlessly repeating its disastrous finale in every human civilization to come.
Once again, the enlightened escaped to the far corners of the earth and there began the long, slow process of relearning what was lost. Hunted once again by monsters, their progress was slow, for the needs of survival came before the slow study of the Mysteries. What's more, those souls that had not already been touched by the Realms Supernal grew dim, like cold lumps of coal hiding dim cinders within. Many forgot their magical heritage and their souls entered a slumber deeper than they had known before.
The great decline was known as the Quiescence, the Sleeping Curse. The Lie. Cut off from the higher realms, divided from their birthright by the abyss, souls could not maintain their luminosity and fell so into Sleep. Worse -- the gravity of the Abyss pulled on them and weighed down the lids of their inner eyes, causing them to refuse any vision of the higher world. The mages-- those who remained Awake -- could no longer work their magic before those who slept without invoking the powers of the Abyss. Only a rare few in any place at any time remained Awake, tending the flame of Supernal knowledge, keeping the lore of magic alive.
With the Abyss between them and the Supernal World, the source of magic, mages' power began to wane. It became harder and harder to draw the Supernal energies across the void, and when they could be drawn, they sometimes arrived warped and twisted, with effects unwanted by their wielder. In a number of years, all contact with the higher world would be gone and all of humankind would sleep forever.
Then, one by one, the Watchtowers appeared, their flames sending beacons from the Supernal Realms across the vast night to the souls of the Awakened. Legends tell of five Atlantean kings, the mage heirs of the Awakened City who led the fight against the Exarchs. They climbed the ladder and dueled within the celestial palaces. When the ladder shattered, they remained in the higher world and continued to resist the Exarchs. These were the Oracles, their numbers few but their powers potent.
Realizing the danger the Abyss posed for the lower world, the Oracles broke off the fight with the Exarchs and set off through the Supernal Realms. Using lore beyond the ken of the Exarchs -- for they were royal heirs, privy to magical knowledge allowed to only nobles -- they each erected by magic a tower in a single Supernal Realm, modeled after the tall spire that had guided the first vessels to Atlantis. Five towers from five kings. Each invested into their tower the virtues of their own souls and the sum of their magical knowledge, imbued into the very stones of the structures.
The watchtowers sent visions across the Abyss to mages in the fallen world, calling to them as Atlantis had once called to their ancestors. Those who interpreted the visions properly and remembered the old ways retreated to caves or secluded towers, sheltering themselves in the dark. They lay their bodies down and, following the lure of the Watchtowers, sent their souls onto astral roads long untrod.
Through harrowing journeys, some of them finally arrived in astral form at one of the five Watchtowers. There they carved their names into the foundation stones and awoke in their bodies. But they were no longer forsaken, for their names had been written by their own souls. They once more claimed sympathy with the Realms Supernal, although each only in that realm in which her Watchtower stood.
Watchtower of the Golden Key: founded in the Aether, the realm of the celestial spheres where lightening illumines the sky and magic falls like rain.
Watchtower of the Iron Gauntlet: founded in pandemonium, the realm of nightmares, where the labyrinths of the mind can drive one mad and all paths are illusion.
Watchtower of the Lead Coin: founded in Stygia, the realm of crypts, where the treasures of the earth are hoarded and all things must one day end.
Watchtower of the Lunargent Thorns: Founded in Arcadia, the realm of enchantment, where time runs strangely and a carelessly spoken word can rule one's fate forever.
Watchtower of the Stone Book: Founded in the Primal Wild, the Realm of Totems, where flesh is forever renewed and the ephemeral is as solid as matter.
Without the mystical foundation of Atlantis, mortals could no longer willingly choose to set out on soul journeys to attain the Realms Supernal. Only those who were already mages could reach the new Watchtowers, and even then the journeys were hard and not all returned.
But Awakenings were not denied to Sleepers. By Oracular magic, miracle, happenstance, divine grace or sheer luck, a mortal's soul could stir and find itself at the gate of a Watchtower. If his will was strong enough, he could carve his name into the tower's stones, and so secure for himself mystical sympathy with the Watchtower and its realm. He would return Awakened, changed by his sojourn in a strange land.
As time passed and the Abyss widened, the journeys of the soul grew fewer, but Awakenings still occurred. Sometimes, the soul would not walk the astral paths during its trials but instead perceive the external world through Supernal vision, causing the mind to think it had gone mad, beset by hallucinations and devilry, Ordinary people and things became like actors taking the role of Supernal entities, enacting a Mystery play for the soul's benefit. Those who could guess the plot of the play and take their proper role within it were graced with Awakening. Those who failed to anticipate the script or refused to take part soon returned to sleep, their trial reduced to a memorable nightmare, no more significant than any other dream.
The actors recruited for such mystery plays were unaware of their parts. Only the Awakening could read the cipher of experience and discern the truth of what occurred. Everyone else went about their lives normally, unaware that they had been puppets of the divine. Or did mages merely project onto them their altered perceptions? Was it all in the subject's mind? Regardless, those who passed the trials of the soul could make what was in their minds real, and so the question was moot.
Where the Atlanteans could willfully enter the soul journey of Awakening the Dragon's Tomb, mortals in the Fallen World awakened only by strange happenstance, the causes for which are still debated by mages in the modern age. If only mages could know just who would Awaken, and how and when they could more easily bolster their numbers and work to ensure the Awakening of humanity. But there seamed to be no such laws or guidelines. Even mages, masters of the miraculous, had to rely on rare miracles to maintain their lineage.
The Exarchs -- the pretender gods -- were largely forgotten. If they still existed, they remained unseen. If they acted upon the world, they did so in ways that would be interpreted as the works of Nature or the whims of fate -- or, eventually, as random chance or natural law. No one remembered that their own kind had once become gods.
No one, that is,but mages. Cabals of the Awakened handed down their secrets to a select few, ensuring that their methods of casting the old magics remained true. They, of all people, suspected that the Exarchs still ruled in heaven. But they did not rule unopposed. The Oracles also existed in the celestial reaches, working to foil the selfish dictates of the first pretenders. Once in a long age, it is said, a mortal mage's soul may attain the Final Key to the Mysteries and ascend across the Abyss to the Supernal World and so become an Oracle -- or Exarch -- and impose his own will on the working's of the universe.
The mages who had survived the fall of Atlantis clung to the ways of the lost city with a religious fervor. Surrounded by Sleeping souls who could not remember any of the truths told them by the Awakened. The enlightened were forced to keep the magical traditions secret, to teach them to only those who proved they could accept the precious knowledge. Caretakers of the Mysteries, Sorcerers swore to keep magic from the sight and misuse of the sleeping.
The Atlantean orders codified their stages and degrees of initiation to ensure that only proper initiates were given access to the Arcana the ways of magic. Mages devised terrible punishments for those who would reveal the mysteries to uninitiated Sleepers.
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In the chaos of the escape from the ruins of the island, the Atlantean orders spread in all directions, finding new ports in nearly every part of the populated world. Sundered from one another, their once unified philosophy splintered, and each order's goals became exalted over the others. Where before each order served a purpose balanced by the other orders, playing one part in a whole, they all now tried to each seeing itself as the center or soul wave in the Great Pattern. Once sundered, each order, bereft of the proximity of fellows, came to view itself as the sole path to magic. Initiation soon became more than just a method of protecting a means of weeding out the undeserving and venerating the gifted.
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Many ancient high civilizations were influenced by the Atlantean exiles: Verdic India, Ancient Egypt, the Mayans. Their monumental artifacts, such as the pyramids, are said to still hide Atlantean secret codes indecipherable in full even by their heirs, who hold but pieces of the puzzle.
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In many places and many times, mages tried to recreate lost Atlantis, to guide the minds of Sleepers in erecting civilizations that sought to reclaim the ancient ways. Each attempt failed. Sleepers were creatures of urges, ruled by whims and unconscious yearnings. They had not the discipline or will to long keep what was good, just and beautiful. In the end their civilizations each descended into decadence and decay. These untimely ends were, unfortunately, helped along by mages who could not master their own souls, who sought to use Sleeper institutions as a means to their own aggrandizement or power. Ever cautious to keep the secrets and display of their power away from the masses, these wizards none the less fought with one another in the shadows, battling over the courses of empires.
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The legacy of Atlantis' own failures also haunted them. For too long, the sorcerers of the ocean city had ignored the plight of mortals in the far lands. Not just monsters, but will-workers had come to rule certain places with fear. The bitter seeds they had planted had grown into towering weeds of hatred. Mortals had been promised to demons, and Hallows of primal power had been poisoned. Barbarian mages resorted to human sacrifice to fuel their spells, ensuring that the world the others found when they finally left Atlantis was nearly beyond redemption.
The early mages did not adapt will to their exile. In some cases, they expected to be worshiped as gods, or at least great leaders. But the Abyss ensured the failure of these dreams. Lashing mages with harsh, mystic punishments for their hubris -- anomalous events later called "Paradoxes." The mystic thread of the Supernal World could not be woven into the Fallen World without risk of rupturing the Pattern.
Whats more, barbarian mages vied with Atlantean exiled for Hallows and places of powerful resonance. The mages hated the Atlanteans, blaming them for the Abyss. Driven underground like all sorcerers, their cults died out or were subsumed by the Atlantean orders, but not after many magical battles for supremacy or revenge.
It has been from their place in the shadows, then, that the enlightened have affected the world. Mages have claimed for themselves many of the most remarkable innovations of history. The truth of these claims is nearly impossible to disentangle from the boasts made about them, for mages are a secretive lot, hoarding the truth. If they are quick to speak an tutor on a topic, then surely that topic is shallow and unimportant. They save the best material for initiates alone.
Many like to claim that the efforts of the Awakened have been in humankind's best interest. that they have been noble martyrs searching out occult secrets that might aid humanity and reunite the worlds. Unfortunately, overwhelming evidence runs counter to this claim. More often than not, mages have used their power to control others and play them as pawns in a vast contest of territory and might.
The Atlantean exiles refused to accept their ejection from the heavens, and so sought to find a path whereby they could ascend to its reaches once again. They broke off pieces of their own souls and charged them with the power to touch the Realms Supernal, allowing mages to overcome the lash of the Abyss in certain areas. Soon, all mages sought to establish "Demesnes" of their own. The legend of wizards' towers, sacred groves and cavernous shrines speak of these early magical sites.
It was said that the mage who could solve the most magical secrets, established the best Demesnes, and wield the mightiest magic would gain the Final Key, and ascend to the Throne of Creation. Humans would once more shake off the clay that bound them and become as gods.
The paths
Every mage is said to walk a Path, one that leads through a Supernal Realm to a Watchtower. This is not a literal or physical route, but a metaphorical road or direction for the soul. Each realm has its own metaphysical laws that favor some principles over others.. These laws are represented by the Arcana and their degree of power within a realm, described as Ruling (the principles represented by the Arcana are manifested in their most pure forms), common (the Arcana are more powerful than in the Fallen World, but not as pure as the Rulers), and inferior (the Arcana are still more powerful than in the Fallen world, but they exert little influence over the realm.)
A mage's beginning Arcana, the magical lore he knows from his Awakening and immediate studies afterward, tend to be the Ruling Arcana for his realm.
Acanthus: A mage who walks the Path of Thistle that winds through the realm of Arcadia to the Watchtower of the Lunargent Thorn (the "moonsilver thron"). Sleepers know Arcadia dimly through the legends of faeries, and the nymphs and dryads of the plant kingdom. In Arcadia, everything is enchanted, wearing a magical glamour of intense beauty -- or ugliness. Things tend toward extremes; there is very little compromise in the abode of the Fae. Change is common and encouraged. Those who walk this path tend to be fickle and ever eager to try new things. The Ruling Arcana for Arcadia are Fate and Time. Fairy stories from around the world reflect the timelessness of the realm, as people who enter places under its influence and spend an evening often exit many years later, as time is measured in the Fallen World. Likewise, a promise or oath is binding, and none can betray it without terrible consequences. Acanthus, also called "enchanters," are often thought of as the archetypal "divine fools," for they seem to achieve their goals by not trying or by waiting for things to come to them. Little wonder this, with the Fate Arcanum on their side. But this over-reliance on luck can be to their detriment, as they spurn patience and plunge into situations that are perhaps best tackled with some degree of foresight and strategy. They are the wild cards of the Awakened world, and both loved and hated by others for it.
Mastigos: A mage who walks the Path of Scourging through the nightmarish labyrinth of the realm of Pandemonium, at the center of which is the Watch tower of the Iron Gauntlet. Pandemonium is also called the Realm of Nightmares, for its echoes appear to Sleepers most often in their most terrible and dreaded dreams, where they fall from endless heights, never to hit the ground, or run for what seems like hours but never make any ground. Their worst fears or repressed emotions are brought forth in places touched by Pandemonium, to be examined and judged by strangers, who mock and condemn them. Through such a gauntlet of humiliation and submission, a soul is scourged of its sins and is thus purified to reunite, cleansed and free, with the divine. The Ruling Arcana of Pandemonium are Mind and Space. The darkest corners of the unconscious mind are readily apparent here,worn like badges, while all roads twist in upon themselves, leading a traveler to confrontations with his own failings. While Mastigos "warlocks" are often associated with diabolists and demon-summoners (those who make deals with the Devil), they are more properly the masters of such infernal urges, those who by dint of will command that within them which is most unsavory. While all men sin, the Mastigos learn from the foibles of the mortal coil and use them to attain higher power.
Moros: A mage who walks the Path of Doom, treading the barren wastes and black rivers of the realm of Stygia to attain the Watchtower of the Lead Coin. There is a price to be paid for entering places influenced by Stygia, and there are many tollgates on the road the soul must travel through death to attain new life. This price isn't in mundane lucre but in the treasure reaped by the soul during life. If its weight is light, like that of precious metals, the soul can rise above its death. But if it is heavy, like lead,the soul must remain in the abode of shades until it can relinquish its hold on life. The Ruling Arcana of Stygia are Death and Matter, for it is the place of shells, weather the hollow shells of egos worn in life or the heavy shells of material greed. Whatever is most heavy falls to the influence of this realm. Ghosts who are anchored to the world they have already left, material treasures that distract the soul from its true work, and even darkness, which weighs down the light. Moros necromancers are often stereotyped as dour and quiet, and there are certainly those mages who fit that description, but this image is based more on others' misunderstanding of what mages who work so close to death must be like. If a moros is gloomy, it is because he is all to aware of the doom that others face, while he rises above it all, alchemical transformed by his sojourn in the undiscovered country to which all eventually travel.
Obrimos: A mage who walks the Path of the Mighty, gliding on celestial winds through the realm of the Aether and the firmament of the stars to reach the Watchtower of the Golden Key. Only the elect can enter here, guarded by the Hosts with their swords of fire. Lightening strikes any who fly with false wings, like Icarus downed by his hubris. He who would wield the Flame Supernal must not flinch in the face of adversity, and cleave to one of the many visions of the divine. The Ruling Arcana of the Aether are Forces and Prime. The very realm bristles with energy -- sometimes too much energy, threatening to burn those not shielded by divine purpose. The raw power of the prima materia, the fire of Creation that fuels magic, is born here and meted out to the tapestry by Providence. Other mages often fear Obrimos theurgists for their temperaments as much as for their judgmental attitudes. Nonetheless, all admire their strength, and call upon them when the need is dire.
Thyrsus: A mage who walks the Path of Ecstasy,forging his own trail through the realm of the Primal Wild to discover the Watchtower of the Stone Book. Most of the hallmarks of civilization are but dreams not yet dreamt in this realm, where the world into which mortals were first born thrives in all its teeming grandeur and horror. This place speaks to the primordial in all beings, causing them to lose themselves to ecstasies of the flesh or spirit, exalting in the very act of being alive. Some claim that all wine is blessed with the taste of the Primal Wild, and that those who get madly drunk dance in its humid embrace. The Ruling Arcana of the Primal Wild are Life and Spirit. The pounding drums of the heart and lungs, the surging blood in every vein, the tingling nerves and salty sweat -- these things are an alphabet of desire presided over by this realm. Not just flesh, but ephemera, too -- the instincts of beast and spirit alike are wrought in the Primal Wilds jungles. Thyrsus shamans celebrate the moment and the sheer thrill of existence. Surrounded by Presences, they are never alone -- there is always a partner ready to take up the dance anew. While some of them are looked upon by other mages as uncivilized louts, they are no "hippies." The Path of Ecstasy is also about pain, for life is there, too. Only the dead feel no pain. Thyrsus are often the first mages sought when the Realms Invisible intrude.
Somewhere in there I must have gone out and tied one on, all that was a lot to absorb. I remember waking up my head hurting as the light streamed in the window and a dull ache on my hand which was bandaged. I found I clutched onto a paper in my left hand and the words written on it though sprawled in a drunken hand were in fact of my own writing, 'you will find your hand bandaged. This is because I in sound mind and body did get a tattoo, Its cool look at it under a black light, It represents the five watchtowers inside a pentacle star.' In my right hand I found a business card, odd it had the words Sentential Marcus on it.
(DISCLAIMER: This chapter has info that can be found in the white wolf gaming system "Mage the Awakening")