Hex and the City 3: Monday

 A series played using Songs of the City. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

THE WITCH

Name: Sasha Wolfe

Pronouns: They / Them

Aesthetic: Cottagecore

Transport: Public transport and walking

Home: Studio flat in a converted warehouse

THE CITY

Name: Requiem Hold

Description: Historic walled city that has grown with successive migrations. Architecturally it is a classical stonework foundation with steel and glass above towering it. Culturally it is a mixture of traditions and peoples sharing and innovating practices, technologies, and festivals.

Fear: That the overly conservative local government will cause the city to break apart into factions and lose its pluralistic coherency.

Hope: That small acts of community will help to strengthen the bonds of community and promote wider civic participation.

Time: The middle of a cold, wet autumn following a long, hot summer.

Monday

I'd been looking a a place to stay in Sympas, nothing special, just a converted storefront that combined a workshop with a small living space, but it had potential for starting my own reading space. I'd dashed from the shop back to the monorail station just in time to board the magnolia line with the tail end of the commuters. I squeezed into a seat near the rear of the last carriage and opened my notebook to begin scribbling down my impressions of the space and my plans for it. I was deep in my thoughts and lost track of the number of stops we'd taken, only rising from my reverie when we reached Reflecia and the harried student boarded the monorail.

Reflecia is the moon to Midtown Neon's sun with the narrow canal dividing them almost imperceptibly, most of its course hidden behind buildings or buried beneath wide bridges. Whereas Midtown Neon is the cultural hub of the city, or at least this side of it, Reflecia is the bohemian suburb where the artists retire and start families. Its proximity to its counterpart had seemingly protected it from gentrification so far, but I wondered how long that would continue. Artists friends of mine were increasingly commuting in from further and further afield, making homes for themselves in the crack of the increasingly affluent city.

At first glance the student was perhaps the child of an older generation of creatives, ones who'd been able to afford to live in Reflecia. Their style was a mixture of current trends and vintage pieces, both would be beyond the means of most artists I knew. They bustled aboard the monorail and threw themselves into the last remaining free seat, one directly in front of me. As they struggled within their voluminous, oversized coat one hand delicately unwrapped their scarf while the other held a mobile phone to their ear. I generally tried not to listen in to the phonecalls of others in public, no matter how loudly they shared them with their fellow commuters. Today, I was tired and allowed myself a lapse, letting the student's conversation wash over me.

They spoke wearily of the challenges they were facing; cost of living increases, tuition fees to be paid, and expensive equipment to buy. I gathered they were studying at the university, probably the Fortune Park campus where the bakery school was located. Endel always spoke highly of it, or rather of the pastries the campus bakery sold. I thought about how much joy we take in the small indulgences the city provides us, we don't always have much spare cash so the discounted, student made desserts were something we looked forward to. I pulled my scarf loose and began to twirl it through my fingers as I listened and thought about croissants.

My mind drifted to thoughts of the Moirai and their threads of fate. In my minds eye I almost caught a glimpse of the golden strands of light that they weave about us. Perhaps those threads are within reach, perhaps we can even nudge them a little, in the aid of making things a little better for everyone. Or everyone who likes pastries at least. The scarf flowed back and forth, it twisted and thrummed with each pass, the momentum of destiny building. I pulled the scarf tight in a sharp motion and the golden strand extending from the student snapped taught. I marvelled for a moment, seeing such things never fails to amaze me. I tentatively reached out and brushed the thread with my fingertips, hearing a cosmic harmony resonate.

We pulled in to Midtown Neon and the student started gathering up their belongings. It wasn't all that surprising that less time had passed than it felt like. I was used to time slipping and jumping when the higher arts were in play. I sent the rest of the journey to Gaffcairn in silence.

Tech Support: Lamentation Davenport's Prelude 1

A series played using Cryomnesis. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Lamentation Davenport's Prelude

Sirens wail aboard the Technocratic Union vessel Imperator as onboard intelligences attempt to wake the crew. Lights flicker into life in the sleep pods and Lamentation Davenport gasps awake.

Calibration: Primal Fear

Shadow: The Emperor

Lamentation's primal fear is two-fold; first she has a need to belong to something greater than herself, but she also fears having her sense of self subsumed by the expectation of mindless obedience.

Act 1: Pentacles, The Mission

Scene 1: 10 of Pentacles & 18. The Moon

She wrenches the breathing tube from her throat in one motion and tears the sensors from her skin as the pale blue liquid swiftly drains from the tube she was suspended in. Her fingers, still slick with the fluid, grip the emergency door release lever and she pulls it hard. A hiss signals the breach of the seal, a swift kick sends the door arcing upward on its hinges. Lamentation hauls herself from the sleep pod, gripping the edge to steady herself as the cabin around her lurches and sways. The wail of the alarms around her is near deafening but beyond it she can her the sounds of the ship in distress. She curses under her breath, the ship wasn't meant for voyages this far into deep space so its systems were operating under intense strain. The first three ships sent had all been lost to system failures of one kind or another. The Praefectus in partcular came to mind, their localised reality fields had failed, all crew were lost to nameless, shapeless things that swam here. Lamentation chides herself for inviting such superstitions aboard, she reaches for her visor and asssesses the immediate priorties. On the heads-up display the ship's agent informs her that the medical systems and the primary mission module are both in neeed of repairs. She grabs the toolkit from the locker above her pod and gets to work on the medical unit.

Scene 2: Knight of Pentacles  & 13. Death

Seeing the caduceus symbol triggers a flash of memory, she remembers sitting at the bedside of Professor Cook as he lay in hospice. He'd been the one to spot her potential as she was in the process of being expelled from MIT, he'd offered her a chance to attend "an advanced technical college for unconventional thinkers," he'd been there when she graduated with honours. In a way, losing him felt like the severance of the last tie holding her back on Earth. Set adrift she had volunteered for the mission out of a need to outrun her feelings, the prestige of establishing the first stable deep space station was mere set dressing. She feels the emotions building up and delivers a sharp blow to the medical unit's core processor. It hums and sputters back into operation, the lights are wavering but she knows that further such repairs will only damage the unit. She methodically reseals the unit casing, counting each turn of each screw until her eyes stop burning.

Scene 3: King of Pentacles  & 0. The Fool

She hauls herself across the cabin to the mission module, the black box that silently absorbed the knowledge of everything that happened on the ship and in its immediate surroundings. She examines the quantum relay to confirm that it is still pairing with the mainframe back on Earth. It's damaged so it's unclear if the data will be preserved even if the ship is lost. Lamentation curses once more, she has to get it back online or else the expedition will have been for nothing. She thinks that this is emblematic of what the Union has become, so centralised that anything outside of central command is considered expendable. She looks back on the naive young recruit she used to be and grimaces. Things were simpler back then, she followed orders and was given the autonomy to pursue her own research. Now she felt the tightening of the leash with each passing day and her immediate goal was the preservation of the ship's data over the ship's crew.

Scene 4: 9 of Pentacles  & 5. The Hierophant

Lamentation examines the delicate circuitry of the module, the magnification of her visor automatically increasing to afford her a more detailed view. She recalls the training drilled into her in preparation for the mission, this is the most valuable system on the ship and every crewmember knows it as well as their own minds, perhaps better. She realises that the broadcast transmitter is fried and there isn't enough time to install a new one, but the onboard record is intact so that is some small mercy. As she considers her options she thinks about her current situation, so far from the Union and utterly isolated from them. Perhaps this is what she wanted, the distance to assess her perspective and take stock. She realises that the emergency phase shift will still work, if the ship is destroyed the black box will dematerialise and survive as a subspace beacon. If the ship cannot be saved, it will be some time before the Union regains knowledge of what is happening here.

Repair Progress

First Aid Module: Partially Repaired.

Primary Mission Module: Partially Repaired.

Character Sheet : Sasha Wolfe

This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Sasha Wolfe

Concept: Cottagecore Hedgewitch

Virtue: Hopeful

Vice: Fickle

Aspirations: Learn a new arcanum. Find a new place to live. Serve the city through acts of magic and kindess

They have big and well-inentioned dreams of doing good in the city they love, however, they also have shorter term needs (housing) and have specialised early meaning they have gaps in their magical ability. These competing drives are further compounded by their fickle nature which pulls them back and forth between goals.

Attributes

Mental: Intelligence 2, Wits 3, Resolve 3

Physical: Strength 2, Dexterity 3, Stamina 2

Social: Presence 2, Manipulation 2, Composure 3

Their advantages are being quick thinking and resilient, mentally and emotionally. They've got some kind of flexibility training in their background, which could be a daily exercise routine maybe.

Skills

Mental: Academics 2, Crafts 1 (Painting), Occult 2 (Folklore), Science 2

Physical: Athletics 2, Larceny 1, Stealth 1

Social: Empathy 3 (Calming), Expression 3, Socialise 2, Streetwise 2, Subterfuge 1

They have a decent foundation of education and have supplemented this with an interest in folklore and various attempts at arts and crafts. They run, that exercise theme returning, and maybe they've done some shoplifting in the past?

Mage Template

Path: Obrimos

Order: Nameless

Nimbus: Long-term (power fluctuations, surges, and brownouts), Immediate (the sublime harmony of providence), Signature (sanctified and calibrated)

Dedicated Magical Tool: Compass

Arcana: Ruling (Forces and Prime), Inferior (Death). Fate 2, Prime 3, Time 1

Rotes: Interconnections (Fate 1), Perfect Timing (Time 1), Sacred Geometry (Prime 1)

Gnosis: 1

Mana: 10

Obsession: Contact the genius loci of Requiem Hold

Praxes: As Above, So Below (Prime 2)

Their magic is subtle and about bringing the fallen world into harmony with the supernal. They emphasise Prime over Forces, which is maybe reflected in their nimbus. An Obrimos with no Forces has to have some kind of outlet, and in Sasha's case it's their long-term nimbus. Their immediate and signature nimbuses, the ones that reflect the actual effects they perform, are more in keeping with their Prime focus.

I wonder if in some sense, they could have awakened to Arcadia under slightly different circumstances?

Their rotes and praxis include sensing connections between things in the city, between the fallen world and the supernal, and using these connections to subtly enhance their performance. 

Merits

Contacts (1; Local Artists), Language (1; Uveti). Mana Sensitivity (1), Occultation (3), Resources (1), True Friend (3; Endel)

They know local artists of all stripes, have a modest income from their various creative works, and have a ride or die bitch in the form of Endel. Their attunement to the harmony of the supernal shows both as a sensitivity to hallows and as a tendency to blend into the world around them. Uveti is a fictional language that I'm considering as a potential indigenous language spoken in the area.

Advantages

Size: 5

Health: 7

Speed: 5

Willpower: 6

Wisdom: 7

Initiative: 6

Defence: 3a

Character Sheet: Billy Salt

 This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Billy Salt

Nature: Autocrat

Demeanour: Conniver

Essence: Dynamic

Tradition: Cult of Ecstasy (Barabbus)

Salt's primary motivation is control though he's not keen to show his hand, he prefers to convince others that his manipulations are their own ideas. His avatar drives him to create and innovate, and he interprets this by casting himself in the role of architect and conductor. He sees the world around him as clay to be shaped to his vision. His was initiated into his tradition through the Klubwerks faction; he was club kid who sought transcendence through music and drugs, caring little for the deeper philosophy. He achieved his awakening on the dance floor, shattering his mind and perceiving that which lies beneath the skin of reality. 

Focus

Paradigm: A World of Gods and Monsters / Might Makes Right

Practices: Art of Desire, Dominion, and Maleficia. 

Instruments: Art, Drugs and poisons, Eye contact, Sex, Symbols, Thought forms, and Voice.

He believes that reality is the outcome of a delicate balance of treaties and stalemates between cosmic powers that operate on scales vaster than humans can comprehend. Magick can be seen as uncovering details of who is responsible for a specific aspect of reality and then petitioning them. Since these powers are ruling by fiat, it stands to reason that the awakened can also direct reality to conform to their will. He speculates that the avatar is a fragment of these greater powers or perhaps a larval form.

Attributes

Strength 3, Dexterity 2, Stamina 3

Charisma 3, Manipulation 4, Appearance 3

Perception 2, Intelligence 2, Wits 2

He maintains a good degree of physical fitness, favouring power and endurance over flexibility (perhaps there's a metaphor there...). His looks and personality are appealing, and he uses them as cover for his machinations.

Talents

Alertness 3, Awareness 3, Intimidation 2, Streetwise 2, Subterfuge 3

He has cultivated a high degree of attention to both the mundane and magickal worlds. Threats and lies are tools that he wields with natiral ease.

Skills

Etiquette 1, Meditation 2, Stealth 2

He practices daily meditation as a form of discipline. He values being able to make a good impression and a discreet exit.

Knowledges

Cosmology 3, Investigation 3, Occult 3

Since his awakening he has obsessively studied to make up for his lack of formal magickal training.

Spheres

Desire 2, Dominance 2, Oaths 2

For Salt magick is about hierarchical power and the agreements that enforce it, both formal and instinctual.

Advantages

Arcane 2, Dream 1, Mentor 1, Resources 3

His capability of discretion extends into a psychic invisibility that covers his tracks. He also has limited psychic insights that he uses carefully to inform his plans. He has recently made a pact with an infernal entity which has offered him limited tuition and power.

Arete 2

Willpower 5

Foster Gates 1

A series played using the 1st edition of the Chronicles of Darkness and various rules options from Mirrors; specifically Three Alone, Three Plus, and Without Merit. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Foster Gates

A reclusive historian specialising in the history of science. He harbours a secret interest in alchemy and ceremonial magic, going so far as to experiment with some of the techniques he's studied. So he's had no positive results, but he's finding himself drawn deeper into his extra-curricular studies. Acquiring some of the more obscure ingredients of his craft have required him to make black market connections. His fence has hinted at being able to put him in contact with someone who has specialist knowledge of the occult.

Virtue: Prudence (he's capable of being incredibly patient and capable of putting long-term goals first)

Vice: Sloth (he's also very reluctant to pursue short-term goals and tends to put them off)

Mental

Attribute: Exceptional (3)

Skill: Exceptional (3)

Specialties: Academics, Occult

Physical

Attribute: Average (2)

Skill: Average (1)

Specialties: Athletics

Social

Attribute: Superior (3)

Skill: Average (1)

Specialties: Empathy, Expression, Streetwise

Prelude - Meeting an infernalist

Foster Gates hurls himself down the tiled stairway of the Fortune Park station, his paisley tie flapping behind him like a pennant, his leather satchel clutched tightly against his chest. The last stragglers of students leaving the university campus are slowly making their way home, tired from a day of studying and perhaps part-time work on campus, they barely notice Foster as he runs by. The doors of the sleek monorail carriage are hissing shut, the chiding chimes sounding...

Physical (2) + Physical (1) + Athletics (1) : 6, 6, 7, 9 [one success]

Foster barely makes it through before they seal with a soft suction. He takes a moment to tug his tie back into place, run a hand through his messy blond hair to settle it, and then surveys the carriage. His fellow travellers are mostly commuters, either on their way home or heading in for their shifts. Foster shuffles down the carriage to an empty seat, one with plenty of distance from other people. Slumping down, he gently lowers his satchel onto the seat beside him and notices that his fingers are nervously fiddling with the buckles.

He glances about furtively, like he's guarding something illicit in their, before slowly teasing the first buckle open, his fingers trembling with anticipation. With one open, he's able to gently lift the front flap to peer inside, the fluorescent light of the carriage casting the contents in gloam. He carefully stretches two fingers inside and softly caresses the manuscipt's edge, feeling the resistance of the thick paper. This is his magnum opus, the most complete composite of translations of the Vir Stellas anyone has ever seen. Foster has been painstakingly assembling this manuscript for close to a decade, comparing partial translations and sifting through apocryphal pages, looking for the most accurate sources to build his work.

Now that it is complete, he hopes that his contact will have as much interest in it as Foster. If so, this could be a valuable bargaining chip. His fence, Dorcas, has alluded to the contact's extensive knowledge of occult practices, hinting that this isn't just another theoretician but an actual practitioner. Foster's eyes close for a moment as he imagines the potential lore he could trade for, perhaps the contact would even be willing to offer training of some kind.

Foster's eyes snap open as the monorail pulls into Reflecia station, he'd completely lost track of how many stops they'd been through and barely disembarks before the doors shut again. The station platform is quiet and Foster takes a moment to enjoy the cool air. Fumbling in his pocket, he withdraws the once pristine, now creased and dog-eared business card to check the address he's heading for. The card reads: "William Salt, Private Investigator. 7d Old Lane, Reflecia, Requiem Hold." Foster checks about for a local map and spots one displayed on the wall near the exit.

Mental (3) + Mental (2) + Match (1) : 1, 1, 2, 8, 9, 10 [1 success]

Scrutinising the map for a while, Foster feels confident that he can find his way from the station to the contact's flat (and presumably back again). He takes a deep breath, straighten's his tie, and climbs the stairs down to street level. The streets of Reflecia are brighter than Fortune Park, fewer green spaces and more cafes and cultural spaces. The buildings are older, taller, and more closely packed, Foster dimly recalls that this used to be an industrial area before the gentrification rolled over it like a wave. He weaves through the growing crowds spilling out of bars or gathering at the entrances to theatres, eventually moving out of the commercial area around the station and into the greater residential mass of Reflecia.

The noise level drops off sharply as the converted industrial buildings muffle the sound and reduce it to a constant murmur that grows fainter as Foster strides down the street, confident that he's on course. The narrow street curves slightly as it follows the wavering footprints the tall, converted warehouses that line it. Doorways have been expanded and filled with tinted glass entrances to presumably equally renovated foyers. Windows above street level are concealed with a range of expensive curtain and blinds, the occasional window box of immaculately cultivated flowers breaking the otherwise monotonous facades.

Midway crossing a side street, Foster pauses and realises this is his turning. The sign reading "Old Lane" looks like its been there from before the gentrification, unlike the others, so Foster almost missed it. The lane looks like maybe it was missed when money was being thrown about here, or perhaps it was very expensively preserved and curated. There are few doorways that Foster can see, guaging it he guesses number seven will be at the far end.

Foster eventually reaches the door, a coat of purple paint flakes at its edges and a brass numeral 7 has been recently screwed in place, slightly off-centre. Foster searches in vain for an intercom or doorbell and is reaching out to knock on the door when it swings open on well-oiled hinges. A short man with close-cropped hair and beard stands in the doorway, his body tensed like a coiled spring, his face a blank mask.

Social (3) + Social (1) + Empathy (1) - Subterfuge (3) : 7, 8 [1 success]

Foster scans the man's face with little effect, there's an intensity behind his eyes that gives Foster some pause, but the man is broadly unreadable on first impression. The man steps back and one arm sweeps languidly in a silent gesture of invitation. Foster, understanding the need for caution, enters, his grip on the strap of his satchel. He profers his host the weathered business card with a hand that trembles faintly. Without breaking eye contact, the man's broad hand grips the card, his fingertips brush against Foster's. Foster looks away, feeling the man's eyes continue to bore into him.

Clearing his throat, Foster introduces himself and explains that his fence referred him. The man gives no response and Foster finds himself filling the silence, explaining the relationship with Dorcas Stedman and the help she's provided during his studies. He is on the verge of mentioning the Vir Stellas when...

Mental (3) + Mental (3) + Match (1) : 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 8, 9 [2 successes]

...he jerks his hand free of the card and abruptly stops talking. The man smirks, turns, and walks sofly up the interior steps to the apartments above. His bare feet are practically silent on the metal stairs, the rustle of his linen trousers sussurating gently. Foster, feeling somewhat flustered, closes the street door and follows the man to the third floor where a heavy door stands open. The aroma of leather and sandalwood drifts from the doorway, growing in intensity as Foster steps into the apartment. The interior is warm and softly lit from an unknown source, the warmth and scent wrapping around him like an embrace.

The apartment is sparsely decorated with expensive furnishings, the living room has a pair of low leather sofas facing each other across the room and little else beside bare walls. The man sits in the centre of the lefthand sofa, leaning back, arms wide across the backrest, legs wide. Foster hesitates for an invitation to sit and when it never comes he awkwardly sits on the opposite sofa; bolt upright, knees together, both hands holding the satchel on his lap. After a charged silence, in which Foster feels the man's gaze scrutinising his soul, Foster clears his throat. "Ms. Stedman, our... mutual acquaintance, speaks highly of you and recommended your knowledge of... specific practices." Silence. Foster's fingers anxiously fiddle with the buckle on his satchel. "So I was hoping you might be able to provide some context to fill in the gaps in my research. You see, I've been attempting to learn more about a text-"

"The Vir Stellas." The man's voice is like a scalpel cutting through a velvet screen. "You want to meet Him? The Man from the Stars? I wouldn't recommend it, not for you, not yet." He leans forwards towards and places a hand over Foster's to still the fiddling. His hand is cool and firm, like marble, and Foster's eyes follow up the sinewed forearm to where the suggestive hint of a strong bicep vanishes beneath the black silk sleeve of the man's shirt. "There are other things I can show you." His eyes dart from Foster to the slightly ajar door across the room, and back to Foster. That slight smirk flickering across his lips once more.

Billy Salt is using the art of desire through environment, gestures and voice to slowly build attraction. This is a Coincidental effect using the sphere of Desire.

Arete (2) v. Diff. 6 : 3, 5 [0 successes]

Foster slowly, carefully, slides his hand away and attempts a consoling smile. "That's very... kind of you Mr Salt. However I'd really like focus on the... Vir Stellas for the time being." He shifts uncomfortably, hearing the creak of the leather, and begins to stand. "Wait, Mr Gates" the words are spoken softly but carry heavy weight.

Social (3) + Social (1) - Intimidation (2) : 3, 10 [1 success]

Foster's knees almost betray him but he manages to stand. Billy Salt leans back, unperturbed, and affects a look of amusement. He sighs and runs a hand back over his shaved head, before standing in one fluid motion. He stands facing Foster for a tense moment, before moving behind the leather couch and retrieving a cloth-wrapped bundle. Foster doesn't recall seeing anything behind either couch when he entered the room, but before he can complete the thought, Billy Salt is holding the bundle out in one hand, suggestively lifting a fold of cloth with the other. Foster sees a book inside, but not clearly enough to read a title. Salt is clearly waiting for Foster to reach out and join him in the undressing, Foster's hand shakes a little as it touches the cloth, a rough sackcloth that feels coarse to the touch, and raises it. The book is bound in dark stained leather with no title or insignia on the cover or spine. "That's it" Salt's voice is a hoarse whisper that feels as coarse as the cloth, "you can touch it."

Foster cradles the book in both hands and lifts it from Salt's arms, it feels heavier than its size would imply. With a flourish, Salt drapes the cloth over the back the couch and moves to stand beside and behind Foster, seemingly to watch over his shoulder. He occupies only the periphery of Foster's field of vision but dominates his awareness. Foster struggles to keep his full attention on the book...

Mental (3) + Mental (3) + Match (1) : 4, 5, 7, 7, 10, 10, 10 [3 successes]

...until he opens the cover and reads the title page, which claims that this is an copy of the own known printing of Septem Orationes ad Tenebras, a collection of hymns from a heretical off-shoot of the Anglican Church. Their author was a nameless nun who receieved a series of visions from what she claimed was an angel who predated the Word. 

Salt repeats the previous effect, this time focusing on the tome and allure of knowledge rather than sensual/sexual appeal.

Arete (2) v. Diff. 6 : 6, 6 [2 successes]

Foster feels his curiosity stir as his fingers poise ready to turn the pages, he yearns to have the privacy to fully explore the text. Salt, sensing his successful influence, softly withdraws and crosses the room to a discreet drinks cabinet. After pouring two glasses of brandy, with practised ease he dispenses an additional measure to one glass from a smoky glass vial...

Mental (3) + Mental (3) + Match (1) - Distraction (2) : 1, 3, 4, 6, 9 [1 success]

...which Foster notices. He is about to speak up when Salt, seeing Foster's reaction, seamlessly pours a measure into the second glass too. Arching an eyebrow he profers the glasses to Foster, allowing him to take his pick of which to drink. Foster brings the tome to his chest with one arm, he isn't ready to relinquish it yet, and takes the lefthand glass. Salt raises his "To knowledge, let none forbid us from seeking it." They down their drinks in one and Salt takes the glasses back to the cabinet, focusing on the taste in his mouth.

Salt uses the drug to bind Foster to him. This is a Coincidental effect using the sphere of Dominance.

Arete (2) v. Diff 6 : 3, 9 [1 success]

Foster feels the burn of the hard liquor as it flows down and fills his chest with a comforting glow. He appraises Salt thoughtfully, feeling a sense of gratitude to him for providing him with this fascinating text and for the potential aid he could provide with the Vir Stellas. Salt returns to his seat and his former pose, leaning back with arms and legs wide, slouched gracefully. Somewhere between the cabinet and the sofa two buttons on his shirt have opened, the spread of his arms pulls the fabric enough to expose the tight muscles of his chest. Foster, his head swimming a little, clumsily sits opposite, feeling flushed. An impulse is rising and almost without fully realising he's doing it, he sets the Septem Orationes down beside him and unbuckles his satchel. It takes a couple of attempts, the drink must have been stronger than he realised, he thinks. He carefully slides the manuscript free and takes a moment to consider the gravity of what he is about to do.

"Mr Salt-" he begins. "Please, Billy" Salt purrs. "Billy," Foster stammers "I want to thank you for sharing this book... and the drink of course... so I was wondering... assuming you're interested..." Salt tilts his head and bites his lower lip as heat rises to Foster's face. "Ah... that is if you wanted to read it... I'd love your thoughts on my compilation of Vir Stellas fragments." He breaks off before he starts rambling, silently holding the manuscript out before him, trying to hold it steady. Salt slowly eases himself forward, his core and chest visible tightening beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. He reaches out and takes the manuscript in both hands, allowing his fingertips to brush against Foster's. He catches and holds Foster's gaze, examining his soul to assess the effectiveness of his previous castings.

Salt uses eye contact to sense the power dynamics between them. This is a Coincidental effect using the sphere of Dominance.

Arete (2) v. Diff. 6 : 2, 6 [1 success]

Foster is well and truly captivated. He has a growing fascination with both the tome and Salt, and is amenable to future manipulations. Pleased with his progress and keen to keep Foster wanting more, he places the manuscript to one side with feigned casualness and clears his throat. "Well, we've certainly had a fruitful first meeting, Mr Gates." On cue Foster quickly interjects "Please, call me Foster," eliciting a wide grin from Salt. "Foster," he lingers on each syllable, "this has been a pleasure and I hope one that we can share again. It seems we both have some bedtime reading to keep us occupied, but I'd love to have you over again."

Foster, blushing and captivated, agrees as he wraps the tome in its cloth and stows it in his satchel. As unexpectedly thrilling as this evening has been, the urge to study this new text is nagging at his mind. The pleasantries of goodbyes take place, Salt providing a new, unsullied, business card with his private contact details written across the back in flowing script. In a whirlwind of well-mannered words and gestures, Foster is escorted back to the street and finds himself in a moment of silence. The street is empty and Foster takes the time to reflect. This has been an interesting evening, as he sets out to the station he considers the prospects of how this tome, and his connection to Salt, will play out.

---

I think that stopping short of revealing the Vir Stellas on first meeting Billy in the doorway meets his virtue of Prudence; Foster successfully put his longer-term goals of protecting his work ahead of the short-term benefits of impression the mysterious stranger.

---

Yes, Billy Salt is using Mage the Ascension rules and some non-standard spheres :) I'll post his character sheet tomorrow.

Anamnesis ex Reddit

A one-shot played using Anamnesis. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

The shadow and minor arcana cards for this game were drawn and posted on Reddit as part of a group game. I drew the major arcana for each prompt from my Thoth deck and added the names of the minor arcana (though didn't really integrate them consistently into the scenes).

Shadow Card: Death

Act 1

My eyes open to brilliant golden light and for time immeasurable the light is all that I can see, all that I am. Slowly, creeping in from the edges of my perceptions, the world gathers itself around me as the glorious light recedes. I am standing in a narrow alleyway, dusty clay bricks build uneven walls either side of me, a dry earthen path leads ahead and behind, and the hustle and bustle of a busy marketplace can be heard ahead. As the disorientation passes I realise, with curiosity that I don't know where I am. This quickly gives way to a more concerning realisation that I don't know who I am. The sun hangs high in the sky above me and I take a moment to consider.

1. The Magus & King of Pentacles

I feel the weight of something in my hands. Glancing down I see that both hands are wrapped around the shaft of some kind of sceptre, the contoured surface feels right in my grip as if it had been made for me to hold. The head is ornate and shaped to resemble something akin to a blossoming flower or a dancing flame. Perhaps something in between? The sceptre is heavy, not just with the weight of the golden metal, but also with the authority I sense it grants me. This is symbol of power, my power, and I feel it pulsing through every fibre of my being. It's balance is true, I hold it out in one hand and it is easy to wield. It doesn't feel like a weapon, my instincts recoil from that use, instead I sense this is a badge of office that marks the bearer with some hidden significance. I bring it close to my face and turn it over in my hands, scrutinsing the surface for clues. I think I can make out a faint cursive script spiralling around the shaft, but it is etched so softly that it is merely a whisper on metal. It evades my attempts to read it and I must accept, for now, that there are still some secrets beyond my reach.

0. The Fool & Queen of Pentacles

Reluctantly drawing my attention away from the sceptre, I take in my surroundings. Everything here is coarse and harsh, the colours and shapes strain my eyes to behold; the distant market sounds grate on my nerves as the raucous din refuses to achieve harmony; beneath my bare feet the ground is dry and unyielding, my feet already begin to ache and the earth is hot under the noonday sun. Even my body, charged with vitality as it is, feels untested and uncertain. Or perhaps the uncertainty is my own, I have yet to test its capabilities and limits. I turn several times on the spot, both to take in my environment and to test my own balance. My body moves with a fluid grace that makes me think of music, was I - am I - a dancer? I bend to press a palm against the baking ground and deny the urge to flinch as the heat sears me. I lift my hand slowly only when I am satisfied that I have experience the heat and the pain enough to learn something of my limits. This world will not bow before me and my presence here will inevitably cause me harm, but I feel that this is also in some way the reason that I am here.

9. The Hermit & Two of Pentacles "Change"

The only slight reprieve from this rough world is the cool and gentle sensation across my body, I feel a silken cloth wrapped about me in a complex arrangement. I reassure myself that this is not a shroud, that I am not dead, I feel too alive for this to be the case. The silk is voluminous and conceals my form easily, a length of it even coming up to cover my head and cast my face is shadow. I could pass unrecognised if I chose, though I suspect the richness of the fabric itself would draw attention. I pull the cloth about me jealously, as I fearing someone will take it from me. Extending an arm I appreciate the depth of the blue and green pattern, a series of interlocking rings almost entirely cover a black backdrop. As I allow my eyes to wander over the fabric I think I can see ripples flowing over the surface, despite the lack of breeze in the alley. The inky void behind the rings hints at some deeper lore thatm like almost everything, refuses to share its secrets with me. I bring the sceptre into its folds, cloaking its light temporarily, and carefully walk the length of the alley ahead.

Act 2

I emerge from the narrow canal of the alleyway into the life and activity of the marketplace. The broad plaza, with its mezzanines and recesses, is a sea of brightly coloured awnings and a cacophony of voices competing to be heard. I stand for a moment, bolstering myself with my inner reserves to withstand the tide sensations, and then plunge head first into the crowd. Seeing tall buildings on the far side of the market, I carve a path towards them, something about them tugs at my mind.

21. The Universe & Six of Swords "Science"

As I push through the market I start to attract attention and I realise that I stand at least a head taller than anyone else in the crowd. I hear voices, first indignant poeple I've cleared from my path, and then trailing behind me curious voices wondering at the tall stranger in their midst. I'm halfway across the plaza when they start to notice specific details, the style of my silken garment, glimpses of the sceptre within its folds, and perhaps even my regal gait. Just outside of my comprehension I hear a word repeated that escapes my grasp. I can't slow my pace, my momentum carries me inevitably towards my goal, but I strain to hear the word and understand its significance. I press on through the crowd as they whisper about the past, old powers, and things thought lost to a nameless doom. I know in the pit of my stomach that the word that continues to elude is my own name. As much as my inner drive urges me to reach my goal, the threat of hearing my name clearly repels me from where I have already been.

18. The Moon & Queen of Swords

I step off of the plaza onto a boulevard lined with date trees and tall buildings with deeply recessed windows and doorways. I see few people as I make my way along, appreciating the shade the trees provide, and those I do see look well-appointed and concerned more with their own affairs than speculating on those of others. One building in particular catches my attention and I find my pace slowing and then halting outside the arched entrance. The sides of the arch are carved, each from a single piece of sandstone, to resemble a pair of date trees bowing to touch at the top of the arch. I know I have passed beneath this arch many times and in my mind's eye I see the shaded courtyard beyond, the ornately tiled fountain at its centre, and the figures that meet there to share rumours. I understand that I shared many secrets here, and kept at least as many back for my own purposes. I hear the echoed lore I gained here, the knowledge beguiling me enough to want to step through the archway now. I catch myself as I am directly under the arch and pull myself free from memory's grip, telling myself that it isn't really memory that beckons to me but something else. Something I would gain no benefit from returning to.

1. The Magus & Ace of Swords

I spend the rest of the day striding purposefully through the streets, not knowing my destination and suspecting my path is overly complex and circuitous, but nonetheless knowing in my heart that this is the path that I must take. I pass through the alleys between the workshops of the potters and stonemasons, hearing the trundle of wheels and the chipping of stone, smelling baking clay and the exertion of labour, catching glimpses of bright glazes and pristine slabs of stone. I cross the open plaza of fountains where the older women gather water, wash clothes, and watch the children. I hear the splashing of water, the slap of wet cloth on stone, and laughter - the high voices of children at play and the raucous laughter of the women as they work. As I pass the temples I smell clashing scents of incense, fresh fruit and flowers, and the coppery smell of blood. I hear many voices and languages and prayers, all reaching upward to the same heavens. This place is complicated and varied, it has many facets and many centres of importance - of power - for the people who live here. My journey is nearing an end as my bare feet trace the final length of the sigil my path has drawn across the city. A tall house stands before me, apart from the surrounding buildings which seem to draw back from it to keep it at a respectable distance.

Act 3

The building is tall, narrow, and twisted; gently spiralling a few degrees with each of its many levels. It reaches up to the firmament like a gnarled staff driven into the earth. The construction is sandstone blocks, like the surrounding street, but complemented with exposed and weathered wooden beams and window frames. Each of the narrow windows is tightly shuttered and gives away no clues at to what they conceal. The front door, up a short flight of steps, is painted a worn and flecked shade of purple. Faint chalk markings run along and up the steps before flowing up over the surface of the door. With an unwavering hand I touch the outline on the arch softly and feel a stirring of memory and power. I hear a dry and stiff creak as the door opens inwards and I without hesitation I step forward into my house.

16. The Tower & Five of Cups "Disappointment"

I walk the halls and rooms of the house, the walls looming over me as they reach up to the vaulted ceilings, searching for any trace of my life. The rooms are almost bare, minimally decorated and the furniture covered with musty sheets. I push open the shutters of each window I pass, slowly filling the house with daylight. Midway up the house I find the first of the notes, a scrap of paper torn along one edge, hastily scrawled words spilling off. As I progress I find more, increasingly more legible and increasingly more manic. Some are reminders to complete mundane tasks, excruciating in their precision. Others are lists of obscure ingredients and materials for unknown purposes. The paper varies, sometimes notepaper, sometimes pages torn from printed books and written over. The handwriting is the same across them all and I confess to the empty stairway that I am afraid to annotate them for it will confirm that they are written in my own hand. By the time I have swept the lower two thirds of the house, I have assembled enough notes to see that I was obsessed. Obsessed with the accumulation of arcane knowledge, first for it's own sake, and then for some greater purpose that the notes only alluded to. Nowhere in the notes could I find humility, restraint, or a recognition of my limits.

21. The Universe & Ten of Cups "Satiety"

I reach the uppermost floor of the house; the study dominated by my vast wooden desk and high-backed leather chair. I run my hands across the surface of the desk, savouring the warmth of the well-oiled wood and the voiceless memories it stirs inside me. I venture to the far side, sliding the chair away, reluctant to take my seat behind the desk. That feels too much like taking ownership of the identity of the person who lived here, and I am not yet certain I want to do that. My hands find the drawers, either locked or jammed, they no longer cooperate with me. All except one which glides so easily I feel like little more than an accomplice to it's opening. The sole occupant is a small volume I recognise as my journal, where I kept meticulous notes of my research. The now-open shutters allow light to shine across the desk where I gently set down the journal. I notice a faint tremor in my hand as I open the cover and turn to the latest entry. As I turn the pages I see iterations of diagrams and rituals, a slow but steady development of ideas, and on the final page its blossoming. A working to achieve apotheosis via descent into the entropic sub-realms. A dangerous rite but one that could yield great benefits. Or perhaps it already had?

10. Fortune & Queen of Cups

I push the journal across the desk, I've taken in so much information since the alleyway and my mind reels under the weight. As I move to push the drawer shut, something catches my eye. The journal wasn't the only thing in the drawer after all, I frown, the memories are new but I was certain this drawer was solely for the research journal. I carefully extract a wide and narrow folio tied shut with a sun-faded ribbon. The cover is plain, and gives away nothing of it's contents. As my fingers close on the ribbon I feel my hand freeze, it takes concerted effort to pull the ribbon's binding loose and open the folio. Parchments flows from the folio across the desk, dozens of faces stare up at me, or rather dozens of copies of the same face for clearly I had only one subject who I drew repeatedly. In one sketch his face is in profile; tousled hair tied back carelessly, one stout hand resting idly against an equally robust chin, a rounded nose wrinkled slightly as if in distaste. In another the subject stares directly at me; his broad face dominated by an intense pair of eyes that smoulder from beneath heavy brows. A mouth not accustomed to smiling yields to a slight curve, and I feel a tantalising shiver play up and down my spine. Other images are more candid, some so initmate that I feel heat rising to my face. The studies of my subject's hands suggest someone who has toiled for many years, while the settings where he is at repose hint at a more luxurious lifestyle. I surmise he posed here in my house and wonder how open we were in our relationship.

Act 4

I cross the room to the window and sit beneath it, back against the wall and legs folded beneath me. The fragments of memory are assembling, shards catch the light and dazzle me, jagged edges cause me to recoil from their touch. I feel myself drift back and forth through scenes from my past, reliving moments without context, one in particular keeps returning no matter how much I try to push it away.

6. The Lovers & Knight of Wands

I set down my charcoal and look up from the image that is taking form on the page. My subject, the man from all of my artwork, has turned to face me and his previously detached gaze has become a scowl. The light and shadows that took so long to capture on the page are lost and I sigh. In that exhalation he hears something unintended and the old conversation begins anew. He speaks dismissively of my work, the great project of enlightenment I have dedicated myself to, and I begin to bristle. Seeing this aggravates him further and he edges ever closer to the unspoken ultimatum that has hovered over us for months. One day he will ask me to choose between him and the work and I sense the inevitable heartbreak it will cause us both. With distance, and repetition, I see past the confrontational tone and the casual disrespect, I see the rejection he feels when I speak of stepping beyond and seeking apotheosis. In his words I hear the silent question - what will happen when I go where he cannot follow? I set down my work and walk form the room, his voice echoing after me as I make my way down to the lowest room of the house, the secret laboratory secluded in the foundations.

19. The Sun & Ten of Wands "Oppression"

I drag myself away from the memory and out of my introspection. I haul myself to my feet and turn to look out the window, the fading heat of the setting sun warm against my face. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing until I am confident that the tears on my face have dried. I walk slowly, uncertainly, down the stairs and effortlessly, helplessly, find the hidden door in the entrance hall. It slides open and sepulchral air hisses free, the narrow stairs beckon to me. I make my way down, my hand on the wall to steady me, when I reach the laboratory I fall to the ground. He's here. Or he was here. His body lies immobile and empty on the floor in the centre of the crudely drawn circle of symbols. I can't take my eyes off of him, but even with my peripheral vision I can see that he's used an earlier version of the schematic, one that I'd long since discarded as unfit. I must have forgotten to properly destroy it, in my hubris I must have failed to even comprehend that someeone else could grasp it enough to use it. I should have shared the work with him. This journey should not have been for me alone, we should have stepped across the boundary together, hand in hand. The tears have resumed and this time I make no attempt to stem their flow.

13. Death & Prince of Wands

I set down the sceptre, undeserving of the authority of conveys. I have failed my lover and my great work and amends must be made. I stride to the work bench and select the chalks and oils I will need to draw the correct form of the circle around us both. Now that I am set to my task I find myself unable to look directly at him, my shame is too great. Once the circle is ready I ignite the censers and sit in patient silence as the smoke fills the room, wrapping us both in a hazy shroud. I begin to intone the syllables of the incantation of descent, the entropic sub-realms are an unforgiving place (or absence of place to be pedantic) and I know that I must be swift. I will descend, find him there, and then we will both ascend. Ascend to this world and then beyond to the true culmination of the great work.

Emson 1

A series played using Starfarer from the Calypso Compendium. This post is published under the CC-BY-SA-4.0 licence.

Explore the universe in search of refuge.

Emson

• Explorer (Improvise, Leap, Lucky, Spot)
• Future human (Attractive, Educated, Healthy, Trivia)
• Off-worlder (Barter, Loyal, Mine, Scavenge)
• Social (Charm, Empathise, Recall, Secret)
• Key of the Daredevil (take unnecessary risks)
• Key of the Impulsive (act on instinct or impulse)
• Secret of the Hidden Ace (surprise element; 4+ means it betrays)
• Secret of the Legend (Social +1, trait cap is 5)

Prospector, trader, scavenger, thief. She's many things, and an heiresson the run. She's reckless at times but always comes through with connections or improvisation.

Emson, or Lady Emson Niskanen of Robos IV, sits across the table from her fence and wonders which of them will shoot first. Baen has been augmented with additional cybernetic limbs that could be wielding addtional firearms. She keeps both of her, completely organic, hands on the table in front of her, the idol she's trying to sell rests between them. It's a small stone egg that she... "excavated" on a trip to a frontier planet; harmless enough but Baen's reaction suggests this could be the start of a very bad day.

She decides to start soft, reminding Baen of their long history to lower his defences. 2d6 + Social + Charm + Empathise + Recall = 3 + 2 + 2 + 1 + 1 + 1 = 10. Gain 3 currency "Rapport." Baen visibly relaxes and raises his original hands above the desk in gesture of trust. His new hands stay out of sight, so she can't relax just yet. She recognises a look on Baen's face, guilt, that doesn't fill her with confidence.

"You ratted me out to the Arbiters?" Emson's diction could cut glass, all sharp and as cold as ice. Baen sweats and tries to stammer out a reply before falling silent. Spending 1 "Rapport" to get the truth out of him. "Em, you've got to believe me" Baen mutters, unable to make eye contact, "I have to keep the legit front going, and I can't do that with the law all over me." Emson idly rolls the idol back and forth between her hands, the weight feels satisfying as it rumbles to and fro.

"How much time do we have?" Emson chooses her words carefully. If the Arbiters were coming in force, she'd know by now, but it's always good to know what timeframe she has to work with for an exit strategy. Spending 1 "Rapport" to get an honest answer. Baen hems and haws before Emson's glare causes the words to spill out of his mouth. "Ah, I've not given specifics, just the notes. They don't know when we're meeting or where to find you. They're just keeping tabs on me..." Baen trails off and his eyes widen as he realises the implications. Emson rises to her feet and crosses to the window where she peers through the blinds. 2d6 + Explorer + Spot = 5 + 3 + 1 + 1 = 10. Gain 2 currency "Countdown to Cops."

The coast is clear for now, but its only a matter of time before there are Arbiters kicking the door open. Emson weighs her options and decides to cut and run. The idol isn't valuable enough to worry about so she pushes it across the desk to Baen. "Do me a favour and stall them for as long as you can." Baen seizes the idol in his organic hands and rises to his feet. Emson notes that while his guns are still holstered, his cybernetic hands had been on the grips of the pair of pistols he always wore. Spending 1 "Rapport" to secure Baen's compliance. Baen nods, tucking the idol into his jacket, "I'll keep them busy, one way or another."

Emson climbs up onto the desk and reaches for the hatch in the ceiling, roof access is a good start. 2d6 + Explorer + Improvise + Lucky = 3 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 = 7. The hatch has a lock that requires some creative work to bypass, but once its open Emson hauls herself into the maintenance ducts. She hears Baen seal the hatch behind her and begins her long crawl upward to the roof. The sound of Arbiters breaking into Baen's office is muffled but its clear that he won't be able to talk them down.

Emson can't risk calling up a schematic of the building, that would require net access, a signal that could be traced. Instead she relies on instinct and fortune to guide her. 2d6 + Explorer + Improvise + Lucky = 6 + 4 + 1 + 1 + 1 = 13. Gain condition "Fortune's Favour." After what feels like an eternity of crawling through the dark, cramped tunnels of the service ducts, she reaches an opening above her. Light can be glimpsed from an upper branch of the duct network.

She pats her pockets for inspiration (using Hidden Ace to gain a tool; 1d6 = 5, it will betray her) and finds her mag-grapel - she thought she'd left that in her other coat. Pulling it free, she rolls onto her back to take aim up the shaft above. With the line in place, she begins to inexorably haul herself upward. 2d6 + Future human + Athletic + Mag-grapel = 5 + 2 + 1 + 1 + 1 = 10. +2 forward to next roll. She makes short work of the climb, but finds her mag-grapel stuck fast inside a join connecting two sections of duct. Cursing under her breath, she turns and heads for the light at the end of the upper duct.

The light is coming from the side of a metal grille. Pressing against itto feel for a way to open it, Emson realises that she'll need to force it. Spending 1 "Countdown to Cops" to break out of the ducts. Out on the roof she hears the sound of sirens from below, the Arbiters are on the scene. It won't be long before the ground forces ae combing the street and air support won't be far away. She scans the adjacent buildings for potential exits. 2d6 + Explorer + Spot + Fortune's favour + 2 forward = 5 + 5 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 2 = 15. +2 forward to next roll.

Emson sights a walkway on the next building which leads to an open doorway. It's a nondescript structure so there's no telling what's inside, but it must be better than leaving in custody. She gets a running start before vaulting for the walkway... 2d6 + Explorer + Leap + 2 forward = 1 + 1 + 1 + 1+ 2 = 6 ...before realising that she's misjudged the distance. I'm going to spend 1 "Countdown to Cops" to mitigate. She barely catches the edge of the walkway, straining to pull herself up onto it. She hears the thrum of the Arbiters' flyers above and scrambles for the doorway.

To be continued...