[Mage II: The Dethroned Queen] Story: Dream a Dream

Out of Character (OOC):

Chronicle: Mage 2: The Dethroned Queen
Venue: Mage: The Awakening 2nd Edition
Chronicle Storyteller: Jerad Sayler

Assistant Storytellers: Hannah Nyland & Alex Van Belkum

Witten by Indra (played by Alanna Keith)

The following is a summary of a plot I ran for our mage chronicle in which the characters meet Dream of the Endless (from the amazing break-out graphic novel series by Neil Gaiman). In my series the Endless (they have only met Dream and Death) are the founding Archtypes of the Tenemos, godlike entities on the threshold between the Primordial Dream and the Bright Dream of the Tenemos proper. In it they help dream get his power back by reuniting him with his regalia, and complete an adaptation of the very first story arc of the graphic novel series.

Original artwork by Alanna Keith

I traveled down to San Antonio to learn dream combat from Cas, with Eris. I finally had to explain all about Mistress, and Seraph – Cas looked into my head and saw everything. And Eris – she already knew! Everything from Seraph’s point of view anyway – he downloads all his memories into her! I’d never wanted to talk about it, and for her to have known, all this time, that he was alive even, when I thought he was dead for almost a year – great, thanks Seraph. Yet another thing that I didn’t know. I should stop being so surprised… At least with Casstiel, I had a choice.

I entered that reoccurring dream with the Salawa, the hedge maze – we didn’t set up any signal from STARK to get me to realize it was a dream, so I was very relieved when I rounded a corner in the maze and saw them. I was able to snap out of it and take control. Cas transported us to another scene – Mistress and her minions. I’d never wanted to see them again. But this is where it had started…and finally, I beat her!

That night, Cas helped me sleep with his Mind magic, but I had a strange dream – rode a magic carpet over what looked like the Metropolis, then into the stars, and to a tall city gate. In front of the gate I met my Daemon. It – she – said she was anyway. I was creeped out – it was like she had a split personality – one half angry and antagonistic, the other half seemed…sad. And they talked to each other – argued with each other. This can’t be me – I’m not like that. But anyway....one of them didn’t want to let me through the gates – was afraid for me/us. She attacked me! What the heck – but I blocked it. Eventually they let me through though.

I passed through a gate and into a large crumbling city – all these gorgeous monuments, just falling apart. No denizens…just bones. Bones of all sorts of creatures. I made my way to a large palace with an elaborate carving of a being with a strange head or mask, spread cloak, and the faces of sleepers.

I met Dream there! Dream, I haven’t seen him he helped me Awaken! He’d been looking for me, and whatever change occurred when I finally overcame my nightmare let him find me. Apparently, he’d lost his magical tools in the real world, his city seems to be crumbling apart…he was imprisoned since he helped me Awaken two years ago. Since then, there has been a….dream sickness of some sort in the real world. People falling asleep and never waking, trapped in dreams. People who can’t sleep. Dream’s been weakened and can’t resolve these issues alone, or manifest in the real world. I offered to help – repaying a debt of sorts. I hope….I hope I wasn’t the cause of any of that. I’ve no idea what happened after he left two years ago, I haven’t seen him since. He said he needed to meet me in the Tenemos and I woke up.

I relayed all this to the Bridge of Souls members that were present – Cas, Eris, and Persephone. We told STARK to do a search of any medical reports of sleep disorders, and there’s been a HUGE increase in the past years – and a very high concentration in New York. I guessed that’s where one of the items might be. In any case, we needed more information. The Bridge decided to accompany me into the Tenemos to meet with Dream.

Thinking that my previous dream perhaps showed us the way into Dream’s real palace, we met up in the Metropolis and took the Midnight train to his city. The ticket seller wasn’t much help – said that the stop at his palace had been disconnected. Some random homeless man traded us info for cash – said to take the Midnight train to the last stop. Cas ‘sped’ up time using Fate, and the locomotive arrived. Creepy train… I’m not sure what we would have done if the Conductor hadn’t let us on. Although we saw other people boarding the train throughout the ride, no one was ever there, when we actually visited other cars. We had to make a jump for it, at the end of the line – the train wasn’t going to stop!

The gates were cracked open when we arrived – I didn’t know if in invitation or because of some other intrusion…We started walking through the ruined city to the palace and were suddenly attacked by Typhonides! How did they get here from the Spires? This was wrong! We defeated them – lots of Fate effects that finally made that fight a breeze – AND we were slick enough not to take much damage, besides Paradox. And I exploded a Typhonide in one hit. I’m pretty happy about that.

Dream told us that the Typhonides were leaking in from the Dreamtime because of his absence – there’s probably a lot more out there, but if we restore him to power, he’ll be able to eradicate or remove the rest.

In order to find where his three tools are, Dream summoned the three Fates and had us three Fate mages each ask a question for one of the items – I asked where the sand pouch was, since I actually handled it, back when I Awakened. The sand was in the real world somewhere, turns out the helm was in Hell, and the ruby had been taken by a mage.

To find the pouch, we went with the theory that I had a sympathetic connection to it – Dream wasn’t powerful enough to sustain a sympathetic connection with something in the real world in his current state. We went into my Oneiros – Cas pulled open my head and we all crawled into it – weirdest inversion ever. We ended up in a port city – a center of commerce, travel, and culture – roads, canals, bridges, all connecting and twining through the city. The outer structures were from older civilizations – old Greek, Roman, Italian – and gradually became more modern toward the center. Japanese, Chinese, all sorts of architecture side by side. Too bad we didn’t get a chance to explore!

The last place that I used Dream’s sand was in the caves of the Ohio Caverns – or rather in a dream version of those caverns. Since my port city had a theme of travel, I brought up the idea that we could find a travel office of some sort. We tracked one down easily enough, and there was a boat going to the caverns. A boat going to a land-locked place? Oh, why not! It was piloted by the Captain from Gilligan’s Island! He wanted $100 a piece to transport us, but I was having none of that. I knew darn well what had happened the last one way trip – he wasn’t that reliable, I’m wasn’t paying that price! I finally got him down to a reasonable price. Dream sped us along on our journey – more of that dream manipulation I learned about from Casstiel yesterday, I think. It grew dark and we then found ourselves in the pools inside the caverns. Dream was able to find a grain of sand that was still there, luckily. I was about to pay the Captain a little more for his service when Cas wiped out the scene – hey, I felt a little guilty for the way I’d treated him earlier, not to mention we were leaving him stranded. I suppose in retrospect, bartering with a character in my own Onieros with dream money doesn’t really make any sense…

With the sympathy between the grain and the rest of the bag, Dream was able to track it down, but he had to inhabit one of us – Casstiel – in order to have the power to get there. Dream performed some sort of high level spell combining Space, and Mind? Life? I’m not sure what else – he slashed a rip into my Onieros scene, a portal. When we went through it, we ended up somewhere in England, in a neighborhood. In physical bodies. But our bodies – our real bodies? – were still back in the Sanctum! Somehow, he’d created a path from my Onieros directly into the real world and made duplicate bodies for us. Even Cas wasn’t quite sure how he’d pulled it off.

We were in front of a house – we ventured inside, made our way up the stairs. Inside was… were dreams running amok. Nasty slithering things that coated the walls. Things that didn’t want to be contained anymore, that didn’t want to listen to Dream, their Master. They gave us intense visions before Dream finally managed to subdue them – so vivid. Eris said she was flying like superman – I wish I’d been so lucky! The first one – I shudder to remember – I was crucified. Roman soldiers pointing their spears at me. Just a flash, but horrifying enough. And then I was a man, making love to a woman. Another brief flash. Thankfully Dream got them under control – I wouldn’t want to experience what other twisted dreams these things might be giving off.

At the bedroom at the top of the stairs, we found a very old woman, bedridden, living off of the dream sand like it was some kind of drug. I don’t know how long she’d been living like that – for months at least. Just living in dreams. She was wasted away to nearly nothing; the only thing keeping her alive was the sand. The open bag must have been leaking out somehow and causing this mess in her house. Dream mercifully gave her one last good dream, and then Persephone killed her – er, ended her life – what’s the nicest way to say it? Well anyway, it was swift and kind.

When the dream sand retrieved, Dream/Cas did the slashy portal back into his Tenemos palace. And then he took us to the entrance to Hell.

I…still hate to remember what happened there….what it was like. Just the gates alone were terrifying. And that was before we even entered. There was a creepy demon that spoke in rhymes who let Dream enter – and we were kind of an afterthought. He led Dream and us past all sorts of horrors – tortures, monsters, things I don’t want to think about. Into a giant – a structure shaped like a tortured giant – all the way up into the mouth. And there were the three lords of Hell. I remember bits and pieces, as it slowly comes back to me. Lucifer, Beelzebub, and one other – eyes and a mouth – after catching sight of the fly/spider thing, I tried not to look at anything anymore – just stared at the – tongue – of the giant’s mouth that we were standing in…

I remember Dream trying to negotiate, convince Lucifer to give up the helm – the banter went on for a while. Dream didn’t know which demon had it. Lucifer finally said that if Dream could identify the demon out of all the billions, he could take the helm. The giant’s mouth then opened up to the entire horde…and that’s where my memory gets really sketchy. I think I blacked it out. I feel that if I wanted to remember, I could, but I don’t really want to. That doesn’t stop my mind from inadvertently wandering back and seeing glimpses though. I hope those thoughts stay out of my nightmares…

Dream took out his bag of sand and threw some of it into the air – it drifted, wafted out over the horde until it singled out one demon. That demon challenged Dream to single combat for the helm. Dream wasn’t in any position to argue. It was a version of a mage battle, this combat in the Tenemos. Each attack was spoken in words, became reality – each combatant, Dream and the demon, attempting to outdo each other in power, something bigger, but not always, something greater, but not always, something to overcome the other’s reality. We Mages tried to help, boosting Dream’s attacks and protecting him from the demon’s, taking some of the damage instead. But one by one, Eris, and Persephone, and then I were overcome, our willpower depleted, until only the Archmage Casstiel was left. In the end, Casstiel told us, to overcome the demon’s world ending, universe consuming darkness, Dream became Hope.

Things almost got worse right there, Cas said, as Lucifer and his demons tried to argue that Dream had no power there, and they didn’t have to let him leave. Dream responded that what power would Hell have without dreams of Heaven? He walked out of Hell, the demons making a path for him.

Casstiel joined us back in our real bodies in the Sanctum and we all decided to get some rest – the only thing we could do, we were so drained. We expected Dream to maybe contact us…but he didn’t.

We woke up, no new leads, other than the information that STARK had given us about the high concentration of dream sickness in New York. And the knowledge that the last group to have had the ruby were Mages. So now we had to try to contact the Mages in New York to not only get permission to enter, but also try to pry out information. Each of us contacted Mages we knew, but I was the only one who was able to get through to anyone – good ‘ol Garm! We exchanged some pleasantries – yeah, I know I haven’t really contacted the local Consillium yet… I’ve only been in Florida since October…after my training with…

Well, anyway, I think I ticked off Garm a little – he wanted the chance to study Dream’s pendent, which I just couldn’t promise. Meh, he’ll get over it.

Garm gave me the name Bones – an Adamantine Arrow Sentinel, a Moros, detective from NYPD. After speaking with him and telling him we needed to retrieve our ‘friend’s’ magic pendent, which was last in the possession of a Doctor Destiny, Bones said we needed to talk to a Solomon Kane, New York City’s Adamantine Arrow Sage, the highest ranking AA in the city. We got his lackey instead, some guy named Rane or Phoenix, another Sentinel – who, after hearing the name Doctor Destiny, passed us right up to the big guy. I guess Doctor Destiny was a big name a while back – went by the name John Dee, the name of Queen Elizabeth’s alchemist. He’d been wrecking havoc with Dream’s pendant – oh yeah, Kane already knew about our ‘friend’ – so much for secrecy. Kane told us that they’d had Dee’s soul removed and replaced with a Sleeper soul, and incarcerated in an insane asylum. He was THAT horrible? To rip out his soul and STEAL the soul of another? Some innocent Sleeper? I…I just don’t know which is worse…what kind of atrocities did Dee commit? Why didn’t they simply kill him? Why destroy another’s life? I’m not sure which is worse, the Arrow or Dee…

As a side note, Solomon Kane, what an interesting name. Am I the only one that has heard of it? I mean, really? That name was familiar to me even before I found out that it was the name of a demon hunter in a comic. Appropriate for an Adamantine Arrow, anyway.

I agreed to give a major boon to Kane and his Adamantine Arrow (unbeknownst to them, the boon was from the Horsemen, not the Bridge – maybe I overstepped my bounds, but there was nothing I could do at the time. I’m sure I’ll have some explaining to do later, to both parties.) in return for locations of warehouses that might have housed Dream’s amulet –Dream had already visited Kane and Phoenix last night and had requested the amulet and already got the locations….but no one had woken up from their Dream sickness, so if he’d actually found the amulet, wouldn’t that have been fixed already? Did something go wrong?

In any case, we agreed to meet at the Hudson County Administration Building in Jersey City in one hour – another mistake on my part, we had no easy sympathy to portal there, and traffic in New York is horrific. We arrived very late. Oops. They were waiting for us on the steps; the building was closed for the day. They took us in a blacked out vehicle – a gift from Guardians of Veil, no doubt – to the different warehouses. While searching, the AA got the message that John Dee, Doctor Destiny, had broken out of the Trenton Psychiatric Hospital, and a warehouse in Brooklyn was broken into. We arrived at the warehouse to a dead Sleeper – one of the AA precoged and saw that a skeleton guy had zapped a middle aged man – the dead man – that Dream had been riding – killed him with the power of the ruby amulet. We didn’t know what had become of Dream, but the man – John Dee – was now at a diner, and crazy things were now happening across New York, sending the Adamantine Arrow into a tizzy. They took us to the diner where we said we’d go after Dee.

The lights were out, things looked wrong. Eris called the diner – a strange madness effect went through the phone line, but she managed to evade it. She saw everything that had happened in that diner – she saw the guy had been torturing and then killed the patrons after twenty hours. I’m glad she spared the details.

We entered the diner through the back door, into the kitchen, and entered a field of madness – the kitchen was a kitchen from Hell – I freaked out, screaming, I didn’t want to see the twisted horrors again, I tried to tear my own eyes out! I’m thankful that Eris stopped me. The commotion alerted Doctor Dee, though, so much for surprise… Eris threw me at him, tried to bring me back to my senses – or maybe stun him, I’m not sure which. Thankfully, when I attacked I didn’t lash out at my friends – instead I stabbed Thrymja into Dee and blasted him in half. But…he was still moving! His torn upper half, still twitching, still talking…How – ? It was ghastly! He still wouldn’t give up the dream stone.

Dream then arrived – apparently his earlier encounter with Dee had greatly weakened him – Dream portaled us all into the Tenemos. Dee and Dream battled, each blow from the ruby continuing to weaken Dream. I did my best to shield Dream, and Eris put a Geas on Dee that finally caused the ruby amulet to shatter when Dee refused to return it to its rightful owner. All that power exploded out and back into Dream – he got everything back, everything he had stored in that ruby. After each tool he had regained, his power had increased exponentially – he’s actually a rank 7 spirit!

Dream took Dee to a Tenemos asylum back into his old cell – Dee’s body is dead, he can’t live in the physical world anymore. How curious that Dream can be so merciful, almost compassionate – I don’t know if I would have done the same thing – Dee terrorized the city, twice, attacked Dream with the intent to kill him, murdered the Sleeper Dream was riding, murdered who knows how many other Sleepers…but I guess it’s not like Dee can do anything else. He can’t go back into the real world, the ruby is gone, Dream has all his power back, no one can steal it anymore, and Dee can’t cause anymore trouble in the Tenemos. Killing him wouldn’t DO anything. But then Dream also told us how he’d dealt with at least one of his captors when he finally got free – he gave him eternal awakenings, always waking up into another dream. I shudder to think of that. He treated the two people – Dee and his captors – so very differently. Well, I guess Dee wasn’t deliberately acting against Dream – he was insane and just wanted power. In any case…I should be careful around Dream.

We found a card of the First Tarot, the Moon card, Dream’s card, on the bed in Dee’s cell. Who left it? How does he/she/it keep getting in front of us? And why? We let Cas take it for safekeeping.

Anyway, we’re back, we succeeded, I politely refused Dream’s offer of becoming his servant – yeah, I need to watch my words more carefully. I had trusted him since I Awakened, but being around the Bridge of Souls is making me more paranoid. It’s so hard to trust people…things…anything. I dunno, Dream seemed to be trustworthy still. Did he really help me Awaken? I’d like to think so…

Oh, and we saw Death again – Dream’s older sister! Older sister!? They’re two of the Endless. The Endless are…extremely high ranking spirits of concepts? I’m not really sure. How many are there? Who are the rest? Are we going to see them again?

I called up Solomon, explained that Doctor Destiny was dead (technically correct), Dream got his amulet back – Kane seemed busy, involved in taking care of the fallout of people waking up, all the weird crazy stuff that Dee did. The Horsemen will owe him a major boon later. I’m already leery of the Arrow…I know Creepy and Kairos will be mad, well, Kairos anyway, but I really don’t trust the Arrow – I don’t like how they handled Doctor Destiny in the past. I’m not sure if I like the way they do their operations. What sort of major boon are they going to ask of us in the future?

Original Artwork by Alanna Keith of Dream with all this Artifacts returned

[Chimera: Class of 666] Book 7 | Of Corgis and Cold Iron

Story: Chimera: Class of 666

Mage: The Awakening

Authored by: 

Hannah Nyland (The Irreverent Revenant) 

All Rights Reserved.

Chimera: Class of 666

Book 7: Of Corgis and Cold Iron

By Hannah Nyland, starring Eos!

Christmas Break 2014, Jamestown North Dakota

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“No, really.”

Chimera groans. “I believe you. But what else am I supposed to say to ‘fairies kidnapped your dog’?”

“You could say: ‘That’s terrible Emily! My poor doggie! Fairies?  Just another name for dogknappers.  Let’s go after them and save Griff!’”

“What did I say about real names? I’m trying to be serious about all this second and third secret life shit and you keep yanking my chain.”

“I am being serious.  Hand to god, Tinkerbell and her gang just raided your house.” 

 “Fine, Eos. Tiny pixies carried off my dog. Please continue.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure he went willingly. Police found no signs of a struggle at the crime scene.” Eos smirks.

“Nope. Not buying it.”

It’s snowing in Klaus Park; the two young women sit side by side on a park bench, one bundled up in multiple layers of winter clothing, the other barefoot. At least the temperature is above zero, and the wind-chill isn’t too bad. For North Dakota, this counts as pretty nice weather for the time of year. A few half-hearted attempts have been made to inspire holiday cheer; a handful of red and green ribbons tied to bare tree branches, a flickering light-up reindeer by the merry-go-round. But between the bare branches, lack of human presence and empty stretches of white, the place just looks desolate, like everyone left the party and went back inside hours ago.

The cold wind rushes past again, and Eos retreats further into her fuzzy blue jacket. “Indoor heating actually exists, you know,” she says pointedly. “It’s not just some sort of NoDak urban legend.”

Chimera stretches lazily, bare feet trailing through the snow. Her boots were left at home. She said it was more comfortable. Eos said she was nuts. “We don’t have a Forces user handy right now, which means we don’t have the luxury of any decent sound-proofing. I’m not risking having to memory-wipe my own family if they overhear us talking about supernatural weirdness. Griff is missing. You say fairies.  So spill it, princess. What else have you worked out?”

The proximus gets a smug look as she rattles off the facts: “Your parents said that when they came home from the evening movie yesterday, your dog was gone and the house was clean. Immaculate in fact, which I am lead to believe is unusual for your place. Everything was in order, save for one thing – all the milk in the fridge was completely empty. And this-” she rattles one of said empty jugs, brought along for study, “has a weird resonance stuck on it. Almost slippery, and it resonates strongly with Fate. It’s like some kind of unsaid agreement was struck, but the details didn’t make any sense.  So then I hit web.  Crowd-sourcing says brownies.”

“Right, tiny fairies that do people’s household chores, but only when no one’s watching. At least, that’s what I’d heard.”

Eos nods. “Brownies often take some sort of small payment for their services. They favor honey, porridge and most of all, milk. In this case, it looks like they also decided to add your dog to the tab.”

“And they wanted him why?”

 “From what I’ve read most Fae are irredeemably narcissistic and insane by human standards. Azazel said they operate not on morality but on what is most entertaining at the moment, and nothing is entertaining unless it’s of their own making. There could be a billion reasons why. They embody the chaos aspects of Fate and tend to break the rules of how we expect things to work. Might’ve been why your post-cog came out all fuzzy; Time and Fate are native to Arcadia, and so are they. Brownies in particular must have at least some element of time manipulation going for them; they’re legendary for completing chores and mundane work impossibly quickly.”

The Mastigos face goes blank as a slate. Processing. “There’s something else odd about this, Eos. My dad’s got a friend who does a lot of work up at the Jamestown Humane Society. I gave her a call this morning after we came into town to see if anyone had brought Griff in. No sign of him, but she also runs the local listing for missing pets. There have been four corgis – and corgis specifically - reported missing this week in the Jamestown area. In a town this size, that’s probably most of them. For some reason, these brownies really have a thing for corgis.”

“Mmm. I wonder-” An old, obscure legend on the Fae springs to mind, and Eos grins. “Well, never mind. We’ll see soon enough, right? How are we going to get them back?”   

      

“I doubt we can. They’re likely long gone into the Hedge or even Arcadia by now. And even if they aren’t, it’s not a good time for me to run all over town looking for fairies. I mean, I love my dog, but I came home for my family. I can’t just vanish for a while. They need to know that they can trust me . . .” She turns away, but not quickly enough for Eos to miss what’s written across her face. Regret.

“Screw that noise,” she says cheerfully, pretending that she didn’t see. “No one gets away with stealing my boss’ dog. This sort of thing is why you keep minions around. Set me on it! I’ll have ‘em back in no time.”

Chimera smiles faintly. “Hey, I appreciate it. But you’ve got your family too. I don’t want to take away your time with them or anything, especially not around Christmas.”

“Nah, it’s no biggie. We’re not close or anything.”        

   

“Well . . . okay. But you don’t think that-”

Eos face darkens. “We’re not close,” she snaps.

Chimera blinks. It occurs to her that the amount she knows about Eos’ family could fit in a thimble with room to spare. She’s never talked about them. Not even dodged the topic, but skillfully kept it from ever coming up until now.

She decides to ignore the outburst.

“It’s your call. Don’t go through any pathways or doors leading anywhere strange.  If you end in fairyland it’s very unlikely that you’ll be able to get out.  There’s a reason there’s so few Awakened Hedge Cartographers.”

“I’ve been reading up on the Fae and those they kidnap ever since the Nightmare.”  Chimera adds.  “People vanish for decades and come back changed.  If you run into any of their kind be very careful what you promise them. Hell, I don’t need to lecture; you probably know the stories better than I do. Just be careful. Use the earring if you need me and don’t do anything too risky without back-up. And you’re free to join me and my family, you know? They like you. My mom is convinced that you’re a good influence on me.” She chuckles.

“Wow! She’s a terrible judge of character.” Eos rises to her feet, empty milk jug in hand, a smile plastered on her face again as though nothing had happened. “I wonder what they would say if they knew that it’s more that you’re a corrupting influence.”

Eos is all keyed up, ready to dabble in the occult once again, and Chimera knew there was no helping it. Her research, penchant for the supernatural, and obsession with self-improvement; it all came down to the semi-Awakening that made her a Proximus, the half glimpsed watchtower of silver and thorns. She was pushing it, hoping she’d get a second chance to make the big decision and scrawl her name across the cosmos this time.

Well, Chimera thinks. I’ve done stupider things for the sake of pride.

“Wait. Take this,” She digs around in her pocket and hands Eos a folded up switchblade. “It’s cold iron. I don’t think I need to remind you of the benefits of having it when dealing with the Fae. I’ve been keeping some on hand ever since our run-in with the Nightmare.”

 “Thanks. This shouldn’t take me long.” Eos pockets it and trudges off into the snow.  “How much trouble can a few fairies be?”

“Why did you have to say that?”

*****

Jamestown’s one and only barber gives the girl an odd look as she struts out the front door, clutching a plastic garbage filled with white blonde hair. That haircut is not at all flattering on her and short cuts (bordering on shaved) aren’t exactly in vogue this side of December, but she was insistent. Requesting her chopped off hair once he was done was just the cherry on the weird cake. The girl beams at him through the front window, and with a little wave, is gone into the wind and blustering snow. He smiles and shakes his head. What a strange person . . . nice, but strange.

As he’s closing up shop that evening, the man is befallen by an unfortunate and entirely unlikely accident. He slips and falls on a tangle of hair on the floor, lands face first on the pair of scissors in his hand and impales himself through the cheek. His holiday is spent in an ER room. If a mage were to examine the scene closely, they might see a faint silver cloud hovering nearby - residue of a Proximi family curse, some kind of unconscious manipulation of luck and entropy, and virtually impossible for any but the greatest investigative magi to pick up.

Out on the street, Eos’ smile turns into a scowl. “It just had to be hair.”

On reflection, she grudgingly acknowledges that a headful of her hair is perhaps not the worst price her sources on the other side of the mirror might’ve asked for. It could’ve been a pint of blood instead. Or a basket of flayed puppies. Flayed puppies beat out everything. Still, her admittedly conspicuous sense of vanity is prickling at this. It’s going to take some work to pull this look off, and right now she doesn’t have the time. She tugs her hat over her shorn head self-consciously. She could probably get some “likes” and renewed attention from this stunt with her hair, but what would she claim as the cause of this radical rebranding of herself?

Eos crosses the street at a red light and makes her way down Main Street to a small park on the corner. A few drivers stop briefly to look at her. Ever since her near-Awakening, Eos has become accustomed to receiving extra notice, and for the most part enjoys it. Before Germany, it wouldn’t have been like her depression wouldn’t have allowed that. But something changed on that trip; a sudden piece of enlightenment, a burst of light that cut her past away. Attractiveness, charisma, her social media fame - whatever the reason, people are paying attention to her. If Chimera is a shadow, Eos is a star, exuding presence and pulling in attention. 

Later that day one of those drivers, an appreciative young man of eighteen, is involved in a bad traffic accident. While fortunately not fatal, the collision breaks both legs and a collarbone; he’s laid up in the hospital for months. The man with his scissors and the boy with his car; when those accidents happen, Eos feels them - a little twinge in the back of her mind, a flare of silver around if her Fate Sight is up, though she doesn’t know what happened exactly. Someone hurt, someone dead, all because of her curse and a bad turn of kismet? The effects of it could even manifest as a simple inconvenience, but she’ll never know. When she feels it this time, she does what she always does: slap a smile back on her face and swears to god that one day, she’ll find a way to be rid of it, no matter how impossible such a thing is supposed to be.

Because what else can she do?

The park’s construction was funded by the local Art Center after a fire on the lot burned down King’s Studio, a photography business that Chimera’s great-grandparents once had ties to - Jack King was one, and Casstiel still carries the last name. When Eos arrives, no one else is there. It’s a nice enough little place now, dotted with trees, benches and flower beds in spring, but for some reason people tend to avoid it; Eos has speculated that there’s spirit or ghost activity there that makes even Sleeper’s intuitively uncomfortable; she feels an unbidden surge of loss as she steps foot on the lot, and the sensation of being watched. But the any inhabitants there may be are peaceful enough; nothing has ever actively harassed her here, and she came here precisely because she was certain that no one else would be hanging around.  The feeling of observation isn’t caused by living eyes; best to ignore it if it isn’t hostile.

She takes a seat at one of the benches and removes something from her backpack; a gothic style hand mirror, blue glass full of splinters and breaks. At times when she looks at it, she swears she sees the shadow of something writhing and wriggling under the surface. It might not even be her imagination.

“Burn it,” the mirror whispers.

And it speaks. There’s that too, though only Eos has ever been able to hear it. Under Mage Sight it resonates familiarity, comfort, and death. The mirror was a gift from her late grandfather; she’s held onto it a long time, but it wasn’t until her semi-Awakening it started to reveal its secrets – ask it a question and if the mirror knows, you’ll get an answer. For a price.

Mirror mirror on the wall…

She takes out a lighter from her pack and clears the nearby snow away with her foot, forming a small circle of bare grass. Then she dumps the contents of the black garbage bag on the ground and lights it up, gagging on the odor of burning hair.

When the flames have licked it all up, Eos murmurs “I hope my payment is worthy.” After a moment’s thought, she adds irritably, “You loonie.”

The mirror apparently deems such insults beneath its notice, as it continues on without skipping a beat. Its voice is a viper sliding through the grass, the slow certainty of death headed her way. “Nickeus Park. You’ll find them there in the dead of night, in the place where the land meets the river.”

Eos claps slowly, playing off a shiver. “How poetic! Good for you. Now if you don’t mind, you’re going back in the bag. No offense, but you’re kind of creepy.”

The mirror has nothing to say about that. Eos stuffs it into her backpack, climbs to her feet, and hightails it out of the spirit and/or ghost infested park. Not for the first time, she wonders what the hell is wrong with Jamestown. Undead monstrosities in Cavalry Graveyard, a demonic church, swarms of vice-eating spirits all over town, and now obsessive-compulsive fairies like midgets on Adderall. It’s a wonder that anyone has the gall to call the small Midwestern town “peaceful”.

That night, when she comes across the riverside clearing that the fairies call home, Eos has to clasp a hand over her mouth to keep from gasping or laughing; she’s not sure which.

There’s an old Welsh legend that corgis are in fact, a magical breed of dogs… that they once served as the valiant steeds of the Fae Nobles of Wales. They say that if you look closely at a corgi’s back and shoulders, you can see the markings of a fairy saddle.

That legend is proving itself to be more of a reality than a fiction, as legends are so wont to do these days. A battle is playing out before her eyes; two lines of pointy eared, toddler-sized soldiers are rushing at each other, four of them seated in saddles on the backs of the kidnapped dogs. The corgis, for their parts, seem to consider the fight a particularly entertaining game; they dart and leap across the field, tongues lolling and tails wagging as their riders swipe at opponents with their weapons. Said weapons are . . . unconventional; long handled forks, sewing needles, torn out sections of wire fences, broken glass, and charging cables wielded as whips and garrotes. The armor is equally varied. Some wear child sized bicycle helmets, others sections of towels and blankets fashioned into a kind of hide armor, and still others have cobbled together shields from plates and pie tins.

According to lore, she shouldn’t be able to see any of this; Eos isn’t sure why some sort of fairy glamour hasn’t fuzzed her brain by now.  Maybe it has to do with being a Sleepwalker, or her Fate Sight. Maybe it has to do with the mirror. Maybe they’re just exceptionally careless, in which case they’ve probably got bigger problems than her to worry about.

Eos gathers up her nerve and strides purposely into the center of the fray, warriors and dogs scattering around her as the fight slows to a stop. A few cries of confusion and surprise ring out, and then there’s just a long, irritated silence. A rough two dozen brownies simply stare at her, frozen in their positions.    

At last, the biggest one dismounts his corgi and swaggers over, his scale mail fashioned from soda tabs clinking as he walks. He’s plump, almost round, and holds a metal shish-kabob, the kind you’d use to skewer grilled meat or vegetables. He puffs out his chest, clears his throat and exclaims:

“I am WEAVER, first of my name, exile from Arcadia. My kin and I have gathered here to commemorate the Battle of the Black Thorn! Our historical accuracy is truly unparalleled!” He gestures grandly at the corgis and the brownies’ assorted weaponry and costumes.

That’s when Eos gets it. They’re reenactors. She’s heard of people recreating Civil War battles as a pastime, but this is something else.

“Why have you disturbed this most holy of rites, MORTAL?” Weaver bellows, taking a step closer and brandishing his shish-kabob threateningly. His voice rings like a silver bell.

Eos looks coldly down at them, smiling without showing any teeth and with one smooth motion, pulls the switchblade from her pocket and flips the blade out. Cold iron gleams in the moonlight. Weaver and his lackeys instinctively recoil; one of them lets out a quiet hiss.

 “Me? I’d just like to have a little chat.”

*****

And so the negotiations begin.

Eos wears her smile like a mask and wields charm like a razor. All of her research urges her to caution when dealing with fairies, but she’s getting the distinct impression that Weaver isn’t the brightest bulb in the box and far too brash for his own good. Overblown declarations, blustery threats, and pompous boasts: he pulls out all the stops. At times, he appears to be channeling some bizarre combination of a drill sergeant and Brian Blessed. It’s all she can do not to roll her eyes after his fourth self-indulgent monologue.

In truth, she’s feeling him out, looking for leverage. They might be small, but there’s a lot of them, a lot of pointy objects, and she doesn’t exactly pride herself as a fighter. If it weren’t for Chimera’s knife, she has the feeling that she’d be mobbed and lying on the ground bleeding, or being carried off into some in-between place of bramble and darkness, roped up like Gulliver’s Travels by now. She decides to tread carefully, even with the implicit threat of cold iron in her hand.

So she strokes his ego, verbally parries, and waits for her curse to kick in. It’ll be one moment of catastrophic error on his part, but she can do enough with that to stop him cold. And it’ll be soon; Eos is giving the curse a bit of a helping hand this time. Her ability to hinder the curse in nonexistent, but it laps up any advantage she gives it like a rabid dog, one of the many things about it that makes her suspect the curse is actually sentient somehow. For once that works to her advantage; the Fae may be slippery when it comes to Fate and Time, but the curse of a Proximi line is woven into their very soul, and has been for untold generations. That and Weaver’s complete lack of Fae subtlety are what she has over him.

She’s beginning to wonder if her curse can even affect him at all when it happens. He grossly missteps verbally, almost outright agreeing with her position. Eos seizes the opportunity, augmented by magically enhanced timing, and goes on the offensive; catching him in verbal traps that make him look foolish to any of his followers with half the brains he has. She can see the dawning concern on his face the moment he realizes that engaging her further is likely going to chip away at his authority. She gives him a way out, a way to save face; a trade offered with flattering, self-effacing words.

Thirty gallons of milk laced with honey and a prick of blood to seal the deal. In return, Eos receives four pure blooded Pembroke Welsh corgis, a promise that they will be free from the attentions of the Fae in the future – and one more thing. A brownie trick: how to work faster than any human should be able to, provided no one is watching. She had to push hard for that last one, and Weaver still only provided the barest of details on how it works.

But all in all, Eos feels that she got the better end of the deal. Of course, she forgot to specify that she needed a way to contain the corgis as soon as they were released, and as a result spent half an hour chasing four dogs around the park. She has the feeling that Weaver was just being spiteful with that part, though to him it probably seemed perfectly fair.  Letter of the law is all that is required of the Fae’s deals, after all.

Two hours later, she’s walking down Fourth Avenue with bundle of empty leashes in her hand and Griff by her side. The corgi pants happily, bounding over and through the piles of snow in their path; his brief experience with the Fae seems to have left him no worse for the wear.  Eos has already brought the rest of the dogs back to their homes; several of the owners offered her money for their safe returns, but it’s the Christmas season, and she’s in the mood for giving. So in the end she played it cool, refusing all rewards.

Eos stops at the house with the white picket fence, a grin edging onto her face, as it so often does. Chimera’s home belongs on a cheesy Christmas card; red bows tied on the fence, lights strung from the roof, and a cheerful blow-up Santa in the front yard. She walks Griff up to the front door and rings the doorbell. There’s a significant pause. Just as Eos is about to ring the bell again, the door opens a crack; The smell of baking cookies and the sound of Christmas songs playing come from inside the open door. A moment later, a wary-looking Warlock sticks her head out.

Griff lets out a yip of joy and jumps on her, tail wagging pawing at her with stubby legs. Chimera’s guarded expression melts like butter as she leans down to pet him, and she smiles. It’s like a trace of some other person shining through, a person who was mostly gone by the time Eos got the chance to meet her.  It’s not easy acting the hard-ass where your pets are concerned.

 Chimera looks her over, then still with a smile says: “Thank you. Come on in. I can see you’ve got a story to tell.”

[Mage: The Awakening 2e] Scelesti Creation Story

Out of Character (OOC):

Chronicle: Mage 2: The Dethroned Queen
Venue: Mage: The Awakening 2nd Edition
Chronicle Storyteller: Jerad Sayler

Assistant Storytellers: Hannah Nyland & Alex Van Belkum

Everything and Nothing

By Fobax of the Black Zodiac
Source: Chronicle Gameplay and the Left-Handed Path sourcebook for Mage: The Awakening 1st Edition

A Scelesti Creation Story

I will tell you what I think is a true story of the beginning of creation, without the filters of human myths and orthodox Awakened thinking. It is considered blasphemous and even starting to tell it gets regular mages to try to kill or report you on sight. It does sound like Abyssal propaganda and maybe that is what it is. But I believe it. This is what the most knowledgeable of the Baalim will say…. Okay… here we go.

In the beginning, there was everything and nothing. Light. Darkness. The sea of infinite chaos. Chilling fire, mutilating love and hissing babies born from hearts within the rotting ribcages of their future deaths, spread across the space that was not space. Fecund chaos spawned endless intelligences of flesh and wind.

Many Scelesti call the universe’s first, innocent children the Annunaki, but give them other names according to their cultures and mythic traditions. They’re titans, archons, Hundun’s offspring and more. The Baalim call them The Great Dreamers, The Eldest, The Elder Gods, The Great Old Ones, The Sleeping Ones, The Dreaming Ones, the Innocent Ones, the Pure Ones, The First Children, The Black Dragons and a hundred other names.

It was Chaos’ nature to create whatever they willed—and they willed everything, without the restraints of logic or compassion. Intelligence includes the power to classify, separate and exclude. The Annunaki named their work, and each name defined what it was not. Once the innocent ones discovered this power, Creation’s original riot retreated into defined dominions. Cut from infinite possibility, these realms dimmed and withered, so their masters made names for processes that would give them life again: cycles, energies and mechanics

Law made the primordial dominions predictable and stable, but their lords ached for the original All. Unwilling to sacrifice intelligence, they looked upon each other’s demi-universes and each thought, If I make them mine, I will be God. Prior to the hour of realization, “God” was the only concept absent from the Void, for who could create what was endlessly created? What could rule Chaos

Most Annunaki rejected the idea of a fixed throne in the heavens. Seeking freedom, they relinquished discriminating intelligence in favor of an endless dream and merged with their creations. A stubborn few formed an alliance, regulating their combined realms under common codes. Jealous of one another, they divided God’s crown among ten Arcana. They could share His power, but never capture it completely—it would flow through the Supernal Pentagram ever after. Like light cast on a rough, dark ocean, the Supernal reflection gained shape and form on the backs of the dreamers. Those who would be God made their universe of Law on the waves: a skin of brilliant particles over the deep. The Supernal as you know it, supported by the sea foam on top of the Abyss.

The well of all souls,the Principle, poured into the Pentacle from above and flowed through the Supernal. The Ten Golden Dragons of the Arcana built a machine to dream for them, to maintain the phemoral world and the shining dust emerging from the darkness.  The Ten Black Dragons appointed their own Golden Lord of Nightmares.  Reality as we know it, below the Supernal and insulated from the sea, coalesced.

So then the Fall happened...

In that ocean, the innocent ones slept until the day that shining dust gained intelligence of its own, when humanity also imagined being God. The Supernal Light flickered; the Eldest Dreamers stirred as the Celestial Ladder fell, and the Exarchs harnessed their dreams to make a black moat around the Supernal. But the brilliance of mortal dust not only divides and names, but considers the unnamed, unrealized possibilities that wait below the surface. Humanity dreams of the Dreamers, and the Wicked dream most deeply of all.

The Baalim say they invoked the Annunaki while shards of the Celestial Ladder still flashed in the night in a slow, far fall upon Atlantis. For a time, the Abyss erupted to the edges of the world. Unknown constellations invaded the sky. Time twisted; wrinkled men born a day ago made war with thousand-year old youths. Knotted, scaled things fell to earth like meteors and whispered secrets from their craters, Acamoth and other sleeping Abyssals that infested reality in those brief seconds. Supernal beings also found themselves forever trapped and changed, separated from the light forever.

Sleeper poets sang of an age of monsters and the punishing flood that slew them. Culture heroes taught them how to survive the world’s new laws—to sow, reap and herd through sweat and strain, not prayer and oracle bones. It was a return of the Time of Nightmares.

They remembered true magic, though: how at one time, pointing spears at a rune could bring a successful hunt, and how the gods rewarded those who pleased them. They hungered for the chance to worship again. Accompanied by wonders, visiting Scelesti said the gods would only heed holy, purified men and women now. These pilgrims claimed that role and promised to preside over the necessary rites and sacrifices.

Thus, the Baalim take credit for bringing the concept of priesthood to the Fallen World, and note that even their enemies have exploited it ever since. The Accursed claim they ruled early cities as sacrosanct kings—and were loved for it. Who knows if that is correct or justification for how Scelesti justify what they do.

Thus the Scelesti Kingdom of Kish enters the story. Of the people of ancient Kish in Mesopotamia, Sleepers said, “All of them were lord.” By giving them Acamoth Investments, the ruling Scelesti made their subjects mad demigods. Kish crumbled under their care, all were lords, and none cared for farming and artisanship.

Their Scelesti priests led the first holy wars to enslave needed labor and supply the Annunaki with sacrifices. Consumed with the desire to rebuild what they lost, the rest of the Atlantean Diaspora paid little attention to the Scelesti. Only Accursed armies laying siege to their eldritch fortresses inspired them to march forth. They repelled the Kishites using their enemies’ methods. In Akkad, Ur, and Larsa, they said they represented new gods, willing to fight Kish’s aggression.

Under Awakened guidance, these city-states vanquished Kish’s warrior-demoniacs and Wicked princes. The spiritual ancestors of Pentacle and Throne mages founded Kish anew and rewrote

Its legends. The old lords became Tiamat’s children, fated to be crushed by Anu, Marduk and the other gods of civilization.

Organized Scelesti use titles and customs inspired by the legends of old Kish, though they freely admit that reconstructions have eclipsed true lineages. The Accursed believe the Kishite eon gave all mages new life—without it, the Awakened would have cowered in their ruined outposts, leaving bones and curios for a world without the Pentacle. The Scelesti summoned them from hermitage and taught them how to survive the Fallen age by guiding Sleepers.

To some of the Wicked, this justifies every sorcerer or Sleeper they corrupt. They have given something immeasurable to the world, and they deserve their reward.

I went a little further than I intended but now you see what the Acursed feel is the true history or origin and creation. The Annunaki came into existence in the formless chaos before reality even existed, prior to a spiritual version of the big-bang. Their endless slumber and dreams create the Abyssal realms, nests for lesser entities to breed, infest and intrude into the more concrete realities.

It is said that the Supernal Realms are supported by a thick foundation of chaotic dream-foam excreted from the Great Dreamers.

The Supernal realms needed enough possibilities to support their truths. It is said in rare and blasphemous texts that the Old Gods of the Supernal Realms were Annunaki that decided to enforce laws and rules on their realms and over time, making them more concrete, more True. There substance drew them together like huge masses and gravitational pull but none of these 10 Supernal Annunaki could overpower the others and were held in balance. They lost their ability to "dream" and restricted their power by defining it. That means that the Supernal Realms are literally and metaphysically on the "backs" of the ten known Abyssal Annunaki. Should they awake, they could devour physical reality and break apart the Supernal Realms as well.

We come from primordial chaos. The Supernal and our reality. The Golden Lord and her Black Dragons have sleeping eyes that are full of envy... and hate.

The Abyss didn't get created or let in when the Fall happened.  It was always there.