Mage the Awakening - Left-Hand Path.pdf

(25843 KB) Pobierz
"
It wouldn't be magic's cutting edge if it
didn't make someone bleed,"
-- Carbon, founder of
the Cloud Infinite Reapers
All societies have rules--even societies of mages. But rules were made to be
broken. For the Awakened, shattered laws raise sinister forces. The Left-
Hand Path tempts sorcerers with forbidden power, fulfilling their desires at the
risk of ostracism, madness or damnation. In exile, more of them thrive than the
Pentacle admits, challenging the peril to their souls ... and uniting in
common cause. Look Beneath the Surface
A Character Book for Mage: The Awakening™
•
•
The magical practices banned by
Consilium and order
Details on Apostates and Heretics,
mages on the fringe of Awakened
society
•
Secrets of the Mad, dangerous and
obsessed mages whose Wisdom
failed
•
The hidden threat of the Tremere
liches, their goal of summoning the
Sixth Watchtower and their methods
of Reaping souls
•
The history, society, philosophy, and
powers of the Scelesti, mages who
worship the Abyss
The Price of Disobedience
Two bored women sit
at the other end of the table. One’s important,
and that’s fine, but the other doesn’t leave when I
walk up. That’s not.
“You’re Knonsu?”
She uses my Shadow Name, but it some-
how annoys me nonetheless. I glance down,
stifling my annoyance by taking in the pattern at my
feet. They’ve put a new carpet down in the living room at Cor-
mant House: Afghan, enchanted. It includes some subtle sigils that
program a Prime whammy into the weave—I guess someone’s got
a yen for yarn as part of their craft. I’m less than pleased with the
change. The Ebon Noose’s meeting room used to be a non-magical
shabby chic kind of thing. Now I’m standing on an ostentatious
fucking landmine.
“Yeah. The Censor.” I doff my hat with the bad hand; it
covers the missing fingers. “I made an appointment with the
Hierarch, but you’re here ….” I tap the side of my leg with the
other hand, against the stone in my pocket.
“Khumeia.”
“I know who you are.” I find an insincere smile makes
people wonder if I’m lying or just a bastard, and I’m not
particular which she infers right now. “Has there been,
say, a change in government?”
“No. The Nemean has taken a sabbatical to
contemplate the Mysteries. I’m acting as a sort of
lead Provost until he comes back.” She doesn’t
look up. She’s looking for me on her tablet.
“Maybe
that man contem-
plated the origin of a blood spatter on his tie once. That
sounds unusually mystical for him.”
“He’s a second degree Master. Believe what you
like—ah. Here you are. You’re following up on the
Chicago problem.”
“That’s right. With all due respect, I’d rather not
discuss it in the living room. Do you have a study or
something?” My fingers itch—the ones the cannibal
bit off. I’m going to need a spell to cure phantom limb.
Maybe I’ll get an actual phantom limb, even. “It concerns
your Secret Concord.”
She stands abruptly, and I can see I finally have her
full attention. “Athena? Hold my calls. Come this way, Mr.
Khonsu.”
As I follow her, I chuckle at the odd construction and kind
of space out, to be honest. As soon as I close the door, I lose my
grip on my hat and it falls to the floor. She turns and scowls.
“Christ, sorry Ma’am. It’s just this hand.” I hold it up to
show her.
“I had a problem with an extremity once. What’s wrong
with yours?”
“Don’t you see? Touch it for yourself.”
I don’t know why I screamed at Athena to leave. She de-
serves better. Her family’s served us for a long, long time. Heavy
is the head that wears the crown, especially when it’s still techni-
cally attached to someone else’s head.
Let me look at my notes. I had a Techgnostic improve
the voice recognition on my tablet last year. Except for
scrambled bits at the beginning and end, it recoded ev-
erything that asshole mystagogue had to say.
They’re
definitely from an Abyssal Verge near here. The
writings we recovered connect it to your Secret
Concord. Now if could just get a look at it,
we could deal with your cannibal problem
once and for all.
I mount the tablet in my car and
say, “Read the rest.” So it does—the voice
sounds funny, a bit hypnotic. I kind of space
out, to be honest, and by the time I start think-
ing again I’ve driven past the Lodge.
Heavy is the head . . . the head needs a drink. I
drive by the bars until I hit one by the harbor. It’s got a
terrible plastic lobster for a sign.
I order beer. I never drink beer, and I’d never look back at
some dude in jeans who’s obviously sizing me up.
After the third glance he comes to sit with me.
“You’d be even prettier if you didn’t frown like that. My name’s
Joe.” That’s a pickup artist’s line. He’s got a cheap, easy smile.
“Hi Joe. Why don’t we cut the ritual? I’ll take you to my car
and we can go, well, wherever you want.” My smile feels cheap,
too. Joe doesn’t seem nearly as surprised as he should be. By the
Architect, what the hell am I doing?
Ten minutes later, while we wrestle in the back seat. I turn
to one side; the stone in my jeans stabs me. My grunt sets off my
tablet. Now I recognize the voice. It’s not the mystagogue’s. It’s
mine. How? It almost takes my mind off Joe. He’s whispering
something about the “blood of the lamb” and yanking at some-
thing stuck in his top of his boot.
Could I have taken her? I don’t know. But that computer of
hers started talking about the Temple of the Devourer and the man-
dogs. It’s a bit of a blur, but I must have run for it. I don’t fuck men
or Awakened, only insects without wings. I fly them to Heaven, like
Jesus, except that they learn that in the end, love’s a lie. That guides
them to the real Heaven, in the Darkness.
Maybe she’s a Baalath—that makes sense. Someone was
bound to go for the Temple eventually. She felt strong, once I
called the Sight. I’ve always been too scared to claim the Temple.
I’d have to show the Red Word I was worthy. Together, though . . .
we could hunt together too, and send the women-bugs to Heaven.
I can’t hunt in Boston tonight. Danvers feels good. I’ve
never hunted there. Wonder why? Maybe I’ll B&E it tonight.
That really makes the insects chirp, until I get the gag on them.
I heard ghosts made Danvers Asylum dangerous for Awakened
folks to visit, but they built apartments around there ages ago.
Wikipedia says they just capped the old tunnels. I can
punch through concrete, if I want.
I gave myself an owl’s vision, but walking in the dark tun-
nels still disorients me. I kind of space out, to be honest, and by
the time I start thinking again, there’s this glow.
A Hallow, down here.
I start digging. My arms are still as strong as they were when I
hit the concrete. It takes me 20 minutes to rip out the floor planks,
get down to the level of the trunk and pull it up. I tear the lid right off
and—why?—I take the stone out of my jeans.
I think I’ve seen the stone before. It’s rough, but the sigils
look old and smooth. When I make my eyes see the Shadow, I
can make out two thin, red lines whipping out, into the eyes of
the corpse in the trunk.
He twitches. It seems right to wait until he blinks. His
clothes look old, like from a British drama on PBS.
He exhales a rotten wind.
“You Scelesti keep your promises.” He sits up, stiffly, releas-
ing a cloud of dust. “You’re not known for that. Then again,
neither are we. The old kingdom perishes. A new one
rises.”
“And the tower?” Why am I saying that?
“You’ll get your key to the kingdom, as the
Concord promises, once the Baron from the
Other Side comes home. First, I need more
souls.” His colorless eyes flash. “I see
you’ve got more.”
Do I? I don’t even know what I’m
going to say when I open my mouth, but
the shadows ripple before I can talk. Masked
people tear out of them. They’re fast.
I open my eyes and run a hand along my face. I’m
so smooth. I usually shave everything. Hair belongs to my
selves. Where are they? I can’t hear them sing and scream.
“Kenosia, you did very well.” I’m lying in a bed; the voice
comes from a hag’s face above: a stone mask, fanged and grinning.
“Who? I’m not anyone right now. I need to be someone to
talk to you.” My head hurts. What am I supposed to say when
I’m not anyone?
“You’re a holy pilgrim, love. I’m Culsu. Like you, I passed
through the Veils and became Faceless.” She places a gloved hand on
my chest. “But I wasn’t brave enough to make your commitment.”
That helps order my thoughts. “I’m the Veil, nothing more.”
I smile, like a child getting a question right.
My fingers and toes are numb. I feel so sleepy. I’m not used
to feeling things when I’m not a person.
“You are Legion: a pilgrim on the harder, Left-Handed
path. You became so holy, my love, that you couldn’t worship
as just one person. In your devotion you told us about the Con-
cord, the old Tremere rising, and what the other orders know. In
one night, you exceeded years of our efforts.”
“My legs are cold, Culsu. I can’t move them.”
“You borrowed three souls. Two of them might be missed.
We’ll return them carefully, anonymously. But we can’t let them
know about you . . . and you’re very strong. Too strong to con-
trol, and too holy to make promises you can keep.”
“I could stop the poison whenever I want.” The cold’s gone,
and now I feel like the bed has dropped out from under me.
Culsu’s mask swims in the sky.
“I know, love.”
“Culsu?”
She takes off her mask. She has beautiful eyes.
“Will I see everyone I ever was?”
By David Brookshaw and Malcolm Sheppard

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika:

Zgłoś jeśli naruszono regulamin