Mage the Ascension House Rule

So, I've been thinking.

Yeah, I know a shocker. I've been pondering about games rules of late, and obviously when an idea strikes me but I know I'm not going to use it right away I might as well put it here. Darker Days Podcast in episode 4 put forward several house rules for Mage the Ascension that I rather liked.

- Static Difficulties on Arete rolls(+5 if ritual/rote, +6 Freecasting, +7 if Vulgar/Distracted, with a few basic modfiers: -1 with Foci, +1 when Combining Spheres outside of a Rote, +1 If there are Witnesses, etc.)
- Rotes having greater benefit ( -2 to Paradox rolls, +2 difficulty on detection)

- Runes of power (Write down mystical mumbo-jumbo/small device/whatever for +1 success to duration)

- Spend a willpower dot to cut loose a spell so that it self-maintains (does not count towards spell limit)

However, in light of the the fact that two of these house rules come from Mage the Awakening's take on the rule part of me spent some time awondering about one of the rule changes they made in Awakening's Mechanics of Spell knowledge. The idea of what inherently limits the spheres/arcana and it's mechanical effect. In Mage the Ascension, the maximum number of ranks in a sphere equals your arete. So if you had Arete 3 you could only learn up to rank 3 in any of the spheres unless you raised your Arete to 4...which is a feat in of itself at a whopping 28 XP nevermind the cost of spheres. So I'm considering a house rule based upon the idea that Mage the Awakening introduces that Gnosis is not an immediate cap upon the level of Arcana. Of course having a higher Gnosis helps you learn more Arcana, but you don't need gnosis 4 to gain Rank 4 in any Arcana.

So this is what I propose instead for Mage the Ascension: Your spheres are capped your Arete + 1, so an apprentence mage at Arete level 1 could have level 2 spheres. Mechanically some might claim that this represents a degree of power creep, but I say BULLSHIT. Developing a specialty sphere costs 7 x New Dots, Developing other spheres or Arete costs 8 x New dots. A mage going from Arete 2 to Arete 3 must spend 24 exp. Which with a conservative ST takes about 12 sessions or with a more Generous ST takes 6 sessions, assuming that one is saving XP just for that. From a Game-play perspective it doesn't affect the chance of success overmuch because of the small pool that is being rolled. The need to accrue successes for specific effects just means that magic can be more flexible for variety of effect rather than potency. From a within world perspective what this means is that one can explore the depths of spheres before they achieve great power. In fact, this further raises the question of choosing between spending to enhance a person's power or a chance to increase the depth of one's ability. This seems like a fairly easy house rule to integrate that will encourage players to not immediately maximize their Arete at character creation.

Additional Houserule Idea: Avatar Teacher.
I've always felt that "Avatar" as a background kinda sucked. While it was useful for gathering quintessence and channeling it, as a shard of reality that is responsible for magic and responsible for most mage's capacities for learnng spheres and arete, it really does Jack-Shit otherwise unless the ST really makes the most of it. So I've got a small house rule that I think adds a certain something to it, reduce the cost of Spheres and Arete by Avatar background + 1. So at minimum at Avatar 1, a 2 xp discount at maximum Avatar 5, a 6 xp discount.

One and The Other

Given humanity's preference for duality it's no wonder the list of dichotomies is as long as it is. I'd start listing them off but I'm sure you can figure out more than a few. Tonight in my inability to sleep the sleep of the just, (or the injust for that matter,) my mind draws to an old philosophical standby of mine, Love and Hate. I find it interesting that these two emotions are as defined by each other as they are, often in literary works they are juxtaposed to each other but I find it odd really that, to me at least, the most appropriate example of this dichotomous couple is found in Mary Shelly's Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus. Why do I use this work of horror as an example,? Because of the unnamed monster of the work, this creature that has such complex emotions regarding its creator that in reading the work I could not decide if it was motivated wholly of Hate, or if it was driven also by a love that could never be expressed without hate. Because of how this tale marked me I'd like to demonstrate a pertinent point about these two passionate emotions, that in many ways they're indistinguishable. Now when I refer to the emotions of Love and Hatred I am not thinking of the banal emotions that are simply the difference between "like" or "dislike" or the more grounded natures of fondness and contempt. I am referring to those groups of irrational, powerful, and ofttimes inexplicable emotions that are the exclusive purview of Love and Hate. Indeed I have often noted that both of these emotions are attractors, they pull oneself towards the subject of emotion rather than drive one away. While the point can be made that there are aggregate parts to these emotions, I've noted that Love and Hate are not made of these emotions they do however create them. There is an intrinsic nature between Love and fondness just as there is between Hate and contempt, however Love and Hate are their own emotions and create their own complex emotions that are dragged into their wake. Irrational, attracting, and active emotions that have their own insanities and have their own patterns, but yet in the throes of either we can see behaviour seen in both, merely the difference between positive and negative theme. Why Love and Hate? To a degree it's meditation on my conditions, on my emotions, on my depression. So curious then that I passionately Love and Hate myself at the root of these things, so much to be proud of, so much to be disgusted by, so much to admire, yet with so much contempt. I doubt this is strange to many, but it feels odd to talk about it, to put this down as words. I Hate myself as much as I Love myself, sometimes one definitely takes precedent over the other, and yet here I am. I suppose in that respect my reasoning to compare to Frankenstein's monster isn't that unusual. Such conflicting feelings applied to self and environment with those twin emotions as figureheads, this I understand well, the isolation, the Love-Kill-Hate-Fuck directed at the world that brings so much joy and pain. For every desire for non-existence to be a euthanasia for the suffering of awareness there is a delightful curiosity to discover just what miracle of living is coming next.

Tenebris Mundi

Seed:

In the modern day, humanity as a species has achieved miracles since the days when people walked the earth following the herds of beasts in their routes of migration. Humankind has made societies, knowledges, languages, civilizations, politics, and perhaps most unique to this world safety. For the majority of history the primary motivations for progress were a combination of safety and survival. It's what people want, good health, safe neighbourhoods, and a bright future. It was never imagined that the improvements in medicine, education, communication, and general progress would have any downside. The mistake that most of the modern world made was to assume that the safety of progress meant that it invalidated all of the old ways and practices that had any element of danger, sexuality, or morbidity. By the year 2000 several active moments began a movement to sanitize common culture of these aspects not realising that from this desire to protect they were sacrificing something greater in exchange, they were killing humanity's creative drive. Creativity is born from the interaction between the Libido, the life impulse, and Thanatos, the death impulse. Though Libido is that which gives energy, Thanatos is that which gives the drive to create, it is through their co-existence that moves the world forward. By such choices made has the world gone out of balance, death is veiled, violence is sterilized, and the cosmic trickster of entropy has been caged as a butterfly's flapping wings. there is something seriously wrong with the world and if you can't see why you're part of the problem.

Chained Icarus

Standing there in a blasted room

Two doors out but neither worth choosing

Open doors, open sky, open dreams chasing across my mind

Chained to ground, chained to life, chained to destiny.

I dream of a world where I can matter,

I dream of a life I can earn,

Posibilities branching from choices,

Wings locked by a king I'll never see.

I'm standing here eyes reaching for the sky,

I'm tied here by another man's dreams,

The lie of the future all I've eaten,

The Shit from the past all I've seen.

Daedelus built me my wings to reach for the sky,

Flight to freedom meant to reach for the impossible,

Never reach the sun, never reach the air

Set to reach for the top never to hit the horizon.

Dad I want to open my wings,

I want to fly to my destiny,

You gave me the tools,

You gave me the hope to reach for the stars,

Your child not a hostage but a statistic.

Better to fall a million times,

Crash and Burn and Learn my lesson,

No one said life was easy,

Pain and experience a certainty,

I don't want anything you didn't earn.

But no one saw the chains that hold me,

Wrapped around by people we've never seen,

Not for safety,

Not for help,

Not for Slavery,

Made for a future where my gifts were unseen.

Can't you see these chains wrapping me,

'Cause Jacob Marley's got nothing on me,

Nothing wanted, nothing needed, nothing allowed,

For a future like a dust on a breeze.

Did you feel the chains constricting you,

Placed layer by layer over the years,

No Freedom, no future, no home,

Like a chained Icarus too held down to try to fly.

Sun's burning warmer on pained glass shards,

A thought experiment in Describing Tangible Darkness.

We all assume that black is the same as dark. It's a reasonable assumption, lack of light makes it dark and lack of colour makes it black, it seems logical doesn't it? We are of course wrong, Darkness by itself is a genuine absence of light, whereas black is just a blue that found a way to absorb all the light. Amoung us there are people that can tell dozens of shades of black, each a near-imperceptible degree of colour mixed in that differentiates itself from the rest. Darkness is much simpler, perceivable darkness is in direct contrast to the nearest source of light. The further away you are from that light the more shadow blends in with the light until you're practically blind, In this sense the darkness is invasive. What creeps us out is when the darkness develops texture instead of contrast, which is a curious way to put it. Normally in the visual medium degrees of darkness are contrasted with each other usually by means of colouring and shading, however unlike the visual evocative medium the written medium is invokative, that is to say rather than bringing the idea out one desires to manifest the idea within the "Cartesian theater" of the mind. One can create imagery however the goal is to create the image within the reader's mind with clarity while still utilizing the reader's imagination. In this case it is not like the difference between metaphor and simile though this difference is relevant. Saying that "the darkness oozes oil-slick across the floor with a rapier point," creates a different feel than saying "like oil the darkness oozed across the floor developing an edge as sharp as a rapier." It's the active voice vs. passive voice problem, but there is a deeper issue at hand, and it's the problem with describing colour. One cannot describe the greenness of green without comparison to another green object for reference, and the frustration of describing what may be considered the indescribable is making it's mark on me. Example: On another project I'm doing with a friend we were deciding how to describe an elemental force made manifest, not elemental in the Aristotelian sense but in a Platonic sense of Essences, and I described a being made of dozens of bird wings with a single reptile eye emanating from the center, this being is coloured a multitude of slightly transparent emerald green, it smells like citrus and sulfur, it sounds like a crescendo of euphoniums, and it tastes like pepper, soil, and juniper. Now, I grant you describing it in the active voice from a character's perspective will make it seem less awkwardly written, but the issue I feel is the same experience I have with writing about a living, tanglible darkness, that words fail when images work better, if barely.

Affirmation to the Realization of Be-ing.

We are the Never-Men, those that tread the edges of reality in dream and fiction.

We are the twilight walkers, the greeters of dawn, the fools hidden in the noon day shadow.

We empty our heads to erupt a vacuum of desire so that the pull to experience is endless.

We empty our hearts to prove that they are without boundary or limitation.

We see what is not there and take from that empty void the power to change minds.

We hear the unspoken words, thoughts, hopes, and dreams and we speak to fill their absence.

We fall a million times plummeting to the abyss for the day that we would find the means to fly.

Better afflicted with the paradox of life than drudgery in the simple gift of living.

The Void is not my enemy, it is the basis of my creation, Silence is not my foe it is my opportunity.

There is no colour, no taste, no sound, no feeling that can be wholly described, yet try we must.

There is no Truth, no Love, no Justice, no Kindness, no Hate, and no Faith unless we make it so.

Either nothing is sacred or everything is sacred.

And within that quantum-thin boundry between light and darkness where shadows become defined, I will find my soul.

Prosetry no. 1

Quiet dreams single stain the glass of my expression,

The brown and gold of my cornea are tinted tired,

wistful,

Lonely.

I tried sleeping,

waking wishing dreaming I await Mr. Sandman's last call at the bar,

my money isn't good here,

I wait for the dregs of sleep that more wealthy patrons leave behind in the glass,
when my money's good I can drink all I want,

when it's bad my throat gets sore from thirst.

Lust, Interest, and a Mercurial attention are my bedmates,

the four of us sharing a bed meant for two,

I'm the biggest one here, but they take up all the space,

tiredness rests on me like a blanket too small,

I can't cover up,

wrap around,

or keep myself comfy,

If I'm brain tired I'm not body tired,

If I'm body tired I'm not emotionally tired,

But if I'm not tired enough I'm spiritually tired.

What do others think about, when they stare into the nothingness waiting for death's little cousin,

do they think about the same things I do?

Kisses,

Mu Shu Pork,

factoids growing into facts that want to grow up to be full information

do they all lust for the sex to exhaust body and soul,

the crave that last drink to uncomfortable oblivion,

the rocking sensation of a parent's care that makes you fall on angel's wings into warm nothingness?

Illness sucks.