2023.02.25 Lessons in Magery

02.25.23 Lessons in Magery
Trey and Trent meet again, and the cat picks up a lot of information from Trent about the mature of Mages.
IC Date	02.25.23
Players	Trent, Trey
Location	Trent’s Cottage
Spheres	Bastet, Mage, Kinain, Sorcerer

The Cottage - Living Room(#13504RA)

    Inside, old lady vibes set in. The home opens immediately on a carpeted living room dominated by an L-shaped couch strewn with knitted throw blankets. Lamps loom in every corner and on every shelf, but no more than one or two are ever on at a time, giving the place a comfortably dim atmosphere most of the time; the windows let in only muted sunlight, shielded as they are by plant life outside. The colors here are darkly earthen and sunset sky, from tans to maroons to somber greens. A low table crouches inside the crook of the couch, strewn always with the accoutrement of the witch's art and sometimes stray birdseed. Shelves collect endless bric-a-brac, from the mundanity of a cluster of snowglobes from seasons past to the exoticism of a row of enticing books hand-bound in old leather, dark and excitingly unlabeled. A hallway leads off toward the bedroom, while another door connects directly to the kitchen.

Trey raps on the front door holding a tray with two cups in it and a small bakery box. Chiminage for the mage, perhaps. Or just breakfast? Perhaps.

    Trent shows up at the door wearing boxers and a fuzzy black blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He looks at his guest in blank incomprehension for a moment, then the fog of the morning abruptly clears and his face lights up in human recognition. "Trey!" he says happily, accepting the tray and ushering the boycat inside. "Give me just a sec to become more clothes, I'm forbidden from being enticing in male company these days--" The food makes it onto the coffee table and he disappears momentarily back into the bedroom.
    A moment later he's back in black jeans and squirming into an eggshell long-sleeved shirt with a couple rogueishly undone buttons at the top. It's a little bit piratical. He clambers over the back of the couch and acquires one of the drinks, fixing Trey with an intent expression. "So. He's back. Welcome to the sanctum," he says, half-serious and half playful. "With tribute, no less." He sips from the cup experimentally.

Trey mouths, 'become more...?' and then laughs, allowing the witch to go clothe himself however he feels appropriate. When he returns, Trey smiles. He's wearing a flannel shirt over a tee, himself, since Trey is pretty much a grunge-fashion sort. Or lazy, you pick. "Thank you. Coffee from a really good local place I encountered, along with crow-zants filled with bacon and melted cheese and scrambled eggs. Good thing you're not a vegan." He laughs and opens the box, the still-warm pastries within, overstuffed, and appealing. "I stopped by the other night but you were out, so I wound up on the beach with a few friends, having a fish bake."

    "I tried it out for a month once, the vegan thing, but it's too hard to deny what these teeth were made to do. Even before I deploy modifications to em." Trent digs a thumb into his right upper canine. He snags one of the croissants and chomps into it with the relish he assails most of life. "Oh, yeah, we were probably out burning down an arcade. The arcade survived, don't worry, just minor scorch marks on the floor, they'll never pin it on us. Do you have a phone, actually? You can always reach me that way, save yourself the trip if I'm out." The idea that Trey was not born a human is fascinating to Trent, and he's unsure to what degree the trappings of modern life would rub off on one from such an unusual perspective.

Trey takes another and begins to eat -- hungrily, but with neat sharp little bites the way cats do. He hmms, and then after a swallow, says, "I couldn't live without meat, Born carnivore. But I respect my prey." He pauses, and says, "Thank you," to his sandwich. He might be joking, he might not. "Burning -- oh, Trent, what did you and Massa get up to?" Anyone have the feeling that's going to be a tagline in this series? "Oh, yeah, I do, I forgot to give the number to you the other night." He pauses long enough to pull out the phone, ask for Trent's, and then send a text so Trent has his. "There, all set." And it's back to another happy bite. "I love bacon," he purrs.

    "Nothing!" Trent says innocently. "Alright he asked me to turn on some machines that weren't plugged in, and I had to show off, and I got 'doxed pretty rough over it. Paradox. You're familiar with the phenomenon?" Why would the cat know anything about Paradox, Trent? Anticipating a blank look: "Ooh, more mysteries, huh?" He looks shrewd. "Well. Now everybody's got me thinkin' I talk too much. Maybe I shouldn't go into the details of how the warp and the woof of the world snap back when I stretch 'em too far." He snarfles more breakfast, which is the closest he knows to come to playing his cards close to his chest. It's mostly playful, he's clearly in a bean-spilling mood.

Trey tilts his head to the side. "I know what the *word* means, it means something that cannot exist when something else simultaneously exists. Like saying the sky is both blue and yellow." He purr-laughs and finishes his own crow-zant while letting Trent think about how much he wants to reveal. "So," he says, after a sip of coffee to wash down the yum, "Paradox. So whatever you did... cannot simultaneously exist with... the real world? So it was something... impossible? Yet possible? So it is... where you rewrote the world in a small way?"

<---======##====================[ Dice Roll ]=====================##======---> Trey rolls Intelligence(3) + Enigmas(3) (6 dice) vs 6 for 3 successes. 4 4 5 +7 +8 +9 <-------------=============++++++++++++++++++++++++=============------------->

    "You've got the right idea," Trent says slowly, not so much hesitant to share as trying to decide his own thoughts on the matter. "Paradox is the gap between the world as I envision it and the world as it wants to be. If I play nice, if I keep my tricks understated, the magic fits into reality neatly and the threads don't tear. If I get too ambitious, though, the loom start to fray. On a small scale that's a bad headache and a little chaos turning around me. Go too wild and it's the Hounds of Tyndalos pouring out of the corners to lock me up in reality jail, whence I may or may not ever return. I try not to play around with that danger grade."

Trey Winces. "Try not to get locked in Reality Jail. I'm not sure even a cat could break you out of there. At least not yet." He's following, though, at least on some level. "The weave, like fabric... the threads can only be plucked so far before they distort. So you need to work within the shape of the loom, more or less? Meaning, you couldn't turn a video game machine into a... let's say, an airplane... without getting thrown in Reality Jail? Or badly hurt?"

    "You got it. The rules are flexible, but as a rule, if it -could- happen without me, it's safe. If it could never happen without my intervention, it's dangerous. And if normal people--don't worry, you're not 'normal' by this metric--if normal people are watching, whew, it's that much worse. Unfortunately, your average civilian is a reality cop just waiting to enforce normality on boys like me." Trent scratches the back of his neck, remembering the two sizzling bashing he'd taken for his hubris the other night.

Trey says, “Ahhh, see, now that makes sense. I can do things which are thought impossible, but I never heard of a cat being brought to Reality Jail, so it must be because the Weaver has its own rules." Rahjah, to be precise, but that, he's not saying right now. "Oh... I tried your drawing-down-the-moon thing... I couldn't make it work at all. My flute was just wood, though, not bone. Is the bone flute absolutely necessary to make it work? Is that what the moon demands to come down to the land?" He pauses. "Cats often learn our magic through watching. Our job is to observe, learn, teach. But your magic, I could not even come close to learning. So I thought perhaps it's the flute."

    "Yes...Paradox seems to be a problem only for the Awakened," Trent says, frowning. "I've heard vampires and werewolves and other things that go bump in the night aren't subject to it, or--well--some people think your silver allergy and the sunlight thing might be manifestations of the same cosmic force, just in highly specific ways. Not sure I believe that, but I've heard it said. Massa, his magic doesn't care about truth and Paradox at all, and he's as human as I am. It's a very personal problem," he summarizes.
    "The flute...yes. Or rather, no. As I understand it, what really matters is that I -believe.- The trappings are just the trappings, there to focus me in on my Work. I can even set them aside, with sufficient enlightenment, or enough glaring force of will. At the heart of it is just me. Well, and my Avatar." Now you're just dangling things in front of the cat!

Trey mulls over that word, 'Awakened.' He knows about awakening spirits, but people? Huh. He's quiet, listening, unraveling the words to find what truth lies at the center. "Hrm. Well, the silver sensitivity is linked to the moon. We draw our power from Her, to a large degree. Silver is moon-metal. It's just... how things are, though perhaps a single... Awakened could change a single Shifter to resist it. I wouldn't want that, though, because that is... it's payment to Her for our shapes and our capabilities." Trey nods thoughtfully. "My magic does not cause this paradox either, and I can work cat magic, and what some call hedge magic. So... you could use anything, like a kazoo, as long as you were sure in your heart that the kazoo was the key to it?" He's confused, but fascinated.

    "I'm told fucking with other night creatures' core natures tends to go back. Fireproof vampires are hard to achieve, and sunlight-proof...well, -I- wouldn't try it. Even if I wanted vampires to be more flexible predators. Which I don't." He grins and considers the kazoo thing for a minute. "It's...somewhat sacriligious to imagine, but yeah, -someone- could make it work with a kazoo. Some mages--that's the vulgar term for us, mages--are more irreverant and would love a sacred kazoo. My practice has some dignity to it. I use the bone-flute to honor the natural world--I've got more than one, actually, a deer for spirit magics, a wolf to talk to the entropic gods...any will do in a pinch, but it's always best to work with the tool I feel fits best."

Trey says, with an unusual seriousness, "Vampires do not need to be more powerful. As it is, they are not a part of the cycle. We call them leeches because that is what they are -- parasites. They take but do not give back. A true predator, a natural predator, has a place in the cycle, but they do not. But you believe in the cycle of things, the order of the natural, even if you push at its threads at times."

    He seems sure of this, from his encounters with Trent thus far. "Mages. I was saying magicians, but 'mage' is shorter. More elegant. And... you have different tools for different purposes." He nodnods. "Among my people, we often improvise or use our own bodies and capabilities to work our cat-magic. So... you say 'Awakened.' Is it similar to spirit-awakening?"

    "Yeah fuck leeches," Trent says simply. "A predator doesn't -dominate- its prey. It doesn't take sadistic glee in being powerful. A tiger isn't a walking analogy for human dominance hierarchies. Calling them predators is an insult to what nature's made."
    "Awakening--no, it's--well--hm." He thinks about it for a minute. "Instinctively I'd say no, it's a different thing, but the Awakened do possess an Avatar--a sort of patron spirit, a soul, irrevocably tied to us but also external to us, bound to a cycle of reincarnation independent of the individual it's tied to. It could be that everyone has one, sleeping, waiting for the moment of insight to Awaken just as spirits wait for the accrual of meaning to awaken. But for us it happens in a flash of understanding--understanding that we, what we make, what we decide, is the arbiter of what is real."

Trey grins. "You see the cat nature, then. Some say cats play with our prey, but it's not true -- usually, we disable the prey to make it easier to kill, and it's mostly smaller cats who do that, like me. A Lion doesn't play with its prey. He eats it." His agreement is complete, and the fact that Trent respects the order of things is probably why Trey feels at ease with him, despite the Earth Shattering Power.

    "An Avatar. Something like... a Patron spirit? A totem, even, except... you can't change it or break the bond?" He ohhs and says, "It does sound similar to Spirit Awakening, only animals, and plants, and objects can't make the sort of strides in experience that a human, who is already intelligent, can. I'd be curious to see it happen, to see if I could see the difference, or if they are alike. Is it predictable? Can you tell which humans can be Awakened?"

    "Only rarely. Some struggle to Awaken instead of flashing to it. And some can be trained to it--not easily, but the Hermetics, our Gandalf-type wizards, they manage almost one in ten students to Awaken. From a selectively chosen pool of potentials, of course. Other Traditions have a less dramatic success rate. I myself had an undramatic Awakening--I was raised in the Craft, taught the linear magics of my people just as Massa knows them, and eventually came to see them as the stepping stone they are. But for most it's a sudden flash of insight, unpredictable, difficult to study."

.

Trey hrms. "Linear magics..." He considers this and ohs thoughtfully. "A stepping stone, but only to humans who can Awaken," he says, sadly. "A magic I cannot learn, then. But I might be able to duplicate things you do, just not the means. Cats are good at improvising." Another toothy grin. He contemplates the coffee as he considers this, and says, "Traditions, just as it sounds? Like, Shamans, or Witches like you, or th Gandalf wizards, or Magi-- Mages who work with crafting, and other types?" He's guessing, but he does seem to get it. "Raised from a child, that's how you inherited the garden," he notes, remembering what he'd been told. "So it's just like... eureka, I can reweave the world?"

    "The Nine Traditions are the broad--extremely broad--coalition of untrustworthy bastards who keep the torch of magic alive in the world. They always seem to be double-dealing and stabbing one another in the back, which is wild shit, to me, because it seems to me we've got enemies enough -outside- the fortress without picking fights with one another." Maybe Trent's just been reading too much in-setting fiction, where everyone is always untrusting of everyone else all the time for no clear reason. "I'd list 'em but it'd get boring--but yeah--nine very catch-all approaches to magic. I am Verbena," he says with some modest pride, pulling himself upright. "An agent of the Old Ways, keeper of the Great Rite--that means fuckin'--master of my own blood and the blood of any comers who'll spill it for me. A witch, basically.
    "It's a little more complex than that," Trent muses. "That's how it starts, yeah, but there's a lot of study involved. The Nine Traditions break our study up into nine Spheres of magic, one for each kind of named phenomenon in the universe. Sounds crazy, but it's a pretty good system. Life, Matter, Mind, Forces, Time, Spirit, and the more abstract Correspondence--teleportation, space--Entropy--fortune, death--and Prime--energy, the substance of -stuff.-"

Trey ughs. "I will never understand why groups insist on turning their claws inward instead of outward. You see it among shifters, too, but it's because most of us have spiritual Rage, and it bubbles over and makes us inhumanly angry as a rule. I'm fortunate -- as a small cat, my Rage is also small, so it doesn't drive people away."

    He drops into silence as Trent explains the Traditions, and their basic structures. "Druids and witches worked magic with blood to draw life from the land. Some of my people's rituals also use blood to draw forth life." He nodnods again and adds, "I find it wiser to find allies where one can, and hope that we can see the same way long enough to accomplish good things, or at least learn things."
    More nodding, and he commits it to memory, the structure of magic. "So each Tradition has one of these Spheres of magic as their... trademark? Their specialty?" Prime, he gets, surprisingly. "Stuff has a spiritual resonance and power, but people don't often realize that. Especially anything handmade."

    "To each a specialty. The Verbena are masters of Life--body magic, healing. Un-healing, when necessary. The sweet science of sleep and repose. Transformation." Trent touches his tooth again, remembering when he'd had cause to sharpen it the other day. "The nature of a thing is more than the thing itself," he nods. "The hands that shaped it and the hands it passed through. Every touch leaving some mark. I study Prime, Life, Spirit, Forces--you saw my limited mastery of Forces in action the other day, turning up the dial on the starlight. I wouldn't risk a shallow trick like that away from my sacred space, but here, reality bends more easily to my needs, and the shadow of Paradox looms less large over what I do."

Trey oooh. "Transformation. You could become a cat if you wanted?" He seems pleased by this. "I think you would like it, it's fun to be a cat." He considers, then admits, with the air of a secret, "I can become other people if I want, for a short time. Even women. I found being a woman very odd, though."

    "Yes, exactly. Anything made by hands that work with skill is the product of the skill, and the hands, both." Another hmm follows, and he says, "You share your sacred space with friends. Does it also have a wellspring of power, like sacred glades do?" This is a tricky question, so he adds, "You understand that I recognize that this place is in your keeping and I do not contest that, yes? I ask out of curiosity to understand, not to challenge you or what is your den."

    "Not yet all the way into a cat," Trent admits grudgingly. "Only partway. I could do the claws, the teeth. I'm a step too low in my understanding to do the full body. But when I can, you'll be the first to know, and you can show me around cat-town. Becoming other people, though, is easy. I could change my hair, my face, my sex, trivially, and permanently, if I felt the need to. But I love my body," he adds, "and don't feel the need to change it -too- much."
    There's a wary pause. "I did...avoid mentioning it last time you were here," he says cautiously. "I've been told that werewolves, at least, can be jealous of places of power. But yes, there is one, at the heart of the garden. We draw on its strength doubtless the same way your kind do."

.

Trey nodnods. "I am fond of my body in all of its forms, even if I am not so tall as I might like, or so strong. I could teach you to Cat, though, and perhaps even the language of cats if your mind can wrap around it. In time, it will come. I can't turn into a tiny cat, like a housecat, though -- I do want to learn that someday, so I can observe unseen." He grins.

    "Yes," he says, suddenly serious. "And I will not be speaking of your place to anyone who does not already know, which means, you and Massa and perhaps Caressa, assuming she knows. The Garou... historically, my people have a bad relationship with the Garou as a whole. The werewolves are the Garou. And they see places of power as theirs to claim and protect. They aren't wholly wrong, but they aren't wholly right, either. I know several, and I do not think they would try to claim this place, but I will not test fate. This secret is yours to keep and tend. You have tended it well, I can see its beauty and health. Yours, and no word of it from me to anyone else. You have my word of Honor."

    "As I am an honest Puck," murmurs Trent with a smile. "I trust you. It is good sometimes to trust easily. Can't forever be hiding everything from everyone all the time. But I'd appreciate your not broadcasting the specifics, yeah. I don't think..." He snorts. "I think when people realize there's an enchanted glade in my back yard they probably -assume- there's a wellspring of magic to be found there, but yeah. The details don't need to be plastered on Nextdoor or whatever.
    "Garou..." he says. "I guess it fits. We hear they call us rude names and take our places from us. I'd just as soon stay away. But...you can't forever be hiding everything from everyone all the time," he repeats.

Trey chuckles, relaxing a bit. "Well, as long as you're not making this place into an AirBnB or whatever, I think you'll be okay. And... I think some things are best to be wary about. At least at the outset. But again... I'm a cat. We tend to watch and wait, most of the time. Not always, as you've seen, but I also am a creature of whim, sometimes." He laughs softly. "Just be wary, Trent. Being open to the world is beautiful, but many beautiful things are also deadly things. I... well, some of them do, yes, but some accept the ones who are respectful of the Mother, at least. It would be best to maintain some distance, my friend, until you are sure of the individual. Garou are pack creatures, not solitary -- they share much that they know. Cats... are not as much so. Choose carefully, is all I would say. Not from fear, but from wisdom."