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1Contents

By Phil Brucato, Brian Campbell, Richard Dansky, Deena McKinney, Kathleen Ryan and Ethan Skemp

It’s not the tale, it’s he who tells it.— Stephen King, Different Seasons

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2 The Book of Mirrors: The Mage Storytellers Guide

© 1997 White Wolf Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. Reproduction without the written permission of the publisher is expressly forbidden, except for the purposes of reviews, and blank character sheets, which may be reproduced for personal use only. White Wolf, Vampire the Masquerade, Vampire the Dark Ages and Mage the Ascension are registered trademarks of White Wolf Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. Werewolf the Apocalypse, Wraith the Oblivion, Changeling the Dreaming, Werewolf the Wild West, Akashic Brother-hood, Ascension’s Right Hand, Axis Mundi the Book of Spirits, Beyond the Barriers the Book of Worlds, Book of the Wyrm, Celestial Chorus, Cult of Ecstasy, Destiny’s Price, Digital Web, Dreamspeakers, Euthanatos, Freak Legion, Halls of the Arcanum, Hidden Lore, Horizon the

CreditsWritten by: Phil Brucato, Brian “Technocracy”

Campbell, Richard “Nephandi” Dansky, Deena “Anatomy” McKinney, Kathleen “Marauders” Ryan and Ethan “Spirits” Skemp

Additional Material by: James Estes Looking Eagle, Ross Issacs, Laurah Norton, Wayne Peacock and John R. Robey

Developer: Phil BrucatoEditors: Ken Cliffe and Ronni RadnerArt Director: Lawrence SnellyLayout and Typesetting: Aileen E. Miles Art: Jason Felix, Richard Kane Ferguson, Michael Gay-

dos, Mark Jackson, Robert MacNeil, Heather J. McKinney, Alex Sheikman, Ron Spencer

Front Cover Art: Jason FelixFront and Back Cover Design:

DedicationsTo Aaron Allston, whose Strike Force, Ninja Hero

and Lands of Mystery set new standards for gamemasters everywhere;

To the VCU Gamesmasters ‘82-’85, and to Grey Beek-er, Bill and John Bridges, Bob Busch, Chris Gibbin, Doug Lemmon, Shadow Lied, Judith McLaughlin, Libbi Miller, John and Laurie Robey, Jennifer Starling-Shirley, Lee Watts, Greg Wilkenson and Ehrik Winters, for showing Phil how — and how not — to run RPGs;

To the Hard Rock Cabal (Darrell Autrey, Deena McK-inney, Keith Martin, Stewart MacWilliam, Wayne Peacock and “Susan Pradha”), for putting their pastime up for display;

To the Maicon gang (Basel, Christian, Isabelle, Jean-Marc, Louise, Marc-Andre, Yaks, the Martins and all the rest), for being wonderful hosts;

To Sam Chupp, for the title of this book;To Mage players and Storytellers everywhere, and to

Stewart, Steve, Andrew and Bill;…And, yeah, to the old Lake Geneva crowd for setting

the whole mess in motion to begin with.

Stronghold of Hope, Loom of Fate, Love Beyond Death, Mage Chronicles I, Mage Screen First Edition, Mage Tarot, Order of Hermes, Sons of Ether, Technocracy It-eration X, Technocracy NWO, Technocracy Progenitors, Technocracy Syndicate, Technocracy Void Engineers, The Book of Chantries, The Book of Crafts, The Book of Madness, The Book of Mirrors, The Book of Shadows, The Chaos Factor, The Fragile Path, Vampire Players Guide, Verbena, Virtual Adepts, Werewolf Players Guide and World of Darkness Outcasts are trademarks of White Wolf Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. All characters, names, places and text herein are copyrighted by White Wolf Publishing, Inc.

The mention of or reference to any company or product in these pages is not a challenge to the trademark or copyright concerned.

This book uses the supernatural for settings, characters and themes. All mystical and supernatural elements are fiction and intended for entertainment purposes only. Reader discretion is advised.

Check out White Wolf online athttp://www.white-wolf.com; alt.games.whitewolf

and rec.games.frp.storytellerPRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

735 Park North Blvd. Suite 128Atlanta, GA 30021USAW h i t e W o l f

G a m e S t u d i o

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3Contents

ContentsPrelude 4

Introduction: Smoke and Mirrors 8

Chapter One: Anatomy of a Chronicle 12

Chapter Two: The Storyteller’s Corner 42

Chapter Three: Behind the Scenes of the Ascension War 62

Chapter Four: Supporting Cast 102

Chapter Five: Alternate Chronicle Settings 124

Chapter Six: Observations from the Field 140

Appendix: Indices 154

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4 The Book of Mirrors: The Mage Storytellers Guide

Prelude

the coaster through the half-empty glass. The image wavers with the sloshing beer, clears at last, and in one corner of the sodden, pulpy cardboard she reads:

OUTLEFTLEFTDOOR BY RAINBARRELThe young Euthanatos drains the glass, grimaces bit-

terly, and leaves without acknowledging the bartender’s friendly good-bye.

Ω Ω Ω“Come on in here. Hurry.”Amanda squints into the shadows of the warehouse,

reluctant to obey the whisperer. She sees nothing. Hesitating barely half a second, she puts her faith in Mitzi — Senex’s lieutenant, who plucked her out of deep space to send her here — and darts through the open door.

“Stand away, I’m closing it.” Louder now, the voice is high-pitched and girlish. The speaker continues compan-ionably. “Just push through the blackout curtains — I hope you’re not allergic to felt — they’re a little on the ancient side, but they do the job.”

Amanda untangles herself, lets her eyes adjust. To the right, toward the main street entrance, an old jeep on bricks huddles next to partially dissected street cycles and Etherbykes. To the left, a cinderblock wall covered by tires, belts and hoses shelters a cracked wooden door marked

By Kathleen Ryan

Amanda slides one weary hip onto the edge of the bar stool and leans over the brass rail with her hair in her bloodshot eyes. “I’m looking for a room,” she says, her voice grating like a rusty hinge.

The bartender shakes his head and keeps mixing drinks. “No vacancies. Sorry.”

“The Yama Kings sent me.”The man behind the counter looks up.

He is fairly young, but his tanned face is deeply lined, and his sandy-blond hair grizzled. His heavy brows furrow, and he bites his mustached lip impatiently. “I don’t care who sent you, lady. You see that sign?” He gestures across the crowd with an empty shot glass. “It says ‘No Vacancies.’ ‘No vacancies’ means we haven’t got any rooms. Okay?”

Amanda frowns. Angry, disappointed, aching, hunted, she needs a safe house desperately, and the bartender at the Steel Horse on Shangri-La is her only contact, her only hope. He meets her eyes, and his craggy forehead softens.

“Look, now. Sorry about that.” He throws a coaster down in front of her and reaches for a beer tap. “Have one on me. I hate to send a customer away unhappy.”

She drinks, and the pale brew stings her cracked, dry lips and burns in her empty stomach. Amanda sets the heavy glass mug down, staring blankly into its depths. As the alcohol hits her, she feels her back and shoulders relax, and a little of the pain goes away. After a long time, her eyes focus again, and she sees the warped and blurry colors of

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“Office.” Three or four halogen lights strung at odd angles glare off of a two-story, chromed-steel junkpile ahead of her. She stares, wondering which way it will eventually fall.

“Nice, isn’t she?”Eyebrow raised doubtfully, Amanda turns to face her

host. Teenaged, overalled, smiling, the girl whips the ban-danna off her short, curly, light-brown hair and wipes her face and hands with it. The black grease marks disappear; now the grime coats her pale, freckled face evenly.

“We still don’t know what we’re going to call her. I kinda like the ‘Lookfar’ or the ‘D.D. Harriman,’ but the rest of the gang all want…”

Amanda says nothing.The girl sighs. “Right. Follow me.”

Ω Ω ΩThe room has no windows. Door, bed, nightstand,

wardrobe, sink, desk, chair all suffer in the light of one na-ked overhead bulb. Paint peels from the wood. The enamel in the sink is chipped and stained. The plaster ripples and cracks from old drips in the ceiling.

Washed, healed, dry-clad, her hair still wet from dye-ing, Amanda stretches out on the old iron four-poster bed, inspecting her meager supplies. Spare clothes, a little food, her disguise kit, towel, another jar of Mitzi’s healing salve, extra knives, a loaded gun and three marked clips… and a letter from her teacher she hasn’t had the heart to open yet.

She packs it all into leather saddlebags and crams the old clothes, jacket, bag and boots into the sink. The young Euthanatos slips a knife out of its sheath, concentrates, eyes closed, on the heap. Once, twice, many times the old bowie’s blade pricks at the fabric, the leather, the rubber heels of the boots. After what seems like hours, she opens her eyes and opens the taps. A thin stream of rusty water washes the pile of dust down the drain.

Amanda lies back, the letter in one hand, her knife in the other, and falls asleep.

Ω Ω Ω“I’m still not sure about this. I could lose my job, you

know.”The words carry only faintly through the door, but

the slumbering assassin is on her feet and wary before she realizes what woke her. Amanda swaps Senex’s letter for the gun. Barefoot, soundless, taking cover behind the wardrobe…

Three quiet knocks.“Ma’am?” Amanda recognizes the voice of the girl from

the warehouse. “Ma’am? I don’t mean to bug you, but there’s kind of a problem. Um, a friend of mine is here to see you. I know you probably don’t want visitors, but he says it’s really important.”

Amanda sighs, reaches around for the knob of the dresser door and pulls. It creaks open. Simultaneously,

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