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Reality is a lie invented by a technocratic enemy who has written history to it's liking. The truth is magic'ae the universe can be crafted with a simple working of your will. Mages have taught this truth throughout the ages, but the proponents of technology have crushed the mystic masters. Join the last stand in the war for reality. Mage: The Ascension places you in the midst of supernatural intrigues and inner struggles. The more secrets you learn, the more important your wisdom and power become. Mage drags spirituality and metaphysics screaming through the streets of a postmodern nightmare. Tradition Books contain vital character information for players and Storytellers.
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Werewolf: The Apocalypse is about anger over the loss of what the shapeshifting Garou hold dearest: Gaia, the Earth itself. Corruption from without and within has caused the destruction not only of the Garou's environment, but also of their families, friends and culture, which extends in an unbroken line to the very dawn of life. No matter how righteously the Garou hold themselves, no matter how they prey on their destroyers, the corruption spreads. Now the time for reconciliation is past. This grave insult against Gaia can end in only one way: blood, betrayal... and rage. The Storyteller screen and reference for Werewolf: The Wild West.
Frederick Marryat was one of the pioneers of the sea novel, and a major influence on writers such as Joseph Conrad and Ernest Hemingway. In his day, his short fiction was wildly popular, and 'The White Wolf of the Hartz Mountains' remains widely anthologised. Many of the horror stories of monsters and ghouls, particularly those dating back to the 1900s and before, are now extremely scarce and increasingly expensive. We are republishing these classic works in affordable, high quality, modern editions, using the original text and artwork.
What are we? The Damned childer of caine? The grotesque lords of humanity? The pitiful wretches of eternal hell? We are vampires, and that is enough. I am a vampire, and that is far more than enough. I am that which must be feared, worshipped and adored. The world is mine -- now and forever. No one holds command over me. No man. No god. No prince. What is a claim of age for ones who are immortal? What is a claim of power for ones who defy death? Call your damnable hunt. We shall see whom I drag screaming to hell with me. Secret rules and powers for this hidden sect.
Werewolf: The Apocalypse is about anger over the loss of what the shapeshifting Garou hold dearest: Gaia, the Earth itself. Corruption from without and within has caused the destruction not only of the Garou's environment, but also of their families, friends and culture, which extends in an unbroken line to the very dawn of life. No matter how righteously the Garou hold themselves, no matter how they prey on their destroyers, the corruption spreads. Now the time for reconciliation is past. This grave insult against Gaia can end in only one way: blood, betrayal... and rage. A complete reference to the savage and deadly weresharks.
Then Snorri let lower his boat, and was rowed towards her; and, coming alongside, gave a hail, which was unanswered. But from the frozen pile by the tiller there stuck out a man's arm, ghastly to see. Snorri climbed on board by the waist, where her sides were low and a well reached aft from the mast to the poop. There was a cabin beneath the poop, and another and larger room under the deck forward, between the step of the mast and the bows. Into each of these he broke with axes and bars, and in the one found nothing but some cooking-pots and bedding; but in the otherÑthat is, the after-cabinÑthe door, as he burst it in, almost fell against a young man seated by a bed. So life-like was he that Snorri called aloud in the doorway, but anon, peering into the gloomy place, perceived the body to be frozen upright and stiff, and that on the bed lay another body, of a lady slight and young, and very fair. She, too, was dead and frozen; yet her cheeks, albeit white as the pillow against which they rested, had not lost their roundness. Snorri took note also of her dress and of the coverlet reaching from the bed's foot to her waist, that they were of silk for the most part, and richly embroidered, and her shift and the bed-sheets about her of fine linen. The man's dress was poor and coarse by comparison; yet he carried a sword, and was plainly of gentle nurture. The sword Snorri drew from its sheath and brought away; also he took a small box of jewels; but little else could he find on the ship, and no food of any kind. His design was to leave the ship as he found it, carrying away only these tokens that his story, when he arrived at Brattahlid, might be received with faith; and to direct where the ship might be sought for. But as he quitted the cabin some of his men shouted from the deck, where they had discovered yet another body frozen in a drift. This was an old man seated with crossed legs and leaning against the mast, having an ink-horn slung about his neck, and almost hidden by his grey beard, and on his knee a book, which he held with a thumb frozen between two pages. This was the book which Snorri had brought to Brattahlid, and which the Bishop of Garda read aloud to him that same afternoon, translating as he went; the ink being fresh, the writing clerkly, and scarcely a page damaged by the weather. It bore no title; but the Bishop, who afterwards caused his secretary to take a copy of the tale, gave it a very long one, beginning: "God's mercy shown in a Miracle upon certain castaways from Jutland, at the Feast of the Nativity of His Blessed Son, our Lord, in the year MCCCLVII., whereby He made dead trees to put forth in leaf, and comforted desperate men with summer in the midst of the Frozen Sea" . . . with much beside. But all this appears in the tale, which I will head only with the name of the writer.