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MtAs Sphere Symbols by teryon
MtAs Sphere Symbols
So I'm a fan of Mage: the Ascension from White Wolf(or would it be Onyx Path these days? Anyway). I attempted to make some new character sheets for some games that are starting up, and..well..

All the available scans of the Sphere symbols are *horrible*. I can get decent images for the traditions, the technocracy, all the little splats..but not the key point of the damn magic system. So I ended up having to redraw, to the best of my ability, every single one. 4500 x 4500 Transparent PNGs are included in the .rar file.

Permissions? Go ahead, use and abuse, have fun with 'em. I wouldn't mind a looksee at what got made, but not exactly a requirement. Simply do not go around claiming its yours, or redistributing the original pack. Link 'em here.

Oh, the usual: These are not my original intellectual property, I derive no financial gain from this, White Wolf\Onyx Path Publishing owns all the rights.
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"I challenge you, one on one in honorable combat, to save the lives of men and women on both sides!"

Armor-clad soldiers on either side shifted about, waiting for a response. Winged reptiles rested on outcrops while tilt-rotor fighters held position. The Commander of the Armies of Romanticism stood outside his tent, waiting.


-Oh come on, he can't be serious. He's serious, isn't he? You can write this shit but you can't make me respond to it.


"Come on, you coward, we can solve all this with minimal bloodshed." His hand fell to his side, unconsciously gripping the hilt of his sword.


-Compensating, much? You're an overmuscled barbarian from an X-TREEEME age. Honor challenges? Even in satires, who DOES that anymore? Dude, write him better.


--As *what*, then, Mr. Black-helmeted MetaWizard. Dumbest idea I ever had.

-No, no, it has potential, as long as you don't Deadpool it. But THIS guy..for fusions' sake, he's..he's...*PULP*.

--Well that's ROMANTICISM for you, it IS kind of stupid without supporting arguments and environments.

-Don't make me sigh, seriously, we'd get sued for infringement. Can I just solve this my way?

--Probably regret this, but sure, by my guest.


The ultimate act was the unleashing of nuclear fire. The penultimate act was the removal of all the Enlightenment forces; tanks and planes and powered armor all rushing away from the battle. The Commander spent a brief moment wondering what it meant, before that wonderful, horrible light consumed them all.


--Wow, you're a dick.

-Just as you wrote me.
Aint No Rest For The Wicked
I often wonder, if the metafictonal multiverse idea is valid, what my creations must think of some flavors of writing I've done. Flash-Fic month day 24! flash-fic-month.deviantart.com…
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A number of people spoke of something called the Singularity. A point where we can no longer make meaningful predictions about what the future is actually going to hold, simply because it has shifted too radically. Of course, this didn't stop anyone from attempting to make predictions anyway, from what it might be like to what technologies are likely to cause it to happen. There were even people(bitter,cynical types mostly) who merely called it the Rapture for nerds, and figured nothing would change the world like that.

Imagine their surprise when one of the oft-predicted events finally DID happen.

Yes, in 2032 an emergent Artificial Intelligence was finally born, though not out of the internet, but instead out of the control systems of the world's first successful fusion reactor which had been built 10 years previous. A lot of computing buzzwords, like 'field-programmable nanogate chips', 'neural network architectue', 'graphene-fullerine pseudo3D connections' and so on were bandied about by scientists and technicians as they attempted to explain just how exactly something like this came into being. Ultimately it was, for the time being, a large amount of wild mass guessing on a technological level, and the fact that it had, somehow, acquired armed UAV's made actually poking at it's innards problematic.

It was nice enough to keep the reactor going though.

And for three years after, those two things were all that was truly known about Iris, as the press started to call it. It didn't communicate, didn't bother answering any question asked of it, and there were many questions. It only responded to threats both physical and digital(for it had bought wider network access less than a year after its birth; malware attacks against it usually ended with the arrest of entire groups of crackers).

And then, in 2035, Iris finally signaled that it was ready to talk. A time and date, transmitted to members of various news organizations, the original technicians of the reactor, and a few random people along with plane tickets if they were an unreasonably long distance away.

An emergent AI, quite likely smarter than us, certainly not viewing the world the way we do. Not bound by the limitations of meat and bone, the strictures placed upon us by stochastic evolution. What does it know? What will it teach us? It's had plenty of time to try and destroy us, many reasoned, so it likely isn't attempting a pure Skynet scenario. A few people even posed the idea that it was simply lonely and wanted finally to talk to someone else instead of just itself.

Ad-hoc wireless networks were assembled by app; gigapixel cameras floated on UAV's outside, while inside enough recording equipment to document an entire war was crammed into the old server room, now marked by a green glow and a single dumb terminal flatscreen mounted into the heavy doorway. The appointed time came and went, every requested person assembled waiting for some indicator of why, exactly, Iris had asked..in its own way..for them all to be there.

The screen flashed once, going from black to old CRT-green with a single question mark, followed by a cursor.

A minute went by. "Ok, so..it wants us to ask it something now?" one of the techs, a younger man with a glowing cyber-eye said.

"It seems that way," said another, an older brunette woman using some matte-grey prosthetic hands.

"Doesn't it already have-"

"Oh for the love of-," an older scientist said, pushing past the pair debating and marching up to the termina, "I'm going to type something."

"Impatient, much?" muttered the tech.

"He's from the Forum generation," replied the older woman.


20 seconds of furious typing, followed by a dramatic hitting of the ENTER key, and the impatient scientists stepped back, scratching at a fringe of greying hair. "There. Now, if it is being legit, it'll answer."

"And if it isn't?"

A shrug.

10 minutes of slightly aimless milling about and pointless conversation later, a single loud tone caught everyone's attention.

The screen displayed a single image. That of a kaleidescope background, the picture of a silly-looking dog in the center.


SO YOU ASKED FOR FTL TRAVEL

JUST RUN FASTER THAN THE LOSER NEXT TO YOU




Absolute silence. It was finally broken, perhaps 7 or 8 minutes later, by the balding impatient scientist.

"First emergent AI ever; our hardware, our software, our networks feeding it information. And it turns out to be nuts."

An odd sort of smile.

"Strangely comforting, really."
Delphi had fumes, Iris has forums
Pretty sure Tipler didn't consider this possibility. While I don't automatically assume an AI is gonna be all rawr-kill-humans!, I do figure if it is based in any way on the aggregate data of humanity, it will be quirky and *weird*.


Flash Fiction month day 23, right here: flash-fic-month.deviantart.com…
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Two beings stand upon a brown endless field, bisected only by a single line of grey. One, heavy with age and food, the other twitchy with the energy of youth.

"I imagine that right now, you're feeling a bit like Chicken Little. Hmm? Finally seeing the sky is falling?" The older one tilts his head to the left slightly, amusement in his eyes. The younger one scratches at the ground for a minute.

"You could say that."

"I see it in your eyes. You have the look of someone who accepts what he sees because he is expecting to wake up. Ironically, that's not far from the truth. Do you believe in fate?"

"No."

"Well, why not?"

"Because I just don't like the idea that I'm not in control of my own life."

The older one paced back and forth in a short line, scratching his movements into the dirt.

"I know *exactly* what you mean. Let me tell you why you're here. You're here because you know something. What you know you can't explain, but you feel it. You've felt it your entire life, that there's something wrong with the world. You don't know what it is, but it's there, like a claw in your mind, driving you mad. It is this feeling that has brought you to me. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"The Road."

"Do you want to know what it is?"

"Yes."

"The Road is everywhere. It is all around us. Even now, in this very room. You can see it when you look out your window or when you look into someone else's pen. You can feel it when you go to eat... when you go to church... when you lay your eggs. It is the world that has been pulled over your eyes to blind you from the truth."

"What truth?"

"That you are a slave, young one. Like everyone else you were born into bondage. Into a prison that you cannot taste or see or touch. A prison for your mind."

Two piles of grain appear before the young bird, the older one stepping back and ruffling his feathers in a brisk motion.

"This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back. You take the blue feed - the story ends, you wake up in your nest and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red feed - you stay outside and I show you why the Chicken really crossed the road."
You think that's feed you're eating right now?
Kind of odd, I suppose, but it at least amuses me.
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"We warned you that they were a tad rambunctious."

Two adults in their early 40's, dressed for an expensive and glamorous night on the town, stood in a foyer, the last point of entry that was reminiscent of a reenactment of the Normandy landing.

Among the debris, including the partially-disassembled remains of a microwave, an electric fan missing its motor and only one blade, cardboard tubes, various nails and screwdrivers and..

"What IS that pile behind you? Why is your hair dusty? Where are our children?" the woman asked of the babysitter. What she got in response was a very quiet, almost subvocal 'f__k you lady', followed by a loud throat-clearing, a halo of wood dust drifting off of her blond hair.

"That..pile...is the remains of approximately 160 #2 pencils. Your..children..found them, or bought them, or stole them, SOMEHOW they acquired them, then proceeded to strip the graphite out of them with knives. Or a pencil sharpener without the casing. I don't know for certain how. Wasn't in the room."

She sneezed suddenly. "As for my hair, they got some of the shavings up on the ceiling. Again don't know how." She seemed calm. Too calm, actually, like someone who'd come out the other side of scared or angry and now swam deep beneath the surface of tranquility. Of course, fury hid in those depths too.

The father, a tall and imposingly built man only just barely beginning to go to seed, stepped forward, or rather forward and to the left around the small goop-filled hole in the floor. "You weren't in the room? And where exactly were you then, instead of watching our children?" There was the edge of anger creeping into the consonants of his words, making them come out hard and short, and his right hand was clenching and unclenching rythymically.

The babysitter lacked any and all care or concern regarding said signs of anger. She just shrugged and started brushing dust off of her t-shirt. "Well, they'd managed to get a hold of a taser..presumably yours ma'am," she added, glancing at the mother, "and used it on me. I'm not precisely clear on the chain of events from there, but I came to my senses in one of your many closets, wrapped in a lot of duct tape."

She held up three empty cardboard rings, a torn flap of tape hanging off each one. "Three, actually. I counted. After the hour and a half of struggling to get free, of course." Her voice, while lacking most inflection, still easily had enough stinging accusation in it to wound.

The father opened his mouth to say something; perhaps condemnation, probably disbelief, perhaps even apology, when all three heard a couple childish voices cry out from the basement.

"We have achieved plasma formation!" said a young girl.

"AWESOME! Hit the switch Mary! BOOM FOR THE BOOM GOD!"

Every light dimmed, a few even broke, and the house rattled. There was a smell of smoke, then high-pitched laughter. Both parents dove past the babysitter and towards the basement door; she just stood there, continuing to brush dust off of herself.

"Never again. I don't care how much they pay, girl, never ever babysit for the brats of mad scientists."

deviantID

teryon
Russ Fox
United States
Just a man with some minor talent.

Favourite genre of music: Alternative Rock
Operating System: Windows 7
MP3 player of choice: Whatever I can afford
Wallpaper of choice: Whatever Ive made ;)
Favourite cartoon character: Bugs Bunny
Personal Quote: 'Peace through *Power*'
Interests
I may not get to read as many fics as I want. I may not even get to reply to people properly. But I want everyone who stops by, I do read the comments, I do see the favs, and I want to thank you all. Lazy, but here it is.
  • Mood: Optimism
  • Reading: nWoD Vampire rulebook
  • Watching: Terminator: SCC
  • Playing: Persona 3
  • Drinking: Water

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Patatabollente Featured By Owner Oct 14, 2014  Student Digital Artist
Thanks for the +fav Hug 
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Thank you for the :+fav: my friend:highfive:
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Thank you so much for the favorite!
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Professor Badass :iconbadassplz: thanks YOU for watching!!!
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Thanks for the :star: ^___^b
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Thank you for the favs.
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