Unspoken, the promise dies stillborn. This is what they have chosen. This is the fate they have invited us to forge for them. This is the path to peace and unity. Long days have I struggled, my brothers and sisters, and now we stand upon the edge of victory. We have given them leave to play the games of state, and they have served us admirably, rearing many fine lambs to sate our hunger. Let us feast, then, for the time of celebration is nigh...

　— The Unnamed, First among the Fallen, addressing the council of the Aswadim

　What if reality's slow, inexorable slide into decay picks up some steam and the Nephandi find themselves poised to attain victory over Creation itself? Just as Ascension can, theoretically, be achieved by humanity as a whole, so, too, can Descent. But what happens when the Consensus betrays the promise of its own inner divinity? What happens when mankind chooses darkness over light, death over life?

Killing Creation

　This is the endgame, when the stakes are high and the prize is the fate of everything. Despite what anyone might believe, the Nephandi currently have the upper hand in the War for Reality. They need only prod here and guide there, and they will be in the position soon enough to sunder hope itself and scatter its ashes in a cold, meaningless tomb.

　If you choose to walk this way, be careful. You are about to betray everything you ever believed about the Ascension War and humanity's place in the world of the Awakened. Are you still reading? Good, because this is more than just the story of Ascension's most terrible and merciless enemies. It is the tale of humanity's weakness and the dismal failure of the Awakened to champion the cause of enlightenment and give Ascension to the Sleepers.

　But where to begin?


The Futility of Sacrifice

　One of the most critical (and counterintuitive) things to do in portraying the End is to demonstrate that, sometimes, fighting - and even dying for - the Good Fight makes no difference. Sometimes, a heroic end is futile and pointless - a light extinguished in the dark that inspires no one and leaves only despair in the wake of its passing. Whole cabals of mages will make heroic last stands and die without accomplishing anything. Friends, allies and the characters' loved ones will die or even fall to corruption (without the chance of redemption), and no one will be able to prevent it from happening.


Storytelling Hopelessness

　Of course, no one wants to play a game with no themes beyond relentless depression, failure and misery. There is great potential for amazing roleplaying within the context of a losing battle (just look at the premise of Werewolf: The Apocalypse), but players want to feel as though their characters' actions can and do make a difference.

　Unless you believe that your players would be perfectly comfortable with the notion of a character dying or otherwise falling for no good reason and without even the chance of getting something worthwhile out of that sacrifice (and there are players out there who would be all right with this), try to at least bestow some meaning and, perhaps, a kernel of hope and possibility in the demise or corruption of any character. Even if it is something that cannot be realistically capitalized upon during the character's lifetime, the sense that those who will carry on the fight in the future might be able to glean some strength from the characters' loss can help allay the sense of disappointment that comes with an unpleasant end for someone's character.


No Mercy, No Quarter: The Heroism of Desperation

　Now, it is important to remember that, despite the fact that so many sacrifices will go unnoticed in the eternal night of Descent, there should be meaningful victories, even in the midst of defeat and great loss. Those with the will, the conviction, the power and the savvy can strike telling blows against the Nephandi, even as the world literally goes to hell. Though these inspiring souls might not be able to turn back the tide, or even lead others to do so, they will leave legends that echo down through generations, proving that, as long as there is life, there is hope.

　Indeed, during "Hell on Earth," many Traditions will fall almost entirely, leaving only a scattered few stragglers to carry on the fight. Those Traditions most willing to die to a man (the Akashic Brotherhood, Celestial Chorus, Euthanatoi and Order of Hermes) are apt to get just such a fate. (Indeed, the Order falls in Chapter III, but other Traditions might also meet their doom during the periods of time provided in "Hell on Earth," during which you can unleash your own plots and subplots.) In such a case, perhaps any of your characters who are members of those Traditions become literally the only survivors of those Awakened mystic paradigms (save perhaps for a handful of barabbi).

　Other, more individualistic, Traditions are more likely to put up a disorganized resistance in places and to simply look for cover in others, though you shouldn't hesitate to skew what the players expect is dramatically appropriate. (A daring final stand by a truly unified Dreamspeaker Tradition, for example, can be a painfully poignant moment.) Still, just as heroism knows no gender, race, religion or creed, it knows no Tradition (or even Convention). Anyone with the will to fight can make a stand and, with sufficient skill and conviction, a difference. It is important to satisfy expectations of both pointless and heroic sacrifice in the Fall, so that mages can never be sure if their own sacrifices will mean anything, but they know that torment and even death can have meaning.


Men of Dust

　Above all else, it is important to portray Descent as much a product of humanity's failure (on the part of the Sleepers and the Awakened alike) as it is the result of Nephandi success, if not more so. Descent can result only when the overwhelming majority of the human race loses all concern for the world, the people in it, the sanctity of the human soul and the possibility of something better. Only a feast of apathy and spiritual atrophy can produce victory for the Fallen. In many ways, Descent will come about because humanity deserved nothing better, because it chose to die, rather than to feel, try or care.

　Don't forget to illustrate the human hubris, selfishness and folly that earn mankind the sentence of Descent. As the haves step over the have-nots in the street (with perhaps only a snide "Get a job" to indicate any awareness that a sentient being is slumped in the gutter); as the weak and innocent are preyed upon in mind, body and spirit by the malevolent strong; as hope is drowned amidst a sea of layoff, sex scandals and conflicts born of political ambition and the desire for profit; as people do nothing to reverse this tide it becomes clear how all of this came to pass. The Traditions are fighting an admirable battle, but they are doing so for a human race that has, for the most part, not done much to warrant such support.

　Every faction on every side of the Ascension War fights for something, but the Sleepers, who are both the battlefield and the object of contention, by definition, stand for nothing special. Without any kind of spiritual forcefulness or conviction to their existence, they become the primary architects of Descent. While the Nephandi profit by it and grow fat on its spoils, it is - and only could ever be - the un-Awakened who give the Fallen the strength and the power to make it happen, by dint of their own withering souls.



Where Shadows Run Thick and The Walls Grow Thin

　As the End approaches, the worlds of flesh and spirit begin to grow closer and the Gauntlet shudders, preparing to give up the ghost. In a scenario where the glorious redemption of Ascension is nigh, this will be a frightening though ultimately rewarding time. In a world caught in the throes of Descent, however, such a merger of planes is an occurrence to be dreaded. The corruption and degradation of the material world is reflected bodily in the Umbrae, and all that is darkest and most loathsome in humanity is free to incarnate.

　The "brighter" aspects of the various Umbrae will be devoured almost entirely by the final darkness. Doubtless, the Penumbra will be the first place to succumb completely, growing fetid with spiritual taint before bleeding into the physical world through the dissolving Gauntlet. Whole realms will probably follow suit, and the world's Awakened will need to begin making hard choices. As the reflection, among other things, of human hopes and dreams, the Umbrae are indisputably worth at least attempting to save, but can it be done? Is there enough time left to try? Is it better to seek to abandon Earth for the Umbra or vice-versa? These are painful choices and, in the Fall, there are no easy (and maybe even no correct) answers.


The Avatar Storm

　In the Fall, the Avatar Storm plays an entirely different role than the one envisioned in the more "standard" Mage cosmology. Just prior to the fall of the Gauntlet, Fallen magic unleashes this nightmare torrent upon Sleeper and Awakened alike, a singular moment of untold worldwide destruction. The rent and tattered souls become a new kind of widderslainte Avatar when the worlds of flesh and spirit bleed together. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that the spirit-shards even bond with Nephandi to become the Fallen equivalent of Anakim, a new nobility among the damned.

The Tenth Sphere and The March to Armageddon

　Virtually every Mystic Tradition, Technocratic Convention and Disparate Craft has its own pet theory on what, exactly, constitutes the "Tenth Sphere." These ideas have ranged from Self to the Unified Field Theory to the much-touted Unity. All of these theories were well-thought-out, diligently researched and actively propounded.

　Of course, all of them were also wrong.

　The Tenth Sphere does not exist. There is no "final truth" that leads to perfection, no easy answer to the innumerable problems that have plagued humanity since it first looked to the world and knew that something more could be. It would be convenient if there were, but Creation rarely conforms to expectations and certainly doesn't go out of its way to make things make sense for the human race. It was up to the Awakened to reconcile these paradoxes for themselves but, instead of accepting that Reality makes its own rules, they made up stories and convinced themselves over the course of generations and centuries that those stories were true. In the case of the Traditions, many did so ln order to lay claim to the Tenth Seat at Horizon, the one that mysteriously appeared years ago, before the devastation of the Reckoning. This delusion made them easy prey for a cunning hunter, for the Tenth Seat belonged to one and one alone, and none could challenge his dominion over it.



Master of The Tenth Seat

　Over the course of millennia, he has worn many names. In medieval Europe, they called him the Black Man, patron of witchcraft and devil-worship. (Some believed that he was the Devil.) In the Arabic world, where he abided for many years in days long ago, he went by the name of al-Aswad, the name he gave to those who followed after him as Fallen Oracles. To the Sumerians, he was Ut-Napishtam, the primordial man who was chosen by the gods to survive the Great Flood and was thereafter granted immortality but made to abide apart from all lesser creatures. ln truth, he was all these things and none, the anointed champion of the darkness from beyond Creation, and his True Name is lost to the deep memory of time. Perhaps the most far-thinking human being ever to exist, he was chosen not for his power or his knowledge - for with life enough a man might develop these qualities - but instead for his wisdom, patience and sense of strategy. The gods who raised him up remembered being outcast from the endless shadow in which they abided, shoved away by the hateful presence of something new - existence. They looked on it and were pained by jealousy, for they, though powerful and terrible, could never truly be. That privilege was reserved for all that existed within the hateful light.

　Still, these elder things were cunning and resourceful, and they knew many secret paths into Creation, the furrows they had left when they were fragmented and greatly lessened in power through their forceful expulsion. Shards of themselves, the barest fractions of their essence, they poured into the world, seeking those who could hear them and be moved by them. At last, one living thing heard and answered.

　What began was a dialogue, perhaps the first bargain forged between man and spirit (if spirits they could be rightly called, who were the avatars of all that which did not exist and yet hungered and hated). In exchange for his aid in helping the elder darkness to achieve being within Creation, they would exalt him above all other creatures. The man sealed the covenant by sacrificing his Name. Carving it upon a stone, he cast his Name into a fire and, as the stone blackened, so too did his skin, his hair and even his eyes, becoming like unto pitch. The shattered fragments of the One who had driven out the elder darkness saw this and were terrified. Acting in fear, these shards descended through the planes, from their high places of power, to unite in just the same fashion with other mortal men. The one who was Nameless, grown much in awareness through his pact, felt this change and, inwardly, he laughed. The so-called "Pure Ones" had sown the seeds of their own destruction.


The Hundred Centuries Campaign Begins

　What began thereafter was the lengthy crusade to set the pieces in place for the final, devastating coup upon reality itself. Some key events in the history of the Awakened and the Sleeping alike were of his artifice; some, but by no means all, most or even many. Instead, he acted as he had to, coming out of seclusion only when necessary and otherwise allowing the evils to which humanity was prone to do his work for him. When he found others who were worthy, he offered them his covenant, transforming them into the incarnate vessels of the Darkness Beyond. Including himself, six in all rallied to his cause, the first six widderslainte, poisoned souls who had infected Creation with its unmaking.

　It would be many years yet before the Hebrews named them the Qlippoths, the shells of the Sephiroth and the embodiments of the "virtues" of the Tree of Death, but they were now the living reflections of all that which dwelled Outside. The Unnamed had his council of lords and ladies, his hands and eyes, just as he was the hands and eyes of those Beyond.

　With clever manipulations, gentle prodding, brutal threats and occasionally a precise application of mind-numbing violence, the six Fallen Oracles, the first Nephandi, worked to sculpt the progression of human history. Still, as the Unnamed himself told the rest, it was important only to guide, rather than force. Men were capable of ruining Creation on their own and needed only the barest direction in doing so. The Unnamed preferred to think of himself as a father, helping his children, all of humanity, to achieve its full, destructive potential.

　So it went, as years became decades, centuries and even millennia. The Unnamed and his fellows watched the rise of Sumer and Egypt, Greece and Rome. All those they found worthy of the "gifts" of their lords, they took to hidden places, the tunnels carved by the ferocious expulsion of those Outside, and anointed them in blood, rending their souls and piecing them back together inside-out. This they did in order to teach their disciples the suffering that the primordial ones had endured, and to flense away their human weakness and failing. Those who were strong emerged changed - cruel, hateful, cunning and powerful. Those who were weak did not emerge at all, having wandered out into the vast labyrinths of those furrows, rotting arteries spiderwebbing through Creation, and met those they would call master. None survived the gnawing hunger of those elder beings.

　Most importantly, the Unnamed established the standards of the Fallen covenant, whereby human beings might accept the Outer Darkness into their souls and thereby become avatars of its power. In fact, through careful bargains with his masters, the Unnamed made it so that he, of all human creatures, would wield control over the very fabric of the Pact. Whether they knew it or not, from that day onward, all Nephandi everywhere would be subject to the will of one alone. Though he sacrificed much in order to make it so, he felt the trials he endured were well worth it, for his lords were vast and terrible beings, not much given to offering their attentions to such small creatures as mortal men. It suited them well to have a caretaker for their menagerie, and the Unnamed, first among their slaves, was perfect for this purpose. In the end, he became the sole arbiter of their good graces and the hand responsible for dispensing their power. Such authority would later serve the Unnamed well.


The World Changes

　As time and times changed, the Unnamed gradually found himself barred farther and farther away from even the most distant shores of Creation. So saturated with his masters' power was he that he was now more a creature of the Void than the Tapestry. Still, he could, when needed, exert his will and walk the dark and forlorn paths of the Earth in order to pass along some shred of hidden and blasphemous knowledge to a promising apprentice of his foul arts. At last, reluctantly, however, he realized that the Fallen Oracles would eventually be all but barred entirely from the world. It was time to pass along the knowledge of the Pact to others, that they might be able to forge the unspeakable bond and deliver unto the Masters their tithe of souls.

　The Unnamed chose several men and women for this purpose and gathered them up in the ruins of Ur. It had been 313 years since the birth of a carpenter's son in Galilee. Twenty in all had he chosen, and all were called to stand before the Unnamed in turn. He stared into the eyes of the others and, by day break, six yet lived, all of them now knowledgeable in the ways of the Pact. Tired beyond reckoning through the great expenditure of energy he had made in order to show these children the secrets of his power, the Unnamed retreated into the Void, there to recuperate and rest. While it would be many decades before he would awaken again and trouble the world of men with his tread, he was joyous in the knowledge of the one secret he kept for himself. No matter what else might happen, his victory was now assured.

　Those who would bend knee to the service of the Unnamed were many and they hailed from many shores. Some called the darkness "Shaitan," "Ildabaoth," "Ahriman" or "Lucifer." They saw those Outside as gods (or, in many cases, as one god) and prayed to them for power. Many, turning away from the rise of the power of Him who was martyred for mankind, embraced the Pact as a means of denying the Cross. Others, who hailed from quarters far removed from Rome, Persia and the other bastions of civilization, came to understand the darkness as a myriad of spirits. Some worshipped it as ghosts, returned from the Underworld to plague the living with their hatred and their jealousy. In the end, the pure adulation of the Void was tarnished, blasphemed by giving Names to that which existed outside of Adam's knowledge and had never been shaped by the Will of his Word.

　So it was that the power of the Fallen diminished even as it grew, for, in Naming their masters, the Fallen gave others the ability to know them and to gain power over them. It was a grievous hurt and one from which the Fallen would not soon recover, but all it really did was prolong the inevitable. The Pure Ones - those who were the scattered remains of the One who had sprung up out of the Nothingness and broken Itself upon the hard armor of those who came Before - began to diminish through the long process of passing themselves along to greater numbers of magi, priests and philosophers. In all things, there was equilibrium and order. This was just as the Unnamed would have it.


The One and The Many

　The only true fear that the Unnamed harbored within his cold heart was that the scattered heirs to the power of the Pure Ones might unite as one and, as their spiritual ancestor had before them, drive the Darkness out, this time with such thoroughness as to bar the Void forever from Creation. As the Unnamed awoke to discover the fractiousness that had overpowered his children, he was enraged and horrified. Further, he looked with great wrath upon the Names they had given and those they had taken upon themselves. Stumbling in the long darkness of their masters' sleep, they had lost their way. Many now had no true sense of what it was they served. Only a few kept alive the essence of the Pact and remembered its lessons. Worst of all, many of them accepted a single Name as their own: Nephandi. The only thing that kept the Unnamed from despair was the change he saw taking place in Rome.

　Magi and philosopher-scientists, unaware that the one thing was the other, and vice-versa, squabbled over their beliefs. They had proven themselves, thankfully, no more wise or understanding than the chattels that were not gifted with the power of Will. Indeed, within his sanctum far beyond the kingdoms of men, he laughed aloud to see them strike at one another and, as he had done unto his initiates, anoint themselves in blood. While his own children had become mired in ignorance, his enemies had become engrossed in petty struggles to prove the superiority of their beliefs. And then, in the midst of this folly, something both miraculous and terrible happened. One magus, pushed beyond grief by the slaughter of his family and apprentices, strode beyond the boundaries of simple Will and into an unfettered madness from which there was no return. He existed, within his own mind, in a world in which his loved ones yet lived, and nothing could make it otherwise for him. Those who tried to show him otherwise were annihilated by his insanity. The Unnamed pondered this occurrence, for such things could be dangerous weapons against his chosen, but it was all but assured that such madmen would never be able to unite with the other willworkers against his cause. So it was, the One had become Many, none of which could find concord with one another. As Rome fell, truly and finally, into the barbarism of the Dark Ages, the Unnamed could not help but feel a great joy.


A Betrayal

　By the point at which the Nephandi stood on the brink of victory during the Second World War, the Unnamed considered himself an entity at least on par with many of the very beings he served. Over time, newcomers had stuck their noses where, in his estimation, they did not belong. Such unfortunate happenings had always been turned to his advantage, however. The conclusion of World War ll was just such an event.

　With the Nephandi strong and growing stronger, it seemed that even the temporary alliance of the Traditions and Technocracy combined was insufficient to the task. Still, at the seeming moment of their victory, the Nephandi lost their powers, their prayers and supplications falling upon deaf ears. Many potential answers have been put forward in the years sense, ranging from the sage to the ludicrous, but none was the answer. It was the Unnamed and his Aswadim who laid low the Nephandi that day.

　Why? Because, despite his devotion to the cause, the Unnamed could not bear to be upstaged, especially not by interlopers like the "demons" of the Cross and the evil spirits feared by wild shapechangers who rutted with beasts. Further, he saw the many flaws in their designs. It was a plan of great zeal and little forethought, but such had always been the downfall of the Fallen. Therefore, using his mastery of the Pact, the Unnamed struck at the source of the power of the younger Nephandi, severing the bonds of spirit that tied them to the masters to whom they had sold their souls. When the Traditionalists and Technocrats opened wide that door to the Beyond, he waited on the other side of it, harvesting the ripest and most powerful souls for his own. Others, he slew for their power, harvesting the Quintessence in their bodies and spirits like a sweet honey and storing it for later use. Then, by means of the secret paths known only to those who dwelled in the Outer Dark, he made the long and arduous journey back into Creation, now fattened with many strong Avatars. These he devoured and reconciled within himself, growing in might until he became something more than human, Nephandus or even Oracle.

　Satisfied with all that had transpired, the Unnamed began to walk the Earth again, this time concealing his gifts and offering them to but few. The end was growing close, and he had no wish to offer his Pact to simpletons or madmen. Enough of those were coming into the Power on their own - the unfortunate byproduct of a wasted age.



The Last Few Steps

　Finally, after millennia of struggle, the Unnamed was in the position to win his war. It was, however, no time for celebration. Only a fool counts his enemies slain before he himself has crouched over their cooling corpses and seen their souls escape with their final breaths.


The Taking of Mus

　While the Hermetic College Covenant at Mus seemed like a trivial goal to most of the Fallen, enough of them could be cowed into submission through various emissaries to force them into battle. While the Technocracy fortuitously assaulted the chantry, the Unnamed dispatched his servants to defeat both sides and drive them out. The Fors Collegis Mercuris was important in his endgame, but he could not yet allow any to know how or why, not even his Aswadim. Too much hung in the balance to trust anyone but himself. Even the dark and brooding masters of the Unnamed went uninformed in their fitful deathlike slumber.


The Great Deception

　The board was set, though most of the pieces upon it fancied themselves players. One final play needed to be made. The rest would fall into place on their own. Using the vast power he had harvested from the defeat of the sleeping Nephandi Lords in 1945, the Unnamed transported his own throne into the heart of the Traditions, Horizon itself, as well as opening a vast rift in its landmass. Surely, the foolish children would argue among themselves, each seeking to claim the chair, each trying to expand their power at the expense of their fellows. Sadly, the Traditions proved the Unnamed right and fell to petty bickering.

　Most importantly, though, was the fact that they did not question whence the seat came. The Traditionalists accepted the Throne of the Unnamed into their midst. This would prove most significant, since, in doing so, they essentially invited him into Horizon, indeed, into the heart of Concordia itself. It was a dangerous gambit, for the seal of the Unnamed was graven upon the chair and, by it, the Traditions might know him, but he was confident in his ruse and his power, and he knew that the time for half-measures had passed. It was a perilous gambit, but the Unnamed was quite certain that even the mightiest of Traditions mages would prove unable to decipher the sigil according to anything other than their own pride and self-congratulatory worldviews.

　The Traditions, the only enemies who could conceivably mount a credible offense against the Unnamed, were lost in their own games of state. Even those who touted the Tenth Seat as Unity could not swallow their pride long enough to bring that ideal about by shutting their mouths and letting someone else's beliefs win the day. It was no less than he had expected. Arrogant and contrary to the end, the Traditions would never see the death blow coming.

　As for the Technocracy, the Marauders and the Disparates, the Unnamed spared no time or effort. Such foes were, to his thinking, weak, foolish and clumsy. They would fall when the time came, but no special effort would be devoted to them, so profound was the Unnamed's disrespect for these willworkers.


The Reckoning

　The heavy weight of bleak destiny fell at the waning of the millennium. Masters fell, realms withered and brother turned upon brother. It was, to the thinking of the Aswadim, perfect. Such cataclysms were set in motion by the hubris of other mages. The Fallen needed do nothing to make it happen, though they saw all the signs of it upon the Horizon and laughed with glee to see the hammer finally fall. In a matter of two years, all potential resistance had been crushed, reduced to a pathetic few, incapable of long holding out against the unleashed power of the Unnamed and his Fallen.

　The stars were right. It was time to finish the game.

Chapter I


The Lead-Up

　Before the final chapter is told, the stage must be well and truly set. In the sessions leading up to Descent, remember to portray events as turning darker, more futile and hopeless. Let the mages feel that things are coming apart at the seams due to the failings of Sleeper and Awakened alike. After all, "Hell on Earth" should not come as a total surprise when it begins, so much as it should seem a grim but logical conclusion to Reality's troubles.





Claiming the Prize

　The first phase of the Unnamed's final plan involves the capture of Horizon, there to eventually exploit the powerful Nodes connected to the realm in order to spread the taint of his masters to the farthest reaches of the Earth. Fortunately, little but magic stands in his way. Horizon has been sealed since Lord Gilmore barred all from entry (or exit) by means of powerful wards. The Aswadim, however, are arguably the most powerful individual mages within or without Creation. With a few hours worth of rituals, the Unnamed shatters the seals holding Horizon shut and unleashes a terrible conflagration, killing all spirits and disembodiied mages who yet reside therein.

　Triumphantly, the Unnamed enters into the blasted ruins of Horizon. There, he begins to strip the realm of its Quintessence stockpiles and uses his mastery of the Qlippothic Spheres to send connections back along the ley lines that connect the realm to its anchoring Nodes on Earth, nine of the world's most powerful. Through these channels, he will pour out his corruption and there by defile the Earth. ln the Council Chamber, he sets his left hand upon the Saxum Oculorum (the "Stone of Eyes" which records all that has ever been said within the heart of Horizon) and it burns black, run through with cracks. Closing his eyes and swaying for just a moment, the Unnamed has just absorbed the knowledge of all that has ever transpired within the Council Chamber, the deepest secrets of his greatest enemies.


Signing Off

　The last transmission from the "Rogue Council" is sent from Horizon. Now, the Unnamed feels no need for secrecy, safe within the walls of the most powerful man-made realm ever to exist. Sending his message to the Hierophant of Winds (see "The Other Aswadim," pp.186-187), the Unnamed allows the following message to reach Traditionalists, Disparates, Orphans and even Technocrats, seemingly at random. It is strongly suggested that the characters' cabal (or at least a significant portion of it) be privy to the message as it is transmitted.

　l am the one who came before and shall follow after. I am your father and your destroyer, architect of your destiny. l am him who is come in glory to crush the thrones of the Earth beneath my tread. You have known me by many names, O my children, but you know not the slightest part of my power. Submit to me and know the bounty of my love. Defy me and suffer the agonies of my boundless wrath. It is for you to decide, but choose quickly. The Final Hour is nigh. l wait for you at the heart of your strength.

　Naturally, the Unnamed anticipates that the world's Awakened will come after him in numbers and with great force when "the heart of your strength" is deciphered as meaning Horizon. This is as planned, for it allows his other agents to work in what secrecy they require, while he and the remainder of the Aswadim fend off a new siege upon Horizon.


The Attack

　Naturally, virtually every Tradition mage on Earth, as well as normal number of Technocrats and scattered others, will want to launch an assault against the Aswadim. Battling the Nephandi has, over time, been one of the only things that virtually everyone else can agree upon. Even those who realize that a frontal assault is likely a bad idea don't know what else to do. Hastily, the Traditions convene at the Hermetic House Quaesitor's ancestral chantry in Stuttgart, Germany. Of course, your characters are among those who receive an invitation, by whatever means.

　The council gathered there consists of many of the few remaining earthbound Masters and Adepts, with a larger number of young, less experienced mages on the fringes, as well as the occasional Orphan or Craft mage. Bickering is the order of the day, with none of the power-players in attendance able to sort out for themselves what should be done. As the day wears on, the consensus seems to support an attack upon Horizon, though mages are divided over how best to do so. Finally, three separate forces resolve to enter the realm by various means and there attempt to wrest control of it from the Fallen. Notably, most of those who hold out against this obviously foolhardy plan are the Traditions' most and least experienced willworkers.

　In the midst of this model of poor planning, the characters are taken aside by a hooded and cloaked figure. The individual, a man of seemingly middling years, places an elaborate key into the hands of one character and tells her to "seek the Parma Magica in the ruins of Doissetep." He tells the characters that they must go to Horizon with the ill-fated attackers, there to use the back door found in the Tomb of La Salle (the Hermetic Master who is largely credited with the formation of the Traditions) to enter the Shard Realm of Forces at the site of the annihilated chantry. At that, he walks away and all but disappears. Within seconds, the character can't even remember which direction he went in. All that is left are his instructions and his key.

　The battle at Horizon is fierce and desperate. Let the characters see only as much as they have to in order to get to the tomb. Leave them confused as to what was taking place and with nothing more than the most vague descriptions of those who lay waste to the Traditionalists (and others) present. They seem to be drawn to the tomb and instinctively know where it is (a gift from he who gave them the key). Make the characters sweat a bit in the Shard Realm of Forces, but don't punish them too harshly; they have a lot of hard work coming up.

　Searching through the ruins, one of the characters eventually finds a charred book titled Bonisagus' Parma Magica. A quick glance reveals it to be a text about the quest to unify the Houses of Hermes and that journey's reflection in the formation of the Nine Mystic Traditions; uplifting, perhaps, in better days, but now seemingly useless. No other trace of a "Parma Magica" is to be found among the rubble, and the characters might eventually grow frustrated. Just as the cabal is about to give in to despair, the key given over to one of the mages begins to grow warm and, of its own accord, floats into midair, passing harmlessly through any container it is stored in. The key "unfolds," warping along its spatial axes to become a golden gateway, beyond which a battered but still beautiful realm can be seen. The cabal has an open invite to Balador, courtesy of Akrites Salonikas and Marianna.

Chapter II


The Storm is Loosed

　As the wash of energy from Horizon floods out into the Tellurian, the Unnamed contends with the wills locked within the Avatar Storm. A great instinctive dread hangs within these miserable soul-fragments, a beast's terror at the thought of being forced out of its den. By strictest mental fortitude, the Unnamed "pulls" the Storm out of the Gauntlet and unleashes it upon both the world and the Umbrae at once. Everywhere, people - the Awakened especially - are ravaged by the Storm. Those Awakened who do not have protections against both Prime and Spirit assaults die horribly. Most Technocrats, Orphans and Craft mages perish in agony, flayed to their souls and then into nothingness. Even a majority of Traditionalists, who did not benefit from Salonikas' warning (most of whom would not have heeded it, anyway) die.


The Aegis

　Armed with the knowledge they gleaned from Salonikas' quest and the open gate to Balador, the characters can begin to establish the Aegis (otherwise known as the Greater Pama Magica) that will, hopefully, help a number of the world's Awakened weather the coming storm alive. When they arrive at Balador (causing the gate to collapse behind them), the characters discover that, despite any rumors they have heard or evidence they have seen to the contrary, the Pleasuredome is still very much alive. A Prime matrix (corresponding to Earth's own resonance) has kept the mages here alive and embodied. The "ghost town" of mages-cum-spirits that many recent Umbral travelers have encountered was actually an elaborate illusion created by Marianna and several others at Salonikas' insistence, in order to give the Traditions somewhere secure to retreat to when his visions came true. Marianna approaches, her eyes alight with joy, and kisses the mage holding the book, gently slipping it out of his hands. She smiles broadly and says, "Hopefully, it will be enough."

　At this, Lord Edward Gilmore, standing behind Marianna, takes the book from her, studies it for a moment and then speaks elaborate command words in Enochian, the Order's mystic secret language. He reaches into the book and withdraws a sphere of blinding golden light, which slowly congeals into a small, orichalcum buckler, graven with the sigils of the Spheres. Gilmore looks it up and down and mutters," The Seer was good for his word. It will suffice."

　The shield holds extraordinarily powerful enchantments in it, designed to create a two-way ward with all nine Spheres. Nothing comes in or goes out once the Pama Magica is activated. As trusted confidantes of the Tradition luminaries who are present (Marianna and Gilmore, as well as Senex, Dante and Tasygan), the characters will be asked to help with the preparations. (If they ask what the preparations are for, the characters are told that there's no time to explain and to just please work as quickly and thoroughly as they can. It will all be quite apparent soon.) Huge amounts of Tass have to he fed to the Parma Magica when it is in place, and circles and seals must be placed in the proper configurations. Hermetics and any others with an eye for detail especially will be asked to draw the proper signs on the walls of Balador. Just as the work is finished, the wisdom of Salonikas' counsel is revealed.

　As the Avatar Storm strikes, it is apparent that the Aegis will hold if nothing goes wrong. Of course, something does go wrong. Having defeated the would-be invaders and sensing the flaw in his plan, the Unnamed leaves the other Aswadim to continue with the ritual that keeps the Avatar Storm in flux (and, thus, attacking the worlds of spirit and flesh) and comes to Balador to attend to the Aegis personally. His arrival is heralded by a cataclysmic shaking of the realm's foundations. Some of the Storm slips in, probably killing mages standing just paces away from the characters before dissipating. As this happens, the Unnamed can be seen outside the Aegis, hurling terrible sorceries at it.

　Allow perhaps one character to notice Senex, heaving a sigh, running his gnarled old hands through his gray hair and walking away. If the character attempts to talk to the Old Man, he will gently lay a hand on her shoulder and put her to sleep with a word. Moments later, Senex appears outside the Aegis, behind the Unnamed, where all can see him hold high a dagger and what looks to be a human thighbone. He slashes deeply into the bone, even as the Storm rends and tears his body and spirit, and the Unnamed recoils in obvious pain, ceasing his assault upon the Aegis. The Fallen Oracle's blood seeps from his wounds and hangs in the ether, as though it were floating in microgravity. Some of it strikes the Aegis, which hisses and smokes but holds. The Unnamed does not turn his attentions to Senex but instead resumes his attack on the Aegis. Characters skilled in Prime and/or Spirit might wish to attempt to shore the Aegis up. Allow them to do so. Senex cuts the bone again and this time the Unnamed's left arm dangles limp and useless by his side, his robes soaked in his own blood. Reluctantly, the Unnamed turns from the Aegis to attend to the Old Man.

　At this point, note that nothing will save Senex. This is a battle between Oracles, and the Old Man has chosen to embrace his fate with honor and courage, for the sake of those who must survive him to carry on the fight. The magics they loose are grim and terrible, and both are already badly wounded - Senex by the Storm; the Unnamed by his enemy's sorcery. Sadly, though, the fight is decided before it ever begins. Worn away by the Storm and the Unnamed as one, Senex must eventually fall, ravaged by dark powers until he is unrecognizable as the kindly Old Man. Leaving his foe's body floating there, the Unnamed turns back to the Aegis, looking like he just jumped into a grain thresher and only barely made it out alive. As he gathers his remaining might for one last assault, however, the roiling tempest around him begins to die, its power at last exhausted by the foul enchantments that bound it.

　The Aswadim have just run out of Avatar Storm.

　Showing fear for the first time, aware of the fact that there are Masters and perhaps even an archmage or two within the Aegis, the Unnamed flees, in no shape to take on even the lowliest Initiate. Shortly after the Fallen Oracle departs, the Aegis is dropped (to conserve the remaining stockpiles of Tass) and the Old Man's body is recovered. An enterprising character may grab his long-bladed dagger, which is overlooked by those wishing to give Senex a hero's honors. It is an extremely powerful Wonder and will likely aid the cabal greatly in the dark days to come.


Senex’s Blade
15-pt. Wonder

　This heavy, long-bladed dagger is forged of matte black iron with a grip of bone. Its blade is etched with pictograms that are now worn by time and use to the point of being unrecognizable. After being used to wound the Unnamed, the blade also bears wet-looking irregular spatter marks on it that no amount of time or magic can erase, as well as a heavy Purifying Resonance. The weapon has tasted the blood of a Fallen Oracle and comes away from the experience as a potent artifact against the Nephandi.

　System: Senex's Blade inflicts Strength + 2 aggravated damage with a successful strike and contains within it the following Effects: Locate Disorder and Weakness, Rip the Man-Body (which can be activated only by cutting into a human bone) and Lambs to the Slaughter (which works only upon Nephandi killed by the blade's wielder, altering the Resonance of the Quintessence gained to Purifying, which immediately goes to refueling the Wonder). The blade uses six dice of Arete for its Effects, and if its Rip the Man-Body Effect is successfully used upon a Nephandus, it is treated as though one additional success had been rolled in its activation.


The Storm-Born

　As the Avatar Storm is released, many of the Unnamed's favorites stir within the depths of the world's most powerful Labyrinths; beneath Crete, Chernobyl, Dachau and the like. As the fragments seek them out, these Nephandi, surrounded by wards and circles of protection, are able to slowly and methodically incorporate the soul-shards into their own inverted Avatars and, through them, feed their masters. Promised as much by renewed Pacts, each becomes a mightier vessel for the Outer Darkness.

　Virtually all Nephandi everywhere seek refuge from the coming Storm in their Labyrinths (and are thus protected from the worst ravages of the Avatar Storm), but only a very few are specially selected to grow in might and become the court of the Unnamed in the world to come.




The Gauntlet Falls

　Overwhelmed by human fear and the belief in what is impossible and yet plainly true, the Gauntlet crumbles, allowing the Umbrae to wash into our world. Sprits of pain, death and torment, drawn close by the suffering inflicted by the Avatar Winds, are among the first into the world. Humanity's shield against the terrors of its dreams has just failed and nothing will ever be the same again. Ghosts walk among the living and demons crawl free from the pits of countless hells, eager to feed on warm blood.

　Conversely, however, mages no longer need fear disembodiment or acclimation effects, and previously disembodied mages can walk on Earth as if they were material.


An Offer You can’t Refuse

　The world's number of Awakened constitutes the barest fraction of its total population. Even as the number of human beings has grown, the vital spark of the Pure Ones has waned, fractured into ever thinner slivers, trying to expand the minds and open the eyes of increasingly blind Sleepers. That being the case, the Unnamed has no problem with offering a slice of the pie to any Awakened person who will hear his pitch. Normally, intermediaries make the pitch, but your characters are somehow different or special. He will want to offer them their hearts' deepest desires personally. Even as the Gauntlet crumbles and all hell breaks loose, the Unnamed will find these young heroes who so courageously acted to save the mages at Balador, seeking them out in private, when they are far out of earshot of any powerful Awakened who might aid them.

　Whether the Unnamed appears in all his dread majesty or rakes a more innocuous form is really up to you and should be tailored to your players and their characters. In any case, he will offer to fulfill their fantasies, no matter how base or grandiose, if only they will submit to being branded with his seal and call him master. Answers such as, "l accept on the terms that you die/leave Creation/stop what you're doing/etc." will be met with laughter and polite refusal of such terms. The Unnamed will leave such characters believing that he is more amused by the request than offended. Those who are clever in their bargaining but, in the end, hold out against him, earn his esteem. He might even do something "nice" for such a character: returning a slain loved one to life (no strings attached, but don't let the player know that) or leaving a legendary Wonder at the character's feet, all without asking for anything in return. If the character is truly moral (and, if she held out against the Unnamed, she is almost doubtlessly moral), the "gift" will feel cheap and corrupt.

Chapter III



A Brief Respite

　For a while, things grow quiet again, as the Unnamed takes stock of his situation, recovers his strength and compensates for unexpected casualties. Give the characters enough time to do some errands of their own during this lull. Also, you might have some plot threads that you'd like to tie up. Don't feel pressured to do so with all such plots right now (other opportunities will arise down the line), but it might be helpful to you to deal with a few loose ends at this point.

　Some far-thinking characters will want to make preparations for when the shit really hits the fan (which it will). Let them. Some of these plans might work, and others definitely will not. In general, only the most innovative contingencies have any chance of proving useful in the days to come. Anywhere from a week to a month can pass at this phase, depending upon the needs of your game. The Unnamed has time on his side and feels no need to rush now that victory is well within his grasp. His next move will be a devastating one.


The Withering of the Tree

　Now that the Umbrae are peeled back and revealed to humanity at large, just about anyone can wander to the Alder Bole and find a way up or down, into the highest or lowest realms of the spirits. More importantly, some of the few remaining Oracles and archmages, who exist in distant corners of Creation, can more readily make manifest their will in the world, sending their magics through the Axis Mundi to wherever they wish. Naturally, the Unnamed has no desire for this to happen, so he plans to undertake what is doubtlessly the single most abhorrent act of mystic will in the history of the human race. He means to strike down the Tree, severing the worlds from one another in chaos (making Earth the only place in which they intersect) and leaving a great, bleeding wound at the center of the Universe.

　Using yet more of his stockpiled Tass and blasphemous rituals scribed on the outer walls of Creation, the Unnamed sends his Aswadim to the Axis Mundi bearing a cauldron of venom, which they pour into a wound in the Tree. Within a week, it withers and topples, dropping dying branches throughout the worlds. Some might even end up on Earth. A few live long enough for people to find then and save them, meaning that hope is not entirely lost. The characters might be able to recover some branches from the Alder Bole. Kept alive and enchanted properly, such remnants of the Tree can allow for travel between worlds and contact with the surviving Oracles (if any) as well as serving as potent weapons against malevolent spirits.




The Oracles Severed

　Now that the Alder Bole is dead, those Oracles and far-flung Archmasters who have removed themselves from Earth are virtually incapable of returning. Dispatching legions of ghosts, spirits and Unspeakable Horrors (supplemented by a handful of truly frightening Storm-Born Nephandi) along the hidden paths of Creation, the Unnamed eliminates all but a few of them, one by one. Though he loses many resources in the process, it is far more important to his cause to see the most powerful mages in Creation slain, lest they rally their lessers at some inopportune moment.



The Order’s Last Stand

　While the Oracles and Archmasters are being hunted very nearly to extinction, the Unnamed burns out the last of his Quintessence stores at Horizon, at last unleashing his poisoned magic into the Nodes that power the realm. From them, spiritual corruption (made real and physical by the lack of a Gauntlet) saturates the planet. Within three days, the sun and moon are lost in a roiling tempest of clouds that looks like nothing so much as a churning mass of dying embers. Lord Gilmore hatches a final, desperate ploy, but one that will cost the Awakened dearly.

　It is at the now-polluted Node of Alexandria, where once stood the greatest library of the ancient world, that the Order of Hermes makes its final stand. Summoned by Lord Edward Gilmore, the mages of the Order have come from far and wide to strike what blow they can against the tyranny of the Nephandi before all ends in ashes and shadow. Many mages of other Traditions (and even a few Crafts and Conventions) stand with the Order of Hermes, knowing full well the futility of their endeavor but able to think of no other way to do what must be done.

　At least, that's the ruse. Lord Gilmore has other ideas in mind, but he knows that the lives of the mages of the Order, himself included, must be forfeit in order to see it happen. He is aware that the Fallen have no choice but to respond to this gathering, since the mystic might assembled there could reasonably disrupt the Unnamed's plans if directed properly. In order to do so, though, the Unnamed will need to commir an army, and he will still lose many of his most loyal and powerful. The Order of Hermes does not sell its life cheaply, and Gilmore has more tricks than mere attrition up his sleeve.


The Subterfuge

　This is a brutally dangerous mission, and the characters are among those elite forces selected to undertake it. The strike force is assembled in northern Canada, far from the massed forces of the Order. Shortly before the anticipated moment of the Nephandic response to the Order of Hermes' defiance, Gilmore appears to wish the fighters good luck. Any members of the Order of Hermes in the cabal are taken aside by Lord Gilmore, who says the following:

　l never would have imagined that l would live to see the death of our Tradition, yet that is what now awaits us. Still, we are the heirs to the Thrice-Great and nothing, not even death itself, can undo our Path of Gold. I need you now to do something for me. Mus was once mine and a fine realm it was. Now, it serves as the maggot-den of the Fallen. I shudder to think of their "teachers" defiling my Sanctum with their unholy rites. Still, what is done is done, and l cannot be the one to avenge my students and my friends. You are my hands now. Destroy them all, lest our fall be for naught. Avenge Mus and the Order. Keep our ways alive in the long darkness to come.

　At this, Gilmore embraces the mage or mages as he would a son or daughter and, with astern, resolute face, returns to the ranks to face his demise.


The Siege of Mus

　Dante opens the Correspondence gateway to Mus, easily breaking the wards placed upon it by some of the Unnamed's most trusted Nephandi. The Fallen are completely unprepared for the attack and their armies are absent, having been sent to deal with the massed army of the Order of Hermes. Still, there are some defenders there, and they quickly recover their wits. Tailor the number of Nephandi present to the power of the cabal. The siege should be extremely difficult, but possible.

　The "Grand Mistress" of the chantry is the gilledian Jessica Schmidt, once the wife to an SS officer. Now, she is a powerful Nephandus who looks like the mummified, ambulatory corpse of a woman in her mid-60s.




Afterward

　If Mus is to be retaken, it will happen because of your characters’ actions. If the cabal makes the right moves, then the realm can be restored to the Traditions, giving them a stable base of operations from which to strike against the Nephandi, who will be unable to mount a second attack upon a reclaimed Mus, regardless of their power. If the characters do not make the right choices (or have a run of bad luck), however, the endeavor will be a failure and Gilmore's gambit will be proven folly. In any case, virtually everyone who made a stand at Alexandria will die, leaving only a very few to limp home. Still, by the time Lord Edward Gilmore perishes in battle, he has seen scores of Nephandi and their foul servants feed the desert with their lives.

Chapter IV



The Death of the Machine

　With faith in the power of science and technology to protect the world at an all-time low and no Gauntlet to hold back superstition, the Technocracy's paradigm fails apart. Money ceases to have value in such a world, medicines do not cure plagues, and machines will not stop those swarms of flies that feed on spinal fluid and distilled terror. Stasis falls apart, but not in any good way. The Umbrae wash over the world, dissolving 10,000 years of human progress and reducing mankind to barbarism. Laws that were once true are no longer so. Friction on a dry branch might cause it to shudder and bleed, but it will not start a fire.

　Science and technology based in wonder and possibility (Dynamic Science and technology) still function, since such innovations are based in reliance upon the self, rather than reliance upon things. A scarce few Technocrats manage to survive the fall of the Union with their abilities intact, and these are the ones who are capable of reconciling the enigma of Will versus Reason. Virtually to a man, the New World Order, Iterarion X and the Progenitors fall. With a bit more ethical and philosophical flexibility, small numbers of Syndicate operatives and a larger number of Void Engineers walk away from the end of Reason still capable of performing Enlightened Science.

　Shortly afterward, the Void Engineers approach remaining Tradition authorities (such as they are) - the characters among them - and ask for succor from the Nephandi, in exchange for what resources they can help bring to bear (including some bizarre alien technologies and stores of Tass from off-world sources) in the final hours of the conflict. Allow the characters to be among the policy-makers here. They have treated with some of the Traditions' most powerful, influential and respected, and now, regardless of how mystically weak or powerful they are, they are looked to as voices of guidance. It is probably best in the long run to accept the Void Engineers' proposal, but, in the end, it's really up to what's best for your game and what seems wisest to the characters' cabal.

　This chapter is more of a period of time than a series of events. The Fallen entrench themselves, just as the remaining mages of Earth do. (If Mus was retaken in the previous chapter, then they might hole up at the For Collegis Mercuris; if not, they'll have to make do with whatever they can find.) Anything from a week to a couple of months can pass at this point. The Unnamed wants to allow the Umbrae to do his work for him for a while. As terrible spirits wander the world, desperate mages strike out on quests - some potentially useful but most futile and doomed to failure. The cabal might number among these mages, or it might be one of the nerve centers of the slowly coalescing resistance. (Or, if you are feeling particularly cruel, the characters might be compelled to do double duty, searching for scattered Masters, Wonders and the like while at the same time being looked to for tactical advice.)

Chapter V



Salonikas’ Lesson

　Akrites Salonikas has one final lesson to impart. He has by now realized that the prophecy of Moloch could not be averted and that, in trying to prevent it, he has helped to bring it about. In the end, he has learned that, sometimes, there is no victory. He has played his part to the end and now, overwhelmed by guilt and remorse, he feels he must show the children of magic the fate that awaits them.

　Mages everywhere are gripped by terrible cries of psychic anguish. Salonikas' voice rings out, clear despite its torment, even as the Aswadim, whom he has dared to challenge directly, rend him to shreds.

　Sometimes, even the best of intentions fail. Sometimes, there is no right answer. Sometimes, you do what is good, only to find that the flames consume the just and the wicked with equal abandon. Remember this always and fight on. I am so sorry.

　At this, the message ends, along with the life of Akrites Salonikas, student of Sh'zar the Seer.



Waiting for the Worst

　On that depressing note, Descent truly comes to Earth. The spiritual ruination sown by the Unnamed (through Horizon's Nodies) has devoured the purity of the world. The Traditions are a frail shadow of their former power and the Technocracy is fallen entirely. Perhaps 10% of the world's (non-Nephandic) Awakened have survived this holocaust.

　Mages will have to fight hard to survive during this dark time, and it might take months for all of the terrible consequences of recent times to fully come to light. By now, the characters are certainly pivotal figures and are looked to by many. They feel hopeless, but they've got to try to put up a confident front, for the sake of those who now rely upon them. They might be considered leaders by both Sleepers and Awakened. Even as Descent claims untold lives, the undeniable truth of magic spurs no small number of Awakenings, and such lost Orphans, adrift in a world gone mad, need guidance.

　Now, there is nothing left to do, save fortify one's position, gather up what stragglers are to be found, wait and try to survive whatever comes next.

Chapter VI

　The Descent of Creation is come, and the Unnamed stands triumphant, the architect of mankind's history – from its promising beginnings to its terrible end in fire and torment. The Nameless Lords bestride the Earth like titans, and the ruination of reality reaches its crescendo.



The Scourging of the Earth

　Now that the Gauntlet is no more, the Traditions and the Technocratic Union have fallen and the other willworkers of the Earth are scattered in fear and fractiousness, the Unnamed raises high his ultimate weapon, ready to end the war forever and break humanity to his yoke.

　ln a ritual held at the new site of his rule, in the blasted wasteland that was once Eden, the Unnamed summons his masters to Earth, giving them leave to incarnate physically within Creation. As they do so, pockets of the Tapestry dissolve forever, unable to support the weight of the chthonic titans. Here and there, around the world, pregnant women miscarry children, finding horribly misshape things that crawl away of their own accord, animals bleat and howl, with some of them going mad and rabid and others just dying, and bodies of water turn to blood and venom. The order of Creation is broken, and Those Who Came Before are given dominion over all that is. Finally, their jealousy finds its satisfaction and they learn what it if to have substance and existence, to the lamentation of reality itself.


Divvying the Poils

　Of course, the Unnamed keeps his word to most of those Fallen who supported him in his rise and subsequent conquest. Each of the Aswadim is given an abode from which to exert his or her will, though most of the day-to-day affairs of running Creation fall to the lesser Nephandi, the gilledians and adsinistrati, supported by Storm-Born shock troops. Unless killed (or otherwise put out of commission) by the characters, for example, Voormas accepts the truth of his Fall and graciously takes up the mantle of rulership over the remains of India and Pakistan. Jodi Blake governs everything from Los Angeles to Las Vegas, and Anson d'Arcangelo takes up residence in Vatican City, there to lord over Italy.

　The Nephandi are virtually unstoppable at this point, and victories (when they are had at all) are small and come only through hit-and-run tactics. None can now delude themselves into believing that the Ascension War persists. For now and perhaps forever, it is ended. Beneath a sky of seething molten crimson and choking black mists, the Fallen sit in judgment over the desert wastes once known as Earth.




The End of It All

　When all is said and done, the world writhes in the throes of Descent, damnation seemingly everlasting. Magic still lives, though the numbers of its practitioners are much diminished, save for the Fallen. Demons, dark spirits and Unspeakable Horrors from Beyond walk the Earth with impunity, and some lord over scattered enclaves of miserable survivors as dread taskmasters and cruel barons. The Fallen revel in what they have wrought and settle in to enjoy an eternity of ruling over a helpless human race largely reduced to Iron Age civilization and subject to depredations unknown since the worst excesses of the priests of the demon-gods of the ancient world.

　If the characters have done well, then some manner of resistance lives on, surviving another day to bring the fight to the Aswadim once more and topple them, so that the centuries-long (at least) process of driving out the dark can begin anew. For now, however, it is enough to know that the End has come and gone, and Ascension has proven to be a lie, a feast of ashes supped upon in sorrow by a failed human race.

Aftermath

　"Salt Lake City once stood there," the hooded figure asserted quietly, as though those words should mean something to those who stood before him, the children of Armageddon's aftermath. He gestured out over the glassy black pyramid in the center of the city, atop which burned an angry red flame. Even from this distance, the wailing of the naked souls that fueled it could be heard.

　"So what?" the young woman who seemed to speak for the band asked. Her eyes were hard, so out of place in a face that could not have seen more than eighteen years. She ran a callused hand through the red-brown tangle of her hair and muttered acidly, "The World Before ended over a hundred years ago. Man had his chance. Now, They rule here, and that's all there is. Thanks for the history lesson, though, old man."

　The cloaked figure shook his head in sorrow, the mane of white-streaked light brown hair spilling from beneath his cowl catching the breeze. As the youths turned to leave, his eyes narrowed to slits and he inhaled slowly and methodically, focusing the vitality of his spirit upon his Crown Chakra. His consciousness split the air between himself and the young men and women, entering each of their minds with the force of an avalanche.

　YOU ARE MORE THAN YOU DARE IMAGINE. GIVE UP YOUR WILL TO BE BLIND. OPEN YOUR EYES AND SEE. YOU ARE HUMAN, AND YOUR BIRTHRIGHT IS FREEDOM. CAST OFF THE CHAINS OF SLEEP AND RISE UP TO BECOME WHAT YOU ARE.

　The young vagabonds reeled with the force of the contact, but the redheaded girl was the first to regain her footing. She shook her head to clear it and gasped, “How did you do that? Who are you?"

　The man brought his hands up and drew back the hood of his cloak, revealing a face still young and handsome, despite the lines of care that now creased it. A devilish smile crossed his lips and he spoke, "As to how I did that, it's nothing that you won't be able to do, given a little training. l have seen the destiny of your souls, and I know that each of you is struggling to Awaken. As to who I am; that's a complicated question. For now, you can just call me julian..."

　Of course, while the world as we know it ends with Descent, the Earth doesn't crumble and fade into nothingness. There is still reason enough to fight against the tyranny of the Fallen. After all, perhaps, as some who are now dead might have said, the Wheel turns - sometimes, it is at its zenith and, at other times, it is at its nadir. All things have their time, and any apocalypse you can walk away from obviously isn't final. While the Awakened now have on their hands the greatest uphill battle in the history of the human race, it is during such times that heroism thrives and the mettle of great men and women is proven.

　Hopefully, at least a few of the characters are still alive, as are at least some of the influential and experienced mages of the Traditions, Crafts and Conventions. You can tell any number of stories in the aftermath of "Hell on Earth," whether shortly after the end of humanity's Descent or, as in the example, decades later. Perhaps you want to begin your chronicle after Descent, and who are we to tell you otherwise? It's up to you, after all, for endings are almost never as final as they seem...