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The Council of Nine Mystic Traditions

© 2022 Paradox Interactive © 2022 Onyx Path Publishing

Introduction: Traditions Revitalized
If we don’t change, we don’t grow. If we don’t grow, we aren’t really living.
— Gail Sheehy
We stare at ashes as the sun comes up. In the distance, voices rise and motors rev. Scents of
cannabis and coffee drift across the plain. Aching limbs stretch toward the sky. Smoke from last
night’s revels curls in the early morning air.
Night passes into day, each one rich with possibilities.
Bodies unfold from tents. Hands pass drinks and food around. Voices rough from last night’s
ceremonies now speak softly in the morning light. We share a communion that will carry us
forward. When we go our separate ways today, the things we built and burned together will bind
and bear us through life until we meet again.

When Traditions Change

It all seemed so simple once: Magic good, technology bad. As both fictional mages and players
of Mage realize, however, nothing is quite that simple. Magic, as Mage continually asserts, is
technology. Whether that technology involves concoctions, crossbows, or computer networks is
a matter of semantics. The line between a wizard in his tower and a hacker in her basement gets
pretty damned fuzzy, after all, once you realize they’re doing the same thing with different tools
and rhetoric. As our not-so-new-millennium speeds toward its fourth decade, those simple old
delusions point toward a troubling new question: Now what?
“Now what?” indeed.
In an age of transformation, what does “tradition” even mean? That question, for mages of the
Council of Nine Mystick Traditions, isn’t merely academic. The 21st century (with or without an
Avatar Storm) poses dilemmas that medieval wizards could never have imagined: issues of
power, ethics, technology, even reality itself. Where “tradition” once sounded comforting and
stable, that term begs vital questions now: Which features of “the Old Ways” must change when
confronted by the new, and which elements were worth preserving to begin with?
Our world is burning. Plagues rage, conspiracies bloom, and irrationality rules the day. Old
certainties about right and wrong, dynamism and statis, gender, identity, nations and needs, even
what is and is not “real” in the greater scheme of things, all become casualties of the human
experience. This situation is as true for the fictional willworkers of Mage: The Ascension as it is
for folks arguing about it on the internet. In 1993, when Mage first appeared, its young creators
thought we knew everything. Now, over 30 years later, the scope of what we did not know
becomes more obvious with each social-media debate. For better and worse, the internet – a
thing that hardly existed in White Wolf’s early days – reveals how much larger and more
complex the human experience of “reality” can be. In the fictional world of Mage, the same
realizations occur. Where medieval wizards and witches once believed that an Enlightened elite
had the absolute right to impose their will upon the world, today’s mages reply Do we REALLY?
And did we EVER?
That conflict – the tension between what we thought we knew was right, and what we did when
we thought we knew it – is a primary theme within this book.
Theme: Where Do We Go from Here?
Lore of the Traditions doesn’t simply rehash material from older books. Instead, it explores
where Mage’s nine Traditions began and where they’re headed now.
As will become obvious throughout the following chapters, change is not a new thing for the
Council of Nine. At the time of its foundation, the idea of an alliance between warring creeds
and distant cultures seemed almost inconceivable. Setting aside most divisions of their era, the
founders of our fictional Traditions crafted an unstable yet ambitious coalition to preserve what
they realized was a precarious ideal in a rapidly changing world. For the next 600 years, those
“traditions” changed with the times while guiding the Masses (again, for better and worse) in
turn. Though they often seemed like throwbacks in an increasingly modern world, those mages
incorporated, and sometimes implemented, concepts like democracy, equality, religious
tolerance, and industrial technology — concepts alien to the Council’s medieval origins. Such
transformations were, as they always are, as controversial in Mage’s fictional world as they can
be in our own. Balancing Static tradition with Dynamic transformation has been the Council’s
true Path all along.
On a meta level, this book explores the ways in which the game-world of Mage changes with the
times. In 1993, phrases like gender identity and cultural appropriation existed on the fringes of
popular discourse if those terms existed at all; in the 2020s, such concepts are inescapable. The
realities of such things have always existed, of course. Most folks simply didn’t see them, chose
not to see them, or didn’t know how to discuss them openly. While certain Mage fans are
probably bristling at the idea of tackling those subjects now, Mage — for all its fictions — has
always been a game about reality, the ways through which people can change it, and the effects
(pro and con) of changing a world we all share whether we want to share it or not. You, the
reader, don’t need to address such topics around your table; for the authors and designers,
though, change is literally the heart of Mage.
This book, then, reveals how the Traditions have changed over time and continue to change now.
Mood: Are We the Baddies?
In the original Mage metaplot, heroic Traditions warred against malign Technocrats. The more
you look at it, however, the more questionable such ideas become. If an old-school witch waters
her trees with human blood, and a cyborg comes to shut her down, which one of them has the
moral high ground, and what happens to the Sleepers caught in the crossfire when those forces
clash? That term, “Sleepers,” reveals a condescending arrogance, too. Sure, the Council mages
have a certain swashbuckling romanticism about them, and their ideas certainly seem preferable
to the stompy boots of Technocratic dominance. If that scrappy underdog blows up your
neighborhood, however, in the name of a reality where the average person has good reasons to
fear the witch next door, the morality of her approach seems somewhat debatable. Viewed from
an outside perspective, Tradition mages aren’t “good guys” after all. They’re really kind of
monstrous, and the fact that they seldom see that potential monster in the mirror lends their side
of the Ascension War a nightmarish quality if you happen to be in their way.
Mage 20 presents a metaplot-neutral setting where each Storyteller gets to choose the
perspective, events, and direction of their game:
Awakened Heroes
In a more “traditional” Mage chronicle, Council mages retain their heroic allure, challenging the
problems within their own ranks as readily as they challenge Technocrats and Fallen corrupters.
Such mages – usually, but not always, young – pursue ethical ambitious and compassionate
ideals. They face hard questions about status and bigotry, identity and consequences that their
elders seldom thought about at all. Through their efforts, the medieval framework of the Council
shifts to accommodate a larger and more complicated world. That Council moves forward,
embracing the Dynamism at True Magick’s core.
Enlightened Tyrants
A darker approach views Council mages as hidebound tyrants whose ideals cloak selfish ends.
Like the mad coots of Doissetep, they scheme and duel and treat lesser creatures as collateral
damage. From the perspective through which the Technocracy and Crafts views their Nine
Traditions rivals, Council mages are entitled brats whose power can level cities if they don’t get
their way. They might talk a good line, perhaps providing cannon fodder if Nephandi and
Marauders drop by, but they can’t be truly trusted, ever. Even if you prefer a heroic view of the
Traditions, remember that this option is the way such mages appear to those who don’t belong to
their Awakened clique.
Malignant Titans
In the most fearsome possibility, Tradition mages are outright monsters: haughty wizards and
bloody witches, mad scientists and reality breakers, mystic killers, and drugged-out psychopaths.
Whether the Council has Fallen in the Nephandic sense (see Mage, p. 139), or is simply a
product of collective egotism, these Tradition mages “do what they will” and damn anyone
caught in their path. Their good intentions are a smokescreen, and their existence remains a
threat to Reality itself.
Warriors Reconciled
Perhaps the Traditions and Technocracy have begun to put aside their War. Like John Courage
and Lee Ann Millner, they recognize their shared heritage and mutual enemies. This shift from
the original Mage metaplot sees the Council and Conventions declare a truce. Joining forces,
they defy corruption and destruction and chaos on a global scale. In our era, this may be the most
heroic and empowering approach of all: One in which we overcome our differences to become
the saviors our age so desperately needs.
Which Traditions, then, will you find in this book? All of them. The Future Fates sections within
each of the following chapters presents a tool kit for building the Mage chronicle you want.
Which approach to those Traditions will you embrace? That depends on the world you wish to
see. To play with. To create.
Ultimately, the magick is yours.
Let’s go see where it leads us.
Chapter One: The Council of Nine Mystic Traditions
“It is a fragile Path we Awakened walk, moreso those of us who seek to balance
stasis, darkness and insanity. The voices of those who went before us can guide
our steps along that Path, if we care to listen.”
— Porthos Fitz-Empress, “The Fragile Path”
The Council of Nine Mystic Traditions — the Traditions, for short — is a lot of things. The
alliance of mages who espouse freedom over control; one side of the Ascension War; even, in
some very specific definitions (mostly their own) the good guys. They’re also, like many of the
best magickal effects, the result of an unlikely set of occurrences. Numerous mages found reason
to work together, managed to wrestle down their philosophical and practical objections to one
another, and hold together over so long the institution of the Council gained inertia of its own.
The Council is a snapshot of a particular worldview from a particular time. It’s persisted both
because it’s useful to its members and their magickal Traditions and because its members are
very powerful. Over time power, like money, tends to become more concentrated. Powerful
people seek to strip power from their enemies, and either hoard it for themselves or use it to buy
friends and stack decks in their favor.

Future Fates: What Council?

Most of this chapter assumes you’re running the default Mage 20th Anniversary
Edition timeline: Horizon was destroyed, but the Traditions are rebounding from
this catastrophe. Most of it’s still valid if Horizon never fell. If you’re running a
game where the Council of Nine is no more, skip to the Future Fates section at the
end of the chapter. There’s still something for you.

Origins of the Council

The Council of Nine came into being five hundred years ago, and that should tell you a lot about
it. Like most venerable institutions of the time, it’s built on shaky foundations.
In the fifteenth century, Sh’zar the Seer, one of the Sahajiya, traveled the world encouraging
mages to come together; to speak, commune, debate, and know one another. This, as many
groups of mages already knew, was the only way the mystic arts would survive in the face of the
growing power, organization, and strategy of the Order of Reason. And that’s an essential thing
to know about the Council of Nine: it exists only in opposition to other groups. The panoply of
mystics who attended the Grand Convocation in the newly created private realm of Horizon had
nothing in common but their enemies.
Now — and for many centuries — the Council has advocated a few key values: excellence,
diversity, respect, protection of the Sleepers, the concept of magick, and the pursuit of
Ascension. They should, but don’t, add ‘safety in numbers.’
That’s not to say that the Council hasn’t transcended its origins. That’s partly because any
organization as old as it is generates a kind of self-sustaining mythology, but mostly because it’s
valuable. It’s possible, and even wise, to be cynical about the Council of Nine, but they’ve
provided an ideological rallying point, a safe haven in the form of Horizon (until recently) and
built a coalition that preserved the Nine Mystic Traditions as a viable force in the Ascension
War. If not for the Council, a Euthanatos would have little in common with a Hermetic, who in
turn would find scant common ground with a Kha’vadi. That’s the real power of the Council: it
fosters a sense of unity that, in turn, contributes to mages’ survival in a very real way.
At the Grand Convocation, which started in 1457 and didn’t end until 1466, the Traditions’ first
task was to speak themselves into existence. Some attendees already knew who they were and
weren’t giving ground. The Akashayana had thousands of years of codified history, and the
Order of Hermes had already defined and delineated its Houses. Other groups from several
continents looked for kindred spirits and found them. Many schools of folk magic organized
behind the witch Nightshade and formed the Verbena, and the people of the Great Wheel politely
acknowledged one another and allowed themselves to be described as the Chakravanti.
This was not a fair and equitable process. The Order of Hermes had won a great battle against
the Order of Reason at the ruins of Mistridge chantry, and they leveraged that victory. They
weren’t about to be broken up and shoved into other groups. They remained strong and united,
and they were well-positioned to exert ample influence over the Convocation and the Council
that came from it. There’s a reason the Traditions use a lot of Hermetic parlance — Arete,
certámen, and more — to this day.
While the powerful European mages were working the room, they shouted down, diminished,
and disdained many other groups. They chose nine Traditions to reflect the nine Spheres of
magick (another primarily Hermetic definition) and force-fit the attendees into nine boxes. Most
egregiously, they called any will-worker who listened to the songs of earth and spirit a
‘Dreamspeaker,’ regardless of the differences in their beliefs and practices.
All this to say, the Council of Nine was never perfect. It was never an ideologically pure union of
nine distinct groups of mages. It runs on compromises, omission — polite or otherwise — and
power, and it always will.

The March of the Nine

It took nine years for the Grand Convocation and the long discussions, residencies, and
politicking that followed, to produce the concrete definition of the Traditions and, along with
them, the First Cabal.
This assembly of Adepts was as much a PR exercise as a unit, the Council of Nine’s superhero
team (as anachronistic as that concept is to the fifteenth century). Nine mages, one from each of
the newly declared Traditions and thus representing each Sphere of magick, banded together to
fight the Order of Reason. Their mission was not only a show of force but a promise of potential:
the Traditions, united, were stronger than the sum of their parts and capable of holding the Order
of Reason at bay. And, initially, the move was successful. The Adepts fought the infernalist
Tezghul the Insane and razed his stronghold of Kupala Alka. They had notable victories against
the Order of Reason in Europe.
The March of the Nine lasted from 1466-1470. Four short years. It wasn’t their enemies that
brought them down, but betrayal from within. Heylel Teomim, the Solificati emissary and leader
of the First Cabal, grew frustrated with how hard it was to get anything done — at having to
stroke inflated egos, soothe hurt pride, and charm people who should have been allies or
servants. Meanwhile the Order of Reason made decisions and acted on them.
In 1470, Teomim betrayed the cabal to the Order of Reason. Three of the members died in the
ambush, one (Akrites Salonikas, of the Sahajiya, then known as the Seers of Chronos and later as
the Cult of Ecstasy) escaped, and the others were captured. Of the captives, the Euthanatos
Cygnus Moro died under torture. Salonikas rescued the survivors, tracked down Teomim, and
brought the betrayer back to Horizon for trial and execution.
By Teomim’s own account, they betrayed their allies to the Order of Reason so the Traditions
would focus on the enemy instead of quarreling amongst themselves. Heylel recognized early on
that the Traditions could only function with a banner to unite behind and an enemy to orient
themselves by.
That remains a theme for the half millennium since the Council’s founding. It’s strongest when it
has a mission, a crusade, and an enemy.
There’s a lesson there. Mages aren’t necessarily given to cooperation. Put nine people with wills
strong enough to bend, or sometimes break, reality in a room together and they’ll have at least
nine distinct ideas of what ‘right,’ ‘good,’ and ‘necessary’ look like — probably more. That
diversity and individualism is a strength, but it can also be a source of frustration: every policy is
a compromise that takes careful negotiation and exploration, and there’s still a chance that some
strong-willed wildcard will choose to ignore the decision.
Rulership by a council is in some ways deeply unnatural for mages. The Technocracy maintains
a hierarchy through its collective devotion to order and control; Nephandi and Marauders barely
manage to organize at all (undoubtedly to the benefit of the world as a whole). The Traditions
attempt to tread the delicate line between coercion and chaos.

The Council Through History

The Council of Nine is either a prime example of a whole greater than the sum of its parts, or a
Ship of Theseus: each Tradition has a Primus, the holder of their seat on the Council. The Primi
aren’t always the most powerful member of their Tradition but they’re usually the most
politically savvy, the most ambitious, or both. Naturally, the positions have changed hands
numerous times over the centuries; that’s to be expected, even with mages’ long lifespans.
What’s less predictable is how the Traditions that make up the Council have changed.
The alchemists known as the Solificati suffered a schism after Heylel’s betrayal. Many separated
from the Traditions and renamed themselves the Children of Knowledge. Those who stayed
joined the Order of Hermes, becoming House Solificati. When they left, the Council had only
eight seats filled for centuries; such is the weight and power of the institution. Its self-made myth
persisted, even when reality didn’t align with it. Later, the Ahl-i-Batin left, threats to their
members proving far more pressing than the Council’s Ascension War.
The departure of the Solificati left the Seat of Matter open, and in the mid nineteenth century it
was filled by the Traditions’ first technomancers, the Society of Ether — also specialists in the
magick of Matter. The Ahl-i-Batin were eventually replaced by the Virtual Adepts, filling the
Seat of Correspondence once again. Depending on who’s describing it, that’s either fate, reality
falling into step with the will of several Primi, or a superb piece of brand management. It’s
technically possible that the only new candidates for inclusion happened to match the seats
available; it’s definitely not the most outlandish coincidence that’s ever happened around
powerful mages.
Apart from the will of the Primi, why does the Council of Nine have such staying power? It’s not
the Technocracy; there are no edicts issued from on high, and most Tradition mages wouldn’t
obey them anyway. The Council doesn’t send out strike teams or care packages to solve the
problems of Tradition mages.
For most of its history, the Council of Nine held court in an Umbral realm far from earthly
troubles, and literally far away from Earth itself. In theory it dispensed justice (or at least
punishment) for contraventions of its code (see Mage p. 140-143) but in practice it had to hear
about an infraction first. Mostly, the Council serves as a symbol of hope and cooperation, a sign
that the idea of the Traditions means something.
This was never a universally welcome position, especially in the 20th century. Wars raged across
the entire world. Millions died. The Council of Nine stayed far away from the conflict, safe in
Horizon. Supposedly they were pursuing higher goals: enlightenment, Ascension, a better reality
that wouldn’t be susceptible to mundane human evil. Some mages hoped for help; others
expected nothing and were proven right. It’s only natural that the concept of Horizon lost some
of its glow. The induction of the Virtual Adepts in 1961 provided hope of change, of fresh ideas
to sweep away the dusty conservatism of those in power.
The realm of Horizon, which gave its name to the concept of Horizon realms, the small pocket
realities powerful mages craft where their paradigms hold sway, was created for the Grand
Convocation and it almost outlived the 20th century. Horizon was a place where every Tradition
paradigm was equally valid, where all forms of mystical magic (or at least the nine officially
recognized forms) could be practiced to their greatest potential. Where history could be recorded
and remembered. To some, it was something to fight for.
At its height the realm of Horizon was home to 30,000 people, many Awakened but others the
families, descendants and staff of mages and almost all living in the city of Concordia. As well
as the human population, Horizon sheltered bygones, mythical creatures long extinct on Earth.
Throughout the Ascension War it stood as a symbol of hope and possibility.
In some respects Horizon was best viewed from a distance. Close up, it was a small (by Earth
standards) community full of strong personalities, personal agendas, and vast egos. It was
insular, and most of its residents spent their time politicking, vying for advantage in matters great
and small. In more practical terms, Horizon was a sanctuary. Its distance from Earth,
impenetrable magical defenses, and the sheer number of powerful willworkers in the realm made
it the safest place for Tradition mages in any world. It was hard to access, of course, but that was
part of its appeal.
Mages know that patterns — even without an uppercase P — have power. Stories and myths, can
be the most powerful patterns of all. In the late 20th century, a revolutionary identifying himself
as the Ascension Warrior encouraged young mages to overthrow their corrupt, negligent elders;
he said they were obsessed with their war against the Technocracy and oblivious to the real
world. This ‘Ascension Warrior’ claimed to be Heylel Teomim.
Whether the Ascension Warrior really was Teomim returned, or a clone gestated in a
Technocracy realm, Horizon’s history ended with a battle between Akrites Salonikas, the only
man to escape Teomim’s ambush in 1470, and the being who claimed to be his former friend and
betrayer.
That conflict could have been the end of the Council of Nine, but — once again, a tribute to how
powerful the idea of the Council is — it only closed the loop on its first era. Horizon, its politics,
and its ancient and powerful archmages, were all gone. Council seats sat empty, and this time not
only one or two. And yet the Council persisted, though the future of the Traditions was firmly
earthbound.

Current State
More so than most aspects of Mage, exactly how the Council of Nine currently works is very
much driven by the type of game you’re playing. In some styles — low powered games focusing
on local people and problems — the Council might not matter at all. Mages might not even know
about them. Those who Awakened after Horizon fell might never hear about it: maybe their
mentor isn’t in the know, doesn’t want to cry over spilt milk, or thinks Tradition hierarchies are
irrelevant. Maybe the Council doesn’t exist in any meaningful form.
One thing is true in most variants of the Mage timeline. Assuming the Council of Nine exists,
it’s adapting and changing. The loss of Horizon — if it happened in your continuity — hit them
hard. Even if they still have their chantry and realm, they’re in a new age. The Technocracy is
changing and the Disparates are organizing. Playing politics in the safety of their private
dimension isn’t an option anymore. Survival requires relevance, and relevance requires taking an
active role in the world and being visible (to other Tradition magi; we’re not talking about
vulgar, disruptive acts of magick… unless that’s your jam). If you’re going to use the Council of
Nine, get them up off their collective ass and use them to drive big changes in your setting.
Different members of the Council have different priorities. A newly energized Council might
focus on outreach work forging connections with the Disparate Alliance and other factions. That
won’t be easy. The Council must demonstrate its utility, which might lead to Tradition mages
being dispatched to assist with other groups’ problems. The Council has plenty of past
transgressions and errors to atone for, too. This work might be less about performing favors and
more about paying debts. For example, the Council lost the Ahl-i-Batin’s support by ignoring
their concerns and needs; can it win them back with support now?
Alternatively, the Council might well decide it needs a new enemy to once again give it purpose
and prove its value. That’s probably the Technocracy which has the potential to fracture the
Traditions. Some Tradition mages would question whether the Technocracy is the most pressing
problem. Despite its own internal problems, the Technocracy will always be more than a match
for any Tradition show of force. That’s why they’re such a useful enemy for the Council.
If you don’t want history to repeat itself, the Council might see the Disparate Alliance as the
more pressing threat. A strong alliance of mystic mages who don’t recognize the Traditions’
centrality and dominance undermines newly Awakened mages’ willingness to support the
Tradition cause by default. The more progressive the Council is, the more likely they are to reach
out to the Disparates rather than oppose them, but that could easily lead to the Traditions, as a
distinct faction, dissolving. Force of habit is the only reason this arbitrary group of nine magical
groups as a discrete set. Some Traditions, like the Kha’vadi, already recognize this truth and feel
more kinship with groups outside the Traditions than within them.
In general, it looks like a post-Horizon Council of Nine will be composed of younger and more
progressive mages but that doesn’t mean there’s no pushback. There are still old conservatives
and hardline Ascension warriors out there. There might still be people who think the Ascension
Warrior was right. If the Council is more progressive, and that’s what your players want, make
sure it’s not easy for the next generation to steer the ship.
The Sphinx (Mage, p. 143-144) is a powerful dramatic device to challenge protagonists with a
progressive agenda. The Sphinx is widely assumed to be an Oracle, a collection of Archmages,
or the Horizon Council. This doesn’t have to be true to be a strong plotline. The Sphinx’s
messages are a rallying cry for mages who want a return to the old days, and old ways, of the
Council. Characters who oppose it find natural allies in the Technocratic Panopticon (Mage, p.
175).
The Council might be a problem for your players’ characters. Most mages are used to going their
entire lives without thinking about ‘Tradition leadership,’ let alone interacting with it. Some
Adepts and even Masters — who might be the characters’ patrons, mentors, or rivals — won’t
appreciate orders from above. But the Council might decide it needs to show its power. This
could lead to conflicts within a Tradition or between Traditions, and those have a way of
spiraling. A Council determined to show its dominance makes a good antagonist and a truly great
obstacle.
In a chronicle featuring a mix of Tradition mages, Orphans, Disparates, and Technocrats the
Council of Nine’s bid for relevance takes on a more sinister note. For Orphans and Disparates,
it’s a bid to assert unearned authority over them. For Technocrats, it’s likely that the Council will
conclude it needs its old enemy more than a new ally and fan the flames of that conflict. To some
extent that depends on which Traditions have the most influence (see Conflicts Within p. XX),
but the divisions between progressives and conservatives offer a great opportunity for
Technocrats or Disparates to manipulate or destabilize the Council of Nine — an excellent
chronicle storyline, either as the focus or a parallel, secondary plotline.
Even if you’re playing a ‘street level’ game where Tradition politics are way outside the
protagonists’ concerns, the actions of powerful Mages should still trickle down. Nodes and
chantries, however small, are unlikely to escape some kind of diplomatic overture. Maybe the
protagonists’ corner of the setting is exactly the place for someone out of favor with the Council
to hide from their enemies. Or local antagonists’ strategies and goals might be colored by what
‘the Traditions,’ who they wrongly perceive to be a unified faction, are doing.
There are rich narrative pickings in storylines where the Council are close instead of distant.
Some Council seats are empty, others are held by mages with a tenuous grasp, whose Traditions
are changing around them. A chronicle could revolve around characters identifying where their
needs and agenda depart from the Council’s and putting in place candidates who represent them
better. They might even end up as Primi themselves. They might set out to rebuild Horizon. Or
they might decide the entire institution is rotten and outdated and work to bring it down.
Like any political storyline, the key to running satisfying and relatable Council plots is making
the politics matter. Decisions made by the Council must affect the players’ characters’ world in a
meaningful way. A power play could mean an important resource (a Wonder, Chantry, or Node)
changes hands, or an antagonist gets stronger or weaker. An alliance or rivalry higher up the
chain could mean a local ally suddenly can’t be trusted. It could also open up the chance of a
relationship with someone who previously had no reason to work with the characters. The hubris
of political ambition could drive a powerful Mage into Quiet, affecting everyone around them.
At its most blatant and dangerous, a powerful and proactive Council could provoke a violent
reaction from Technocrats, the Fallen, or even other supernatural creatures.
Conflicts Within
Every Primus on the Council has an agenda and every Tradition has issues of their own. Each of
them is untangling themselves from their past and looking to the future. Without Horizon, old
orthodoxies crumble and new viewpoints emerge.
The Akashayana benefit from the stable leadership of Hyeonmyeong Sunim (or Nu Ying, see p.
XX). They continue their long-term plans of popularizing East Asian philosophies and practices,
but they’re also taking an interest in the Digital Web. Whether that turns into a beautiful alliance
with the Virtual Adepts or a turf war remains to be seen.
The Celestial Chorus is distracted. Its numbers are shrinking, and a movement to excise any
groups who don’t align with the current agenda of community building and protecting Sleeper
flocks is only hastening the disintegration. The Chorus is accustomed to being strong and self-
sustaining, but that may be in jeopardy.
The Cult of Ecstasy, long dismissed as deadheads and club kids, are reclaiming their ancient
name: Sahajiya. It was a Sahajiya mage who brought the Traditions together for the Grand
Convocation, and another who ended the Ascension Warrior’s assault on the Traditions. It’s not
unthinkable that the Sahajiya plan on stepping forward and taking a more active role in guiding
the Traditions into this new age, and a Council shaped by the Sahajiya would look very different
to the conservative, complacent organization that came before.
The Kha’vadi are also making moves. Depending on your continuity, they’re either pulling away
from the Council — because they have issues of their own to confront, and no interest in holding
the hands of an organization that’s done very little for them — or becoming more determined to
be heard. In the former case, the Council might not find itself with an empty chair again, but the
Kha’vadi’s disaffection is clear, and it’s hard to make a case for the continuing validity of a
ruling Council when an entire group of mages is apathetic. Alternatively, if they’re more
assertive, the Kha’vadi could be a powerful progressive force, insisting that the Council
confronts its biases.
The Verbena, too, are changing. They, like the Sahajiya, are grappling with gender essentialism.
The witches have also chosen to confront their history of elevating Celtic and Euro-paganism at
the expense of other traditions of folk magic. Younger mages, as well as some older ones who
had no interest in the previous iteration of the Council, come forward to lead the Verbena
through these issues and, in turn, help guide other Traditions through their own post-Horizon
transformations. And yet, the Verbena have reason to believe their own First Cabal member,
Eloine, is still out there. If they’re right, and if Eloine is at all interested in the organization she
served and helped to grow, the Verbena might find a strong counterweight to their progressive
swing.
Between the Sahajiya and the Kha’vadi, and the Verbena’s willingness to listen to them, the
Council is getting a hard shove away from its Euro- and US-centric roots into a global
organization with global concerns.
Just as the Sahajiya and Kha’vadi step forward, the Order of Hermes, once the backbone of the
Council, is taking steps to distance itself from its history. The Order is reckoning with how to
treat its ‘minor’ Houses and how to acknowledge but transcend its history of privilege and
hardline stance in the Ascension War. A shift in the Order of Hermes’ position leaves remaining
conservatives on the Council adrift without a reliable anchor.
The Society of Ether have always teetered between madness and the Fall, with brazen departures
from Sleeper science on one side and power trips and doomsday devices on the other. That
hasn’t changed but they’ve added new projects to their to-do list. Wrestling with a history of
imperialism and a serious lack of diversity takes time away from their agenda of pushing back
against Consensus and ‘re-Wondering’ the world. The Society, as always, has big plans. It needs
to execute some of them.
The Virtual Adepts are finally old enough to have their first schism and their first generation of
crusty old folk who don’t understand the new generation. They’re fracturing into diehard Digital
Web fans and the new Mercurial Elite, who have a more abstract set of beliefs. Who holds the
Council seat depends on the timeline (and whether the Avatar Storm happened), but whoever’s
technically in charge the Old Guard still hold a lot of cards and the relationship between the two
halves of the Tradition is rocky. Who ends up in charge could have a major impact on the nature
of the Council: it needs the Adepts more than ever, for their ability to connect mages in a post-
Horizon world, so the Council needs to keep them happy.
Senex of the Euthanatoi — remarkably unchanging, for a Tradition that prides itself on the
natural order of death and change, the old making way for the young — sees the Traditions as
standing on the brink of change. Nobody knows quite what the Old Man is planning, as is
Senex’s preference.
There’s a real chance that with so many new factions and approaches emerging, the Council of
Nine might shake itself apart: old ties are unraveling, and it remains to be seen whether
circumstances will call for the creating of new ones.

The Council and Other Factions

The Council’s relationships with other factions are complex, at best.

Future Fates: Nothing’s Ever Simple

Whatever variant of the timeline your group’s playing with, this section is useful.
If there’s any kind of Tradition leadership in your continuity, they’ll face the same
problems: struggles over how to work with the Technocracy, disinterest and distrust
from the Disparate Alliance and — without centuries of established doctrine —
maybe even more debate over how to deal with the Fallen.

The simplest relationship is with the Nephandi. It’s generally agreed there’s no common ground
to be found with the Nephandi. They’re warped perversions of everything a mage — hell,
everything a human being — should be. And yet, after the Euthanatoi cleaned house and erased
the corrupted House of Helekar from existence, the archmage Senex, of the Madzimbabwe sect
of the Euthanatoi, took on one of the fallen chantry’s students as his own apprentice. He’s now
the Euthanatoi’s Council member and that young woman, Theora Hetirck, is now his Herald.
And so, there’s room for argument even there. Maybe the Fallen can be redeemed, or maybe it’s
okay if they can’t as long as their usefulness outweighs their threat. Both lines of thinking are
dangerous, and either one could split the Council at any time. Worse, the precedent could lead to
more rescues and alliances, and sow seeds that will bloom into a fresh crop of corruption
amongst the Traditions.
The Council exists to oppose the Technocracy. And yet, depending on whom one asks, the
Ascension War is either over or fundamentally different now. Sometimes the Technocracy are
the best, or only, allies a Tradition mage has. And that presents a huge philosophical problem for
the Council: if not the enemies of the Technocracy who are they, when they’ve always defined
themselves by their opposition? Why should a Tradition technomancer continue to prioritize
bonds with magical sects they don’t understand over connections to other technomancers? Heylel
Teomim knew within twenty years of the Council’s founding that it needed an enemy, or it
would disintegrate. That hasn’t changed.
The Council has nothing to gain by erasing the old battle lines but if they don’t, they risk
irrelevance. For an organization that’s frequently accused of being out of touch and out of step
with modern mages, that’s a serious danger. An official missive on the Traditions’ relationship
with the Technocracy is almost certainly coming, but only when the Council can no longer avoid
it.
The Council accepting an alliance with the Technocracy is a little like a mom and pop store
welcoming a megacorporation to town. The Technocracy is big, organized, and efficient, and if
the Council opens the gates to them, it could find itself forever trapped in the Technocracy’s
shadow. Worse the Traditions could end up devoured and digested, their ideals becoming a
palatable, fast food version that make it easy for Technocrats and Traditions to work together.
And working together means doing the Technocracy’s work. They’re the ones with the money,
guns, stability, and pension plans.
The Council’s most complex relationship of all is with the Disparates, or Crafts. To outsiders, the
Crafts look like natural allies for the Traditions. Most Technocrats, for example, don’t care much
about the difference between a Knight Templar and a Celestial Chorister. One god-bothering
reality deviant looks a lot like another. That simplistic assessment glosses over centuries of hurt
feelings and disrespect from the Council of Nine towards the Disparates.
The way the Council, and therefore most Tradition mages, tell the story of the Grand
Convocation, there was a seat at the table for everyone. When has reality ever been that simple?
Sh’zar never reached some groups and may not even have known about them. Some of those he
did reach, chose not to come; the Order of Reason, after all, was a largely European threat that
would later spread to the new world with wave after wave of European colonization. Some of
those who did attend were alienated by European mages’ insistence on grouping together dozens
of different practices and philosophies under the umbrella of ‘Dreamspeakers’ or co-opting them
into other groups that had little in common but shared regional origins.
The mages who became the Traditions, and the Council, set their agenda and largely ignored
groups who didn’t align with it. The Council of Nine can’t reasonably claim to represent all
mystics. It might not even represent the majority of them: there are dozens of Crafts, ranging in
size from dozens of members to hundreds or even more. The Disparate Alliance is growing in
numbers and influence, and the Council hasn’t yet reacted. Time will tell whether the Council
will treat the Disparates with paternalistic condescension (which the Disparate Alliance won’t
appreciate), see them as competition or a threat, or learn to work with them as equals and allies.
The Council’s attention has always been on Europe and America. This narrow focus pushed
away the Ahl-i-Batin, who withdrew from the Council in the mid 20th century to look after their
own interests: maintaining the Web of Faith and addressing Technocratic incursions into the
Middle East. Their needs didn’t align with the Council’s agenda, and rather than adapt and
support, the Council lost them, and left the seat of Correspondence open until the mid-20th
century. To continue to thrive in their second millennium, the Council must learn and adapt, and
consider giving more than it takes.
Time will tell, too, whether the Disparates are interested in working with the Council in any way.
Historically the Council have been inflexible: they advance their own priorities, and only theirs.
The Disparates simply don’t share their agenda. Even if the Council’s attitude changes, the
Disparates may have no interest in finding out.

Future Fates
So far, this chapter presented the most probable situation and direction for the Council of Nine,
based on a couple of keystone events. But there’s no canon in Mage 20 and there are many
weirder ways the wavefronts of probability could collapse together.
To begin with, why stop at one Council of Nine Mystick Traditions? Once Horizon is gone, and
the whole infrastructure of the Traditions with it, by what authority do newcomers to the Council
Seats take up those posts? What makes a new Council official? It’s not as though mages are
holding global elections. Any claim to authority can only mean some, maybe many, powerful
people support a set of candidates. It follows that any other group can make an equally good
claim. 14th century Europe had three simultaneous popes, and Tradition mages are a lot more
fervently opposed to assumed authority than devout Christians. If that happens, chaos abounds,
and the whole concept of the Traditions is weaker for the conflict. One way for a Council of
Nine to achieve primacy and recognition would be to make serious strides in defeating an enemy.
It might have to find one first; if Technocrats and Disparates don’t work, there’s always the
option of aliens, fey, or a third Massassa War.
If Horizon wasn’t destroyed, or even attacked, the Council continues to be a largely irrelevant,
isolationist institution. As science, faith, and mysticism develop and recombine in new ways
around the world and across generations of Sleepers, it’s probably even more irrelevant. It might
be time for planned obsolescence. A chronicle could see the Council put its affairs in order, settle
some debts, and disband. This would likely follow one or more Traditions formally departing
from the Council, and there would be groups within the Council who refused to move on quietly,
deciding to go out in a blaze of glory rather than live to watch themselves become unimportant.
If the Council disbands, there are thirty-thousand refugees from Concordia, the only truly
magical city in reality, to deal with, plus the bygones who sought shelter in Horizon. That’s
thirty-thousand people without legal identities, money or home, who justifiably think Tradition
mages will take care of them. That many people, returned to this side of the Gauntlet, could
seriously shift a regional paradigm if they all stayed together. And that, for anyone who doesn’t
enjoy dragons and fireballs, is a problem.
Rumors have swirled around the magickal community for years that the Council masters were
corrupt, or even corrupt. Nephandi corrupt. Those rumors were only ever buried in a shallow
grave, and the fall of Horizon disturbed the dirt. Some speculate that the Ascension Warrior was
a Nephandus. Others think he was coming to clean out the Nephandic taint within Horizon. If
that’s true, the corruption likely goes all the way back to the March of the Nine, via Akrites
Salonikas. Did Teomim lead their allies into an ambush to trap the Nephandi among them? Did
Akrites escape because he was the first to react or because his infernal allies gave him advanced
warning? There’s potentially a whole secret history for players to pick at, here. If the Traditions
are riddled with Nephandic corruption, the philosophical basis of the Ascension War is in doubt.
Were the Technocracy right about the dangers of Reality Deviants all along?
Or maybe the Ascension Warrior was the Nephandus after all, and the destruction of Horizon
was a ploy to clear a path for a new generation of tainted leaders who’ll poison the Traditions
from within. In the World of Darkness, misery doesn’t need to be coordinated by a great,
powerful conspiracy. It’s equally valid to decide there’s no guiding hand, but the trauma of
Horizon’s destruction and the fear and uncertainty of the 21st century made Infernalism — a
promise of certainty and power — extremely appealing.