|La Vie Dans La Mémoire
||[Sep. 19th, 2009|01:21 pm]
The Ascension Community
A rote I created to be a plot device for the antagonist of a story.|
La vie dans la mémoire. (Life ***** Mind ***** Time ****)
"We will miss her generosity," intoned the dry little man behind the podium. "We will miss her energy."
A child lost in the orderly rows of seats tried to stifle a sudden coughing fit. The adults shifted restlessly in the tepid, still air.
"But," drove the eulogist, "most of all, we will miss her undying sense of purpose." He shuffled a few degrees to one side, as if to face the casket. He gestured to it, in case anyone of the two hundred attendees had forgotten the guest of honor. The gesture slowly deflated as the arid silence became awkward, then strange.
Paper-thin whispers crackled from the mourners.
"Thank the Lord her 'sense of purpose' died along with her," said one.
"Nobody needed to be that...that driven," said another.
Like flies buzzing around a corpse, the muttering grew to fill the room.
"Now maybe the Institute will finally fade away."
"Elitist trash. Good riddance."
"Yeah, they were assholes, but they were smart assholes."
"Hush your mouth. This is a memorial."
"She knew what she wanted and went for it, at least."
"You gotta give her that."
"My son wanted to join the Institute..."
"Did he apply?"
"No. I didn't let him. But I'm sure he was smart enough...I mean..."
"Yeah, well, now you'll never know."
The murmurs grew and grew, rising like too much bread in the sun. The eulogist found himself holding his breath; nothing like this had happened before. He squinted into the crowd anxiously. The suits and sundresses rippled in motley patterns before his eyes like heat waves on a tarmac.
Something was happening. He could feel it spreading over the entire room, ignoring the wilting flowers and the century-old Wurlitzer, but finding each and every life: man, woman and child. It shaped the air, it crafted the whispers.
"I wanted my Melissa to join..."
"I heard they had a fantastic business program."
"...but now she never will...it's too late."
"I guess it's hard growing up in this podunk little town."
"I just wanted the best for her."
"It isn't elitism if you really are better...educated, anyway."
"It was all about education. Sure it was kinda weird, but, what would I know?"
"Somebody," said the dry little man up front, "somebody should continue her work."
It was like a revelation. The whispers evaporated instantly in the shock of recognition.
"Yes," said the child, her coughing long since stilled. "I want to go to the Institute."
The service ended fifteen minutes early. After all, there was a great deal of work to do.
[The Effect allows an ambitious and powerful Mage to literally live on in the memories of others. This isn't Untether -- the Mage actually converts her living being into thought, or more accurately memory. Successfully cast, the Mage "dies" on the spot. Then, using Time and Mind, the spell waits until a number of people who knew the Mage in some capacity surround the body, typically at a memorial or funeral. A random crowd would not do (although a similar Effect adding Prime 2 and Quintessence might work in that case. The latter would be Vulgar, however).
If successful from start to finish, the Mage literally becomes the memories within the minds of the people she has affected. In this way can she, with Willpower expenditures, influence the emotions or goals of the breathing. It would be an excellent way to continue ones life's work under the radar of enemies.
The Storyteller could use this Effect as a plot device, allowing a powerful antagonist to continue to foil the characters from "beyond the grave." This would also make killing the antagonist very problematic...a Chronicle in and of itself, perhaps.]