> Dan in Plureality

“Hi. My name is Daniel. And I'm a Mana Junkie.” 

“Hello Daniel,” They say. 

“Welcome,” Ms. Amita says. “Relax and start wherever you'd like. We're here for you.”

*

It can be difficult to talk about. Mana. How it feels. The strange. The inspiring, the disturbing, the meaningful. Whatever you want to call it. Being plugged in or being unplugged. Mystery or revelation, genesis or apocalypse. Trying to talk about it can feel like Orpheus having won his love back from the dark of the Underworld: if you look back, if you doubt it or try and name it, you'll lose it again. The observation collapsing the quantum wave of possibility.

Maybe that's why it's so addictive.

*
 
Behind the mirrored glass, observing Daniel and Ms. Amita and the rest of Them, Dr. James scans his files. “The subject is male, cisgendered, straight, white. He experiences symptoms of obsessive-compulsive disorder, severe depression, occasional dissociative disorder, and possibly paranoid apophenia. He routinely engages in delusional behaviour and often seems unable to distinguish between fantasy and reality.” Closing the folder, he sighs. “It's all the bloody TV and comic books and role-playing games. He's such a stereotype really.” 

Dr. Hannah shrugs. “It's an increasingly common complex,” she says. “There's a new term for it going around. They call it being a 'magician'.” 

“Okay Daniel,” Ms. Amita says. “Why don't we start somewhere specific? How about when you first started practicing magick? Formally, I mean.” The rest of Them are watching, listening.

*


The room I'm renting in the house with my five friends has a separate section at the back with its own door. It makes a perfect temple. For the last two years I've been studying English at university, a straight-A student, on the Dean's List, reading about science in my spare time, training with the fencing team. Captain Picard was my hero. 

Now I'm sitting cross-legged in my improvised temple, candles lit, a copy of Peter Carol's 'Liber KKK' beside me, discovered and downloaded off the net late one night in the computer lab at school. I'm wearing my trenchcoat because it reminds me of John Constantine, the urban mage from the Hellblazer comics. I've performed a circling ritual using a survival knife that my father gave to me when I was thirteen years old. It's Halloween night, I'm almost 23 years old. Last weekend I was passing by the woods where I played as a kid and the sky was filled with hundreds of crows. 

For the next three hours I sculpt a figure out of clay, a little manga-faerie that I saw in my imagination one night before I fell asleep. It's cold in the room; steam rises from my hands in the candlelight as I moisten the clay with hot water.

For the next 8 months, until I close the evocation ritual by releasing the sculpture into a river, I visit with her and imagine her. I imagine that she tells me things and helps me. 

For the next 8 months, whenever I am with her it feels like I am dreaming.

***

When Seconds Turn to Moments and then Memories

Dexter Washington swung the club about, hitting the hell-hound right in face and sending it sprawling back to where it belonged. He didn't know how much longer he would be able to keep this up, but he knew he was having one hell of a good time.

"These beasts just keep coming and coming," he shouted to the others and then added as a wry joke, "We need to reach a save point."

"Well, we can hold them off as long as possible," Wraith replied. She was flipping and weaving amongst the group, tossing shurikens like m&m's at a party. She was doing her best to keep each and everyone of the beasts that surrounded them at bay. "I only hope the others made it through safely."

"... and lo though I walked through the valley..." spoke Darius with bible held high in his hand in front of him keeping the demonic beasts away, and the book began to shine a very holy light all the while he was reciting a passage.

"There he goes again into his thumper mode," the demonic imp Twofeathers commented as she flapped her wings about Dexter, trying hard not to get caught in his swings and trying to stay above the snapping jaws of the hounds of hell that were waiting to rend her limb from limb.

"It just might be our saving grace," Dexter replied. He had swung his bat again and took out another beast that had made a mad lunge at him.

We Be Clubbin'

The pissed-off bouncer approached the table that Frank and Angst sat at. The bouncer carried a huge club, and it looked like the situation was going to escalate further. Frank saw him coming and he knew that there was trouble brewing, and he didn't want to take it that level.

"Angst," Frank said with an edge of warning. "Your friend is coming."

Angst nodded, the look of a coy co-ed turned to that of a machine ready to go into action.

"Just the one?" Angst asked without looking back.

"He's got three buddies eyeing us as he approaches," Frank replied. "Let's play cool."

"Hey you," the bouncer called out to Frank as he arrived at the table. "I don't like your face."

Frank looked up at him and nodded, "The feeling is mutual."

"And I don't like the fact that an old fart like you has to pick on jail-bait," the bouncer said; after all, he was trying to impress Angst. "What's the matter you old fuck, can't get it up with the old ladies? Have to score with the younger crowd?"
Angst was turning red with fury, and Frank just gave her a slight nod. To keep things in check. Frank didn't react to the goading like the bouncer was trying to get him to do.

The bouncer grabbed Frank's arm. "UP!" he demanded.

"Fuck you." Angst jolted and before the bouncer even realized it, he was sailing through the air like a piece of trash. Angst was furious and she turned as the three other bouncers moved towards the table.

Frank was still sitting there; he took his drink from the coaster and took a sip. He looked at Angst and gave her a wink; there was no use calming her down now. "Call me when you need me."

Angst turned to face the other challengers.

The Diceman Cometh!

*editor's note: this story is a fictional story - any resemblances to real names and persons are purely coincidental. ;)

"And on that note I think I shall call it a night," Tim said as he folded the GM screen. The duotang with tonight's episode was closed and two d6's of different colours sat on top of it, like sentinels.

"That's pretty intense man," Dan said. He took a sip from his coffee and reached for a cigarette; he scanned over his character and then gathered up the sketches he had drawn throughout the night. "Another good session."

"Ultra cool, Timmer," Chance chimed in as he walked out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee. Black.

Mark sat looking over his character and proceeded to jot down a few changes on his character due to experience points spent.

Angie stood up and stretched and shook her head. "All I have to say is 'Wow'. I can't wait til next session."

Tim beamed like sunshine in the morning. He had hoped this evenings session would be the capper. He had thought this one out for a few days now and it was good to see it executed the way that he thought it would go out.

"Dan, your character is so cool," Chance said to Dan. "I only wish my character could do that stuff."

"He can," Dan told him. "Just do it. Look beyond your character, look behind the numbers and the dice and just go with the flow. This isn't an arcade game and you are not bound by limits and rules."