[M20] Technocracy Reloaded

[Voivoda]

En 43 minutos lo han cerrado.

[Jebediah_Gogorah]

60000 pavos. Casi el 200% y subiendo.

[Pagliacci]

Los tres niveles de 750, Consulting developer, y todos los de 350, 275 y 250 agotados. Solo quedan los de 500, que te montan una partida para jugarla. Han desbloqueado ya estos extras:

+Pantalla del narrador de la Tecnocracia.
+Player Companion pdf: Colección de personajes no jugadores.
+Paquete de pdfs con los libros de Convención y la Guía de la Tecnocracia.
+Player Companion: Capítulo extra sobre la Teleraña Digital 3.0

[Pagliacci]

Sobre la trama tecnócrata de infiltración nefanda, me temo que en gran parte se debe a la trilogía de novelas de El guerrero de la Ascensión, que marcaron en gran medida la evolución de la 2a edición y la 3a. En la Guía de la Tecnocracia recogen esto como una posibilidad, subrayando que principalmente se debería a la gran influencia que tiene Pentex en el Sindicato. La verdad es que todo lo que toca Hombre Lobo con sus tramas crossover lo polariza en Wyrm vs Gaia. La Tecnocracia también aparece descrita como una fuerza de la Tejedora en algunas aventuras.

[Pagliacci]

Siguen desbloqueando extras:

+Pantalla del narrador de la Tecnocracia.
+Player Companion: Colección de personajes no jugadores.
+Paquete de pdfs con los libros de Convención y la Guía de la Tecnocracia (12 libros).
+Player Companion: Capítulo extra sobre la Teleraña Digital 3.0
+Player Companion: Technomancer toybox (actualizado)
+Camiseta promo.
+Payer Companion: Aliados de conveniencia. Capítulo sobre las tramas entrecruzadas entre Tradiciones y Tecnocrcia.

[Casemir]

La Tríada estaba muy presente en la primera edición de Mago. Sin decirse explícitamente, la Tecnocracia representaba la Tejedora, los Nefandos el Wyrm, y los Merodeadores el Kaos. Y a las pobres Tradiciones les tocaba ir frenando los planes de todos, como una especie de fuerza de equilibrio. Este planteamiento está muy presente en la crónica Telar del Destino.

Creo que los vínculos de Pentex y el Sindicato fueron purgados en la Tercera Edición, pero parece que la infiltración nefanda, que creo que es un fenómenos diferente, continuó.

[Alexander Weiss]

Creo que te refieres a la segunda edición, la primera edición, que no se tradujo en España, traía muchos elementos excesivamente fantásticos que se retiraron en la segunda. Si mal no recuerdo, la primera encarnación de los Akáshicos estaba basada más en la Umbra.

De hecho, la pantalla de la primera edición creo que es bastante descriptiva.

[Pagliacci]

Puro Space Opera

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y6B9nkrSuMI

[Pagliacci]

[mention]Jebediah_Gogorah[/mention] , Courage ha vuelto:

Spoiler

Mostrar

Myths have power.

I know this, because I am held prisoner within one.

The myth of Room 101.

Our Union’s boogieman.

“Did you think we didn’t know about you, John?”

This is not happening.

“I mean, I’m certain that you knew.”

This man is not real.

“You had to know your antics had not gone — unnoted.”

The repetition is a plot. A rhetorical technique. This entire situation is a mind game. The scene is too carefully constructed, too archetypal, one might say, to be real.

“We’ve been watching you. Your so-called Friends. Your little plans. Did you somehow think we didn’t know?”

Processing Engineers do not monologue like villains in escapist cinema. This is artifice. Psychological architecture designed to instill a sense of media-induced familiarity.

None of this is real.

Not even me.

The nanotech bindings are not real. This room is not real. The Processing Engineer who looms above me is as illusory as the light flickering across a television screen. This entire exercise is a construct designed to induce fear blended with a sense of hope.

The reality is that there is no escape from this scenario. No cadre of allies will arrive to set me free. I have run such programs myself on countless occasions. Room 101 exists outside material reality, measured only by dimensions of consciousness. This is, as they say, all in my head. There are no physical doors to break down because not a single element of my imprisonment is physical.

Room 101 is installed in the minds of every Technocratic agent. Even mine.

Especially mine.

After all, I helped make it what it is today.

“I admire you, John. Obviously.” The not-man hallucination stands above me, his bald head shining in the glare. Gloved hands caress baroque instruments of pain. Crude theatrics, but they work. I know how well they work. I’ve employed them myself. “You’re a legend. A ‘secret agent’ who’s never been a secret.” His fingertips linger on something that would not have been out of place in Dr. Mengele’s surgical theatre. “A mad sort of paradox… but then, that is the point, isn’t it, John? Paradox. And madness.”

He hasn’t earned a reaction, so I don’t give him one.

“Oh, John.” He manages to sound disappointed. “Are we really playing that game now?” He picks up the instrument. “Have we really grown so predictable that I actually have to use this on you? I had hoped we were all advanced beyond such crude theatrics.”

Theatrics. This is all theatrics. He knows it. So do I.

There is no table, no instrument, no skin. I am not strapped naked to a table, he is not standing over me, and none of this exists in a physical location. This entire pageant is played out in the truest level of reality: human consciousness. Bodies are illusions. Location is a state of mind. Time, space, form — all of them are ultimately tricks we play upon ourselves.

This is the secret truth we go to war to protect. Because the human mind, unbound by illusions, goes mad. Our necessary illusions save us from ourselves.

“And that is what you are, John,” the Engineer declares, my thoughts as clear to him as this delusion is to us both. “You’re mad.”

[Jebediah_Gogorah]

@Jebediah_Gogorah , Courage ha vuelto:

Spoiler

Mostrar

Myths have power.

I know this, because I am held prisoner within one.

The myth of Room 101.

Our Union’s boogieman.

“Did you think we didn’t know about you, John?”

This is not happening.

“I mean, I’m certain that you knew.”

This man is not real.

“You had to know your antics had not gone — unnoted.”

The repetition is a plot. A rhetorical technique. This entire situation is a mind game. The scene is too carefully constructed, too archetypal, one might say, to be real.

“We’ve been watching you. Your so-called Friends. Your little plans. Did you somehow think we didn’t know?”

Processing Engineers do not monologue like villains in escapist cinema. This is artifice. Psychological architecture designed to instill a sense of media-induced familiarity.

None of this is real.

Not even me.

The nanotech bindings are not real. This room is not real. The Processing Engineer who looms above me is as illusory as the light flickering across a television screen. This entire exercise is a construct designed to induce fear blended with a sense of hope.

The reality is that there is no escape from this scenario. No cadre of allies will arrive to set me free. I have run such programs myself on countless occasions. Room 101 exists outside material reality, measured only by dimensions of consciousness. This is, as they say, all in my head. There are no physical doors to break down because not a single element of my imprisonment is physical.

Room 101 is installed in the minds of every Technocratic agent. Even mine.

Especially mine.

After all, I helped make it what it is today.

“I admire you, John. Obviously.” The not-man hallucination stands above me, his bald head shining in the glare. Gloved hands caress baroque instruments of pain. Crude theatrics, but they work. I know how well they work. I’ve employed them myself. “You’re a legend. A ‘secret agent’ who’s never been a secret.” His fingertips linger on something that would not have been out of place in Dr. Mengele’s surgical theatre. “A mad sort of paradox… but then, that is the point, isn’t it, John? Paradox. And madness.”

He hasn’t earned a reaction, so I don’t give him one.

“Oh, John.” He manages to sound disappointed. “Are we really playing that game now?” He picks up the instrument. “Have we really grown so predictable that I actually have to use this on you? I had hoped we were all advanced beyond such crude theatrics.”

Theatrics. This is all theatrics. He knows it. So do I.

There is no table, no instrument, no skin. I am not strapped naked to a table, he is not standing over me, and none of this exists in a physical location. This entire pageant is played out in the truest level of reality: human consciousness. Bodies are illusions. Location is a state of mind. Time, space, form — all of them are ultimately tricks we play upon ourselves.

This is the secret truth we go to war to protect. Because the human mind, unbound by illusions, goes mad. Our necessary illusions save us from ourselves.

“And that is what you are, John,” the Engineer declares, my thoughts as clear to him as this delusion is to us both. “You’re mad.”

Que tiemble el nuevo orden!!!!!