Chapter One: Through the Thin Veil of Time

July 12th, 1987
The crickets sing in the heat of the night as the moon rises over the dense cornfields that canvas the farmlands of Maple Hill, New Jersey. Fireflies dance in the silky blue-black sky, their light mingling with the dots in the sky that call themselves stars. It is a quiet, clear night, and if not for the heat and the humidity, some might call the night beautiful. Kassandra does not think that this night, nor any other night in recent memory, is beautiful. Her night is filled with anxiety and fear. Her night is a series of seconds that collide with minutes that crash into hours; a cacophony of time that occludes the perception of nearly every sense she possesses.

Kassandra’s beat up 1972 Ford F250 rolls along Atlantic Street at a speed that is at least 30 miles an hour above the marked speed limit. She cannot tell, though—her speedometer has been busted for years. Nor does she care—luck is something she has in spades and she is confidant that there will be no police cruisers on this pitch-black farm road.

Twelve minutes passed—or was it twenty?—and the F250 slows and pulls onto the grassy shoulder, a thin strip of earth and greenery that separates the road from the acres of corn. Kassandra raises the emergency break and cuts the engine. The door opens with a groan and the Witch steps out, the tired leather of her boots touching down on familiar ground. Even in the dark Kassandra can see the old withered oak tree that grows out of the center of the field, its silhouette reaching high into the sky. She comes here often. This field is sacred to her, and has been for over a decade. This is where she comes to commune with Time. This is where she comes to learn the future and to better understand the past.

Kassandra pushes through the stalks of corn, her knapsack of tools and trinkets bouncing this way and that, the tinkling of metal on metal joining the chorus of crickets. Her boots sink into the soft earth as she moves toward the Verge, and mosquitos whine in her ears before landing on the nape of her neck. Kassandra notices none of the annoyances focusing only on her journey. As she approaches her destination she recites a limerick she cannot recall learning, the words exiting her throat in a hoarse whisper.

"The unseen virtue of time:
it flows like water! How sublime
that time, in reverse,
may un-write this verse
and un-spend my last thin dime!"

As Kassandra crosses the threshold where the Verge meets with the Fallen world, she feels at peace. The oak tree calls to her, its gnarled bark and twisting branches impossibly ancient and steady in a place that seems to ignore the laws of time. Kassandra pauses for a moment, closing her eyes and absorbing the calm that surrounds her. Then she moves to the base of the tree, kneels down, and begins to empty the contents of her knapsack.

Then Kassandra hears the hammer of a revolver click into place.

"I wouldn’t do that, if I were you."

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The Consilium Gathers
The Platinum Club—the Consilium that claims jurisdiction over Maple Hill, New Jersey—meets on the second Sunday of every month. The Mages of Maple Hill who wish to attend travel just outside of the ever-changing farming community, to a five star hotel that was inexplicably built in the late 1970s, and which—just as inexplicably—flourishes in the heart of South Jersey. They move among bathing-suit clad suburbanites and follow signs that lead toward the Vault, a conference room that appears to be a stylish bank vault, complete with a functional vault door. Once inside, the massive door closes, and the private meeting commences. The Hierarch, Pyre, sits at the head of the table, with her Councilors taking the seats closest to her. The rest of the seats are filled by members of the constituent Cabals. Tonight, all of the seats are filled.

"The Yellow Kid, founding member of the Less Fortunate, you were brought before this Consilium in June of 1987 and were accused of regularly violating the Precepts of Secrecy and Hubris. Your cabal, considered a "collection of con men" by its peers, uses the Arcana to swindle—to flat out rob—the Sleepers of this community. And it is this Consilium's opinion that such actions should be considered unlawful. As punishment, you and your cabal shall—as a payment of debt—forfeit your hold Matthew Farm House, releasing it to a more deserving Cabal."

The Yellow Kid slams his fist down on the table and stands, the ultra-modern office chair he was sitting in seconds before skitters out from under him and topples to the floor. The attending members of the Less Fortunate rally along side him.

"You can't do that! That's been our Sanctum since 79!"

Murmurs ripple through the conference room, and Pyre silently gestures, first toward the Yellow Kid, and then to her Sentinel, Dent. Murmurs escalate to shouts as Dent begins to move toward the Less Fortunate.

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Afterward
There has been a dangerous trend in Maple Hill: the Platinum Club has been taking valuable assets away from native Maple Hill cabals, using the Lex Magica to explain its actions. The Less Fortunate are simply the latest victim in a year-long campaign against Mages with less-than-favorable backgrounds. Your cabal hasn't been affected. Yet. But you have to wonder when Pyre and her councilors will come for what you've rightfully earned.

Your cabal meets after the Consilium comes to a close. Where do you meet? And what do you discuss? What is the cabal's opinion of Pyre's actions? Did the Less Fortunate deserve to have their sanctum—a historic home with a known Hallow attached—revoked?