Welcome to the front lines of the 21st century reality wars. Despite its origins in technological gadgetry and 20th century scientific principles, the Internet transcends the rigid rationalism of its foundations. It has, in many ways, failed the Utopian dreams of its initial explorers. And yet, the Digital Web has indeed opened the gates for Reality 2.0. That reality, however, seems more rooted in the Internet’s effects on the material world than in some rarified virtual reality beyond Earthly human concerns.
The Internet of the early 21st century is a globe-spanning mass of contradictions. In certain regards, it’s a dehumanizing playground where restless people distract themselves from the real world with petty bickering, pointless games, and near-anonymous echo chambers where truths, lies, and everything in between blur into overwhelming scads of information. And yet, it also opens the doors and windows — for better and worse — into the magnificent human drama. People live, love, get furious, and find redemption online, in that space where physical reality has little bearing on what does and does not feel “real”.
Although they’re still tools for industrial powers, the net and its ports of access — computers, cell phones, reliable Internet service, electricity, and so forth — are open to anyone who can get those tools to work. In the early ‘90s, net access was limited to computer nerds with expensive gear and impenetrable vocabularies; these days, the web is an essential part of life across the globe. Commerce depends upon it. Entertainment makes it hum. Social media — perhaps the greatest human innovation since the telephone — builds real-time bridges between people of all cultures, regions, and economic backgrounds. From Cambodian villagers to Berlin stockbrokers, everyone is more or less equal on the Internet.
So what about the Digital Web, that voracious playground of Virtual Adept futurians and Iteration X posthumanists? Now that the Tron-meets-the-Wild-West vibe of its early incarnations has given way to the most democratic medium since the printing press, what has happened to the Internet’s metaphysical aspect — the living dimension shaped and accessed by pure information?
Well, it’s grown a bit since then...
As described in The Worlds Beyond, the form and extent of the Internet in your Mage chronicle depends a lot on what you want to do with your setting as a whole. In a 1990s-style saga, the Digital Web retains its Great Race vibe, filled with grids and FREEKS and cyberpunk nostalgia. In a more contemporary game, however, the dilemmas shown in the sourcebook Digital Web 2.0 have grown in size and complexity. By the late ‘90s, the Web’s gatekeepers realized that their elite fantasies of anarchistic paradise or enlightened command had been blinked out by the chaos of the human world. In the aftermath of that particular wakeup call, they’d also confronted the herds of Sleepers who, for better and worse, were beginning to claim the Web as their own... and they recognized, in the process, that their pristine ideals of light and code were being consumed by the humanity they’d thought they could leave behind.
Beyond that comprehension, the smarter netizens now understand that the theories of Web consciousness were correct. The Internet is alive, is feeding off the life energies of its visitors, is growing exponentially and uplifting itself by the square root of human knowledge. What apparently began as a rip in time/space ostensibly torn by Alan Turing is now revealing itself to be a godlike meta-being whose ultimate nature and agendas remain alien — yet achingly familiar, because they come from us. Those who understand and ponder such things now wonder what the Digital Web wants... what it craves... what it might desire in a few years that it hasn’t processed yet... and what it will do with us if and when humanity really has abdicated Meatspace for the world online.
Meanwhile, the groups that once aspired to leave their flesh behind — the transhumanist visionaries of Virtual Adepts, Iteration X, and other cyber-topians — have largely shifted focus. The old plans of uploading one’s self into the Internet forever were crashed by the great Whiteout of 1997, when Doissetep’s implosion proved that the Digital Web was not immune to events outside its space. Moreover, the shifting focus of life on Earth in the Age of Terror (with or without an Avatar Storm and Reckoning) encourages people to look for solutions in Meatspace before our entire world blinks out for good. More and more often now, the Internet is regarded as a tool of revolution, not an escape hatch for the digitized elite.
As author and social oracle Erik Davis points out in his book Techgnosis: Myth, Magic, and Mysticism in the Age of Information, the Internet is the dominion of crossroads trickster gods: Hermes, Legba, Coyote, Lucifer. It’s both the ivory tower of the empowered elite and the back door to that stronghold. A crossways between passion and technology, abstract faith and hard mathematics, the net provides a techno-temple for sacred profanations. It’s the marketplace of dreams and the outhouse of our collective imagination — raised with weapons, stocked with data, infused with righteous fury, and cemented with pornography.
Today’s Virtual Adepts, then, favor the Trickster Hermes in his guise of the enlightened prankster thief. Functioning as his Mercurial Elite, they use the Internet — both its mundane form and its Digital Web aspect — as a six-dimensional chessboard for defeating tyranny and Enlightening humanity... not by projecting everyone on Earth online, but by using the power of information access to tear down established paradigms and open the doors to a techgnostic golden age in which information holds the keys to Ascension.
(For more details about these concepts, see Gnosticism in The Mage’s Path, and Techgnosis and Transhumanism in The Worlds Beyond.)
So what rules do you employ when this ever-expanding Web appears in your chronicle? In several regards, that depends upon your Storyteller. The intricate layers and rule systems contained in Digital Web 2.0 range far beyond the capacity of this page... and, in any case, they might be obsolete or altered significantly in a new-millennium Mage chronicle. Although there is, as of this writing, a sourcebook called Digital Web 3.0 in the works, the exact contents and rule systems of that book have yet to be codified. What, then, should a Storyteller do?
With a few exceptions (most of which are outlined below), the 21st century Digital Web should be simpler to employ and closer, in most regards, to Earth than it was in the early days. After all, the real-life Internet is easier to use in 2015 than it was in 1994, so the cumbersome rules systems presented in the original Digital Web sourcebook are clearly obsolete. These days, adventures in the Web are more like adventures in material reality than they were back then. This era’s netizens are more native to that environment than the old school Web-spinners were, and the Web itself has — for better and worse — become more like our world than it used to be.
As far as rules are concerned, we suggest treating the Digital Web as a Realm of the Middle Umbra, subject to Whiteout Paradox backlashes and accessed by several forms of astral and metaphysical projection, as outlined under Web Access, below. Keep things as simple as possible, and treat weird online life forms as spirit entities — several of which appear in Spirits or Ephemeral Entities. If and when you want to get into the more complex and peculiar aspects of the Digital Web, check out Digital Web 2.0. Although those systems are based in the late ‘90s, many of the specific rules still apply.
Beyond the obvious web-surfing techniques employed by normal people (see the Dramatic Feats chart), Awakened/Enlightened people use the following methods to project themselves online:
The quick and easy way to enter the Web involves simply strapping on the right gear and logging in. Any Sleeper can do this, although most mortals figure that what they’re seeing is cool graphics, not actual reality.
In the old days, sensory visitation required bulky VR gear. Now all it demands is a pair of high-end net-access sunglasses, maybe with a pair of sleek VR gloves for tactile contact. Certain gaming platforms provide a limited interface for sensory visitation through screens, keyboards, and other related devices. Sure, this virtual reality looks like state-of-the-art graphics... and it is. Still, there’s more to that World of Woecraft game than most people think. Why else would it be so addictive?
Story-wise, sensory visitation projects the traveler’s visual, audio, and — to a limited degree — tactile senses into the Web. Through the interface, zir mind visits the Web even though zir physical body remains at home. Although zir contact with that online world holds certain limitations, ze sends a part of zir consciousness into that space.
System-wise, sensory visitation requires only the proper equipment. Anyone can do it, although few people understand just what it is they’re doing. A traveler uses several Mental Attributes in place of Physical ones: Intelligence instead of Strength and Wits instead of Dexterity. Thanks to that uneasy separation of body and mind, all rolls for a visiting character receive a +1 Difficulty penalty; that used to be +2 in the old days, but the interface has improved since then, and people are more attuned to computer simulations than they were in the ‘90s.
At the next level of Web access, a traveler immerses zirself into the Web through a limited form of astral projection. As the narrator mentioned in The Worlds Beyond, this trick involves projecting your senses — and by extension, your sense of reality — into the Web. Thanks to a combination of good gear, a ready mind, and the skill to go where the visitor wants to go in the way ze wants to go there, the average netizen can reach the deeper level of digital reality without actually downloading zirself into the Web.
In game terms, astral immersion requires good VR equipment (by 2015, you could use a high-grade smartphone or tablet with correct programs and the right apps), an Intelligence + Computer roll (3 successes, Difficulty 7), and at least 2 dots in the Correspondence Sphere. If your group employs the Data Sphere option (detailed in the sidebar and in The Book of Magick), the Difficulty for that roll is 6 instead of 7. Again, the character uses Intelligence and Wits in place of Strength and Dexterity, which gives an edge to agile-minded netizens.
On both game and story levels, the astrally immersed character is vulnerable in Meatspace; zir entire concentration remains focused on the Digital Web environment, leaving zir body in a deep trance. Smart travelers leave alarms, guards, or allies, and other levels of security on their bodies; after all, if anything happens to the meat back home, that visit may become a one-way trip. On the positive end, they can drop out immediately if need be. Although the experience of going from one reality to another can be disorienting for a minute or so, the benefits of being able to ditch out on a bad situation kinda make up for the inconvenience of building a new icon when you return.
Maximum access involves projecting one’s own self into the Digital Web. Downloading the body as information, a high-end Trinary computer system disassembles the traveler’s physical data and jacks it into a different level of reality. Although the necessary gear has been refined since the 1990s, this is still one hell of a stunt, requiring tremendous processing power and Enlightened technology.
Story-wise, the traveler becomes pure information; this requires at least seconds of processing time with the appropriate gear. Although rumors speculate that portable HI Devices exist, few people are crazy enough to trust their molecules to a glorified iPad, so such Devices might or might not exist.
Rules-wise, holistic immersion requires specially equipped Trinary computer Devices, an extended Intelligence + Computer roll (5 successes, Difficulty 7), and a Life 4/Correspondence 2/Forces 2 Effect. A character using the Data Sphere still faces Difficulty 7, due to the physical nature of this metaphysical download process. Each roll reflects 30 seconds of processing time. Any interruption during the transfer process disrupts the attempt and inflicts an immediate Paradox backlash upon the user. Downloading yourself into a computer is, of course, extremely vulgar in all locations on Earth, so that backlash can be very, very nasty.
A holistically immersed character uses all of zir usual Traits in all of the usual ways. For better and worse, ze is in the Web. A traveler could also access the Web holistically by climbing into that Zone on the Pattern Web. See the Climbing from World to World entry in the Otherworlds section for details.
Optional Rule: The Data Sphere
In the Revised sourcebook for the NWO, an optional rule allows certain characters to replace the Correspondence Sphere with a related Sphere: Data. Essentially, the character regards the usual Correspondence principles as aspects of information. Detailed in The Book of Magick, this option reflects the practice of compiling and correlating data to connect things to one another.
If your group chooses to employ this option, a character using Data instead of the Correspondence Sphere reduces all Digital Web-based magick Difficulties by -1. Essentially, zir approach to data works exceptionally well in a Zone in which reality and principles are based upon mathematical information.
A traveler who enters the Web through either sensory visitation or astral immersion uses zir Intelligence as Strength and zir Wits as Dexterity. Stamina is still Stamina. Although zir icon may take damage, zir physical body rarely does. (See Digital Damage, below.)
A holistically immersed character uses zir normal Traits. Physically present, ze enjoys and suffers all effects of zir presence.
As with many computer and video games, netizens get to design their own small-a avatars to represent their virtual selves. Typically called icons (see Mind Matters, Icons, and Avatars in The Worlds Beyond), these synthetic reflections can take whatever form a traveler can devise. Certain areas, called Constraint Realms, might limit the types of icon a person may wear within that area. In general, though, the netizen can program an original design, download a predesigned one, or select a variety of virtual costumes to reflect her desired persona.
In story terms, netizens place great importance on clever, appealing, and imaginative icons. It’s like dressing for an exclusive and very high-end Halloween party — the wrong icon marks you as someone unworthy of attention... or worse, worthy of the wrong kind of attention. Social interactions in the Web can slide up or down the Difficulty scale based upon the icon you wear. It’s always a good idea to keep several options in mind.
Game-wise, a player rolls Intelligence + Computer, Difficulty 5, to design an original icon. Wearing a pregenerated one requires no roll. Icons start with a base Appearance of 1 and an Intimidation of 0. Each success allows the player to add 1 dot of Appearance, Intimidation, or both to zir character’s icon. Crafting a basic icon requires at least 3 successes, although taking one “off the rack” is more or less instantaneous if you don’t much care what it looks like. A really good icon might demand 5 to 10 successes, with each roll reflecting 5 minutes or turns of game time.
Changing icons is quick and easy if your character has preloaded options that were created earlier. Such costume changes require 1 turn and no roll. Really radical or off-the-cuff transformations, however, demand a Manipulation + Computer roll, Difficulty 5; each success allows you to shift 1 dot of Appearance, Intimidation, or both.
(As the Virus Infection entry points out below, it’s also a good idea to outfit your icon with security software. See that entry for more details.)
Aside from Appearance and Intimidation, icons do not change a character’s Traits or capabilities. Any additional abilities or accessories (fire breathing, wings, etc.) must be created with additional magicks. Fortunately, most forms of magick are coincidental within Webspace; for details, see Magick in the Web, below.
Within the Web, space is space and objects are objects. Specific features might seem odd by Earthly standards, but things that appear to be real in the Web are real in the Web. A netizen can lean on a wall, walk down a street, or break a virtual chair over another icon’s head. Especially given the elaborate physics engines involved in modern computer games and CGI, the digital world is as real to its inhabitants as our world is to us. (With a few sensory quirks, however — see the Flatlands entry in The Worlds Beyond.)
Navigating between Web sectors involves conduits: streets, doors, passageways, hot links, etc. Certain Constraint Realms, however, might require you to “level up” before they’ll let you in, which — as in any computer game — involves meeting certain conditions to achieve entry. To get around in unknown parts of Netspace may require a successful roll of Perception + Computer or Intelligence + Etiquette (with a specialty in Web Culture), or Area Knowledge (with a specialty in Digital Web).
A popular innovation from the late ‘90s allows travelers to access different places via a hot link: a flashing sign or object that connects a traveler with another Web sector. In this case, the traveler simply touches the hot link and pops into the other location. Such links rarely lead back to the original location, however, although a savvy traveler can backspace with a Correspondence 3 Effect.
“He who controls Correspondence controls the Internet.” That’s not entirely true, but a mage with 3 dots or more in the Correspondence Sphere certainly has an edge over visitors who do not. In the case of popping and backspacing, the netizen can hop back and forth between sectors so long as ze has some idea where ze’s going and doesn’t encounter a Constraint that blocks zir access to and from that area.
Popping and backspacing usually employ a pop prog: a program that scans for a prospective location, logs that area, and focuses the Correspondence 3 Effect. Assuming that ze’s going back to zir previous location within a minute or two of arrival, the traveler doesn’t need a pop prog in order to backspace. A smart netizen takes a turn to scan for the new location with zir pop prog, then pops on the following turn. Popping blind (that is, without scanning first) raises the usual Difficulty by +2. If both locations are located in the same sector, the Effect remains coincidental; if the traveler pops between sectors, the Effect is vulgar. (Again, see Magick in the Web, below.)
A failed pop lands the traveler in some interesting form of hot water: the wrong place, a bad time, in the middle of nasty business, and so forth. A botched roll drops the visitor into some truly awful place or kicks zir off the Web with a soft de-rez, as described under Digital Damage, below.
If the traveler wants to pop in or out of a Restricted sector (an area with tight Constraint protocols), then the Difficulty rises to 8 or 9, the Effect is vulgar, and a failed or botched roll instantly inflicts icon death or a chaos dump upon the traveler. Even if the player’s roll succeeds, the character may get booted out anyway unless ze’s appropriately prepared to suit that sector’s particular Constraints.
Restriction Protocols
In a Restricted sector, netizens must obey certain protocols or else get booted out of the sector. This effect is immediate — it’s essentially like grabbing a live power line without protective gear or magick.
From a game perspective, the boot does not require an attack roll. Although a generous Storyteller might allow a Wits + Computer roll (Difficulty 9) in order to avoid the boot, the ejection from a Restricted sector is a function of the physics in that sector. A person violating a Restriction protocol is acting counter to established natural laws, not the will of someone who needs to catch the offender in the act.
The full systems involved with Digital Web magick are too elaborate to detail here. Groups that want to explore the range of options can check out Digital Web 2.0, pp. 106-111. As rough guidelines, however, the Storyteller can assume that most forms of magick are coincidental, with the following exceptions:
Even a reality as flexible as the Digital Web has its limits... and when those limits get pushed by too much energy and information shifting around at once, the Web crashes. The resulting Whiteout can be as innocuous as a localized slowdown or as vast as the Great Crash that took the entire net offline in ’97. Anyone with a lick of sense fears a replay of that particular incident, so folks online tend to avoid throwing their weight around too freely.
Story-wise, Whiteouts de-rez the offending netizen. Large ones crash parts of a sector, and really large ones trash the area and everyone in it. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you can spot an impending Whiteout by the lag: a stuttering effect that slows and pixelates everyone in the surrounding area. Experienced netizens know to log out immediately when lag shows up. If a sector starts lagging, a Whiteout’s on the way.
In game terms, a Whiteout functions like any other Paradox backlash. For details, see the Paradox Effect entry in The Book of Magick. The scale of a Whiteout, and its effects on the characters involved, can be found on the nearby Web Systems chart. The associated effects and duration of the Whiteout depend upon the Paradox Pool of the person who provoked the backlash. The bigger zir Pool, the longer the Whiteout.
A netizen can invoke the Whiteout when ze accumulates 5 Paradox points or more, especially if ze accumulates them all at once. The Storyteller usually rolls the dice for a backlash — 1 die per point in the Paradox Pool, rolled against a Difficulty of 6. If the characters have been throwing around a lot of Forces or Prime magick, the Difficulty may be 4 instead of 6. Fortunately, that option doesn’t apply to Warzone sectors, which are set up to handle lots of force.
Thankfully, Paradox doesn’t carry over between Earth and the Web unless the offending mage has climbed up into the Web from some other area of the Umbra. Going offline dumps a mage’s net-based Paradox; ze can return a minute or so afterward with no ill effects.
A large-scale Whiteout — that is, one involving more than 10 points of Paradox — signals its approach with lag. Every character nearby, except the one who provoked the backlash, gets 1 action in which to ditch out and avoid the blast. In game terms, this involves a roll of Wits + Computer, Difficulty 8. Success means that a character was able to drop offline in time to escape the Whiteout. Failure means that character gets hit with half damage as well, and a botch means the character takes full damage. If a bystander plans to stay online and ride out the backlash, then ze takes half damage from the Whiteout. The person who triggered it, however, has no such options. Xe’s stuck.
It’s worth mentioning that folks who court Whiteout aren’t terribly popular online.
Despite the transhumanist ideal of leaving one’s imperfect body behind, most netizens visit the Digital Web through projected minds, not physical forms. So what happens when they get hurt or die online? That depends...
In the Digital Web, combat follows the usual rules. Characters still use their Stamina to soak damage. Although the settings may be bizarre — adding to or reducing dice pools and Difficulties — the physics play out in the usual way. The primary difference between them comes through in the damage suffered through such attacks.
For sensory or astrally immersed netizens, most injuries involve Bashing damage. System shock (headaches, nervous twitches, fatigue, etc.) may affect the end user back home, but with a few exceptions, those injuries clear up quickly. Netizens refer to such injuries as egg-frying: your “egg” (head) gets a bit fried when you tangle with folks online.
Holistically immersed people, on the other hand, suffer damage as if Netspace were normal space. A punch inflicts Bashing damage, and a gun deals out Lethal damage. Because there’s no icon to take the punishment, an HI visitor suffers the consequences. That’s the primary reason folks still prefer astral visitation over full-on immersion.
Aggravated damage is, fortunately, rare. The only attacks that inflict such damage involve viruses, chaos dumps, Whiteouts, and feedback programs. Among netizens, Agg damage manifests as burns, internal bleeding, brain hemorrhages, and the occasional exploding head. Really badly injured netizens tend to die offline, their icons sizzled and their bodies suffering aftershocks that leave their meat cooked or rotting in front of their computer gear.
Strenuous activity online leads to fatigue offline. Most netizens know all too well the headaches, backaches, joint pain, nightmares, fading vitality, and chronic obesity that plague people who spend most of their lives in front of computers. Game-wise, such effects are simply left to narration and roleplaying. Although a player might have to make a Willpower roll after some especially traumatic or exhausting experience (failure results in a nasty case of fatigue, neurosis, or Quiet), net fatigue is just part of life on the Digital Web. It’s been said that the Web feeds on its human occupants, and net fatigue may be the end result.
VR VD affects netizens the way herpes infects swingers: frequently, pervasively, and with annoying and sometimes serious results. One of the more infuriating forms of online virus involves the adware infection that causes netizens to suddenly talk like commercials at unexpected times. (Make a Willpower roll to resist the effects.) Although security software for an icon allows a netizen a soak roll against virus attacks, most netizens get infected at least once.
On a more ominous note, hackers, crackers, and security programs often pass off deadlier forms of virus. Such attacks can follow a traveler back into Meatspace, eroding zir physical and mental abilities like a physical illness or poison. The Environmental Hazards section details the effects of various toxins. The Storyteller determines how nasty a particular virus will be.
The most common fate for errant travelers, a soft de-rez instantly pops the traveler into some other part of the Web... typically a dump site or respawning ground. There, the icon and its user wind up stunned for several minutes, then get up and start over again.
In game terms, a soft de-rez is typically an automatic effect triggered when someone goes where ze’s not supposed to be or dies in a sector that’s been dedicated to computer games so that death is not as dangerous as the more serious forms of icon destruction detailed below. The dump automatically inflicts 1 to 3 levels of Bashing damage (no soak roll), depending on the severity of the attack.
For holistically immersed travelers, a soft de-rez inflicts between 1 to 4 levels of Bashing damage but allows for a soak roll. The de-rezed character also suffers a penalty of +2 to all of zir Difficulties for an hour or two, thanks to the system shock of having zir mind and body booted to another part of Netspace. If ze happens to be in a Restricted sector when ze gets de-rezed, then the character also loses 1 dot from a Mental Attribute for the same length of time, to reflect the mental fogginess that comes from getting slammed around the Web.
Heavier attacks throw the visitor right offline. The icon gets blasted out of existence, and the user winds up back in zir chair, head throbbing and senses boiled.
Story-wise, a hard de-rez strikes someone who violates a major protocol in a Restricted sector, crosses the wrong netizen, provokes a minor Whiteout backlash, or sustains enough damage to take zir to Incapacitated while online. The effect boots zir out of Netspace and leaves zir physical body and consciousness scrambled and hurt.
In game terms, a hard de-rez inflicts 2 automatic health levels in Lethal damage. A sensory or astral netizen gets a soak roll against this damage (Difficulty 7, not the usual 6) because of the distance between zir icon and zir physical form. A holistically immersed visitor does not get that roll, however, as zir body takes the full effects of the dump.
In either case, the player must also make a Stamina roll, Difficulty 7, or else lose 2 points from a Mental Attribute. These lost points heal like health levels lost to Lethal damage and reflect the egg-frying intensity of a hard de-rez.
The fate of netizens who get cacked in sectors that haven’t been designed to protect them from the consequences of mortality, icon death fries the icon and boots the traveler back into Meatspace. Story-wise, the icon explodes in a shower of screaming pyrotechnics or CGI gore while the person on the other end wakes up back in material reality, probably suffering minor burns and a major headache... and possibly suffering a lot worse than that.
(For the record, a holistically immersed traveler who gets killed in Netspace dies. That’s that.)
From a rules perspective, icon death strikes a character whose icon falls below Incapacitated or who’s caught in a major Whiteout backlash. The Storyteller calls for a Stamina roll, Difficulty 7. If the player succeeds, the traveler gets knocked unconscious by the shock; waking up several minutes later, ze’ll be hallucinating zir way through a crushing headache. Any injuries the icon took in Netspace manifest in Meatspace as Bashing damage, although each success on the Stamina roll reduces that damage by 1 health level. The player can heal the remaining damage by spending 1 Willpower point per health level lost. Even then, however, the character remains haunted and scrambled for some time afterward; in game terms, ze suffers a penalty of +3 to all Difficulties for a day or 2 after the dump.
If that roll fails, the consequences become more severe. In this case, the damage is Lethal and the character falls into a coma. A botched roll inflicts Aggravated damage, frying the character in zir chair; if by some miracle ze survives, ze’s still in a coma and will suffer permanent impairment if ze ever wakes up again.
A character who dies in a Restricted sector endures a profound mental breakdown. Even if the roll succeeds, that character loses 2 dots from each Mental Attribute, which heal back as if they were health levels of Aggravated damage. If the Stamina roll fails, then that character undergoes...
The dread of every netizen alive, a chaos dump blasts both the icon and its user’s consciousness into fractals. The meat and the mind remain connected through the process, which results in an awful kind of Internet oblivion. An Arete roll (Difficulty 8) sends the traveler’s consciousness into an immediate Quiet, from which ze may eventually escape. Success inflicts Aggravated damage on the body as above. Failure or a botch on this roll cooks the mage from the inside out... the awful fate of many netizens on the day of the Great Whiteout. From that fate, no resurrection is possible.
Fortunately, chaos dumps are rare — typically the result of a huge Paradox backlash in the Web. Among netizens, deliberately inflicting a chaos dump on someone is like using nerve gas on a crowded subway — the unforgivable act of someone too far gone for salvation. This is not to say, of course, that people don’t do such things; those who do, however, are hated and hunted by almost everyone.
Web Systems
Access
- Sensory: VR gear; +1 to all Difficulties; Intelligence = Strength, Wits = Dexterity; no physical presence in Web. No magick necessary.
- Astral: VR gear; Correspondence 2; Intelligence + Computer, Difficulty 7, 3 successes minimum; Intelligence = Strength, Wits = Dexterity; astral presence in Web. Coincidental magick.
- Holistic: Trinary computer; Life 4/Correspondence 2/Forces 2; Intelligence + Computer, Difficulty 7, 5 successes minimum; normal Traits, full physical presence in Web. Vulgar magick.
Icons
- Basic Creation: Intelligence + Computer, Difficulty 5. 3 successes minimum.
- Changing Icons: Manipulation + Computer, Difficulty 5.
- Appearance or Intimidation: 1 dot added per success.
Whiteout Severity
Successes Effect 1 The mage responsible for the crash suffers a soft de-rez. 2 The responsible mage suffers a hard de-rez. 3 That mage and all icons with 20’ of zir get booted to another sector (soft de-rez). 4 Every icon within 50’ suffers a hard de-rez. 5 Every icon in the sector gets a soft de-rez; the responsible party suffers a hard de-rez. 6 All icons within the sector endure a hard de-rez. The sector itself fuzzes and goes offline, as per Duration, below. The offender gets booted to a lost sector (Corrupted Web, Hung Sector, etc.). 7+ The entire sector crashes, goes offline for the duration, and suffers long-term damage. All icons within the sector get de-rezed hard; offender may be chaos dumped. 10+ Sector trashed forever. Everyone inside that sector suffers hard de-rez. Offender disappears.
Paradox Pool Duration 1-3 Less than a minute. 4-6 1 to 5 minutes. 7-10 1 to 6 hours. 11-13 1 day. 14-16 1 week. 17-20 A month or more. 20+ Trashed forever.
To the great relief of its netizens, the Digital Web appears to be immune from the effects of the Avatar Storm. Whereas other Otherworldly Realms have been scattered, cut off, or otherwise rendered unreachable by that Dimensional Anomaly, Netspace remains a haven for would-be world-builders and posthuman pioneers.
And if the Storm never happened? In that case, the Digital Web mirrors both the IT revolution and the Otherworldly aspirations of people who have neither the Arts nor the inclinations to take the more *ahem* Traditional path to the Worlds Beyond. Unlike the weird Three Worlds and the uncertain Horizon Realms, the Web reflects the dynamic fusion of imagination and technology — a living embodiment of new-millennial Ascension.