When mages — or, more often, Technocrats — who belong to an organization get themselves into a tight spot, they may be able to call upon backup: professional consors tasked with getting those Enlightened or Awakened agents out of trouble. Unlike assistants and other personal companions, these folks work for a greater organization, not for the mage herself. A few wealthy mages retain mortal backup agents too, as part of an organization they command; for the most part, though, such companions serve a cause greater than both parties involved.

As the name suggests, backup consors tend to be agents of weaponized force: cops, soldiers, bodyguards, paramilitary

troops, and the like. In a crisis, they swoop in and provide covering fire, extractions, diversions, getaways, and other avenues of victory or escape. Certain agents deal with more mundane situations, too: moving gear, delivering money, passing messages, cleaning up a mage’s mess (see the entry below), providing accounting or administrative assistance, invoking diplomatic aid, marshalling media venues, and facilitating other forms of nonviolent backup. The skills, per­ sonalities, and motivations of such agents, then, depend upon the organization they serve and the role they play within it.

Backup agents generally feel a sense of loyalty to the group as well as to their more obvious financial remuneration. As a rule, though, their first and most important motivation involves a paycheck. Like their counterpart the Professional (p. XX), these folks are essentially mercenaries: workers employed by a specific cause, client, or institution, true enough, but most dedicated to their paychecks. Thus, when faced with apparently impossible situations, these folks tend to fall back fighting or, if possible, run away. After all, that paycheck ain’t doing you much good if you happen to get killed while earning it.

As detailed under the Backup Background (Mage 20, pp. 306-307), these companions arrive in groups that handle certain kinds of tasks. Those groups feature a team leader who calls the shots while specialists handle different duties within the team’s overall goal. A team of fire-support agents will fan out, find cover, and follow the commands of their team leader, deploying whatever tactics and weapons those agents employ. As a result, backup agents don’t follow the orders of the mage they’re assigned to protect; after all, if she knew what she was doing, she wouldn’t need them there to begin with. The team leader might accept input from the mage on the scene, but that sort of thing tends to be an “only as needed” arrangement. The team leader, whoever that is, gets the first and final say… and if that say involves ditching out on the mage, then so be it. Backup agents risk their lives only when they must, and then only in the service of their organization, not to serve the mage who called them in.

Within each team, the members’ individual personalities and skills correspond to the sorts of situations they’re dis­ patched to handle. A group of battle-hardened mercenaries won’t drop by to help a mage with her taxes, while a group of skilled accountants would fare poorly in desperate firefights. Whoever they are, though, they’ll be trained to expect what­ ever sorts of reality-warping nonsense their associated mages create; in game terms, they don’t count as witnesses for vulgar magick so long as said vulgarity comes from a mage in their organization. As mentioned above, Technocracy backup would count as witnesses against mystic Reality Deviation, but not against Enlightened hypertech, even if said hypertech comes from another sort of technomancer, provided that the mage still uses some form of reasonably explainable scientific prin­ ciples. Sure, that Etherite’s robot army seems scientifically plausible, but that witch tweeting thunderbolts with her cell phone is committing crimes against Reality! A coven of

neopagan backup agents, on the other hand, would find that perfectly normal (if unusual) within their sphere of beliefs.

Although the Background entry refers to backup person­ nel as “faceless,” they certainly don’t view themselves or one another that way. Where a mage sees a bunch of essentially anonymous folks rushing to her aid, the agents themselves respect their compatriots, watch each other’s backs, and follow their employer’s instructions. A mage who’s not willing to respect those things can go take a flying leap into the sun as far as backup agents are concerned. While they’ll probably recognize the mage’s superior capabilities, backup personnel won’t view themselves as, much less act as, cannon fodder unless their loyalty to the group renders them expendable in their own eyes. Especially in the modern world, though, such devotion is unusual unless those agents are fanatics, slaves, abused into perpetual submission, or otherwise bound toward self-destructive behavior; in most situations, such behavior makes those agents less effective, not more, than free-willed operatives who do what they do for their own reasons.

Suggested Traits: As detailed in the Background entry of that name, rank-and-file backup characters have between one and three dots in a handful of useful Abilities. Elite backup agents can have higher Traits and character-appropriate Merits, Flaws, and Advantages. The Abilities in question will deal with the duties of the operatives and their team; security or paramilitary backup will boast Firearms, Melee, Brawling, and so forth, while a repair crew favors Crafts, Computers, Technology, and other suitable Traits.

Suggested Templates: Mage 20, p. 306, features a list of potential backup personnel. As that list suggests, such agents do not have to be human; packs of rats or wolves, troops of apes, or flocks of ravens could all be backup agents, too. Although all agents in a given backup team will share a related template (Wolf, Professional Badass, etc.), the individuals within that team have specific Traits that reflect their role.

The Banner Dei Brute Squad

When the Ecstatic jam band and performance troupe Banner Dei formed on the last night of 1999, it found immediate, enthusiastic support from fans who’d been there that night. The Brute Squad, as they were dubbed by then-bandleader Tricia “Thunderheart” Rykomanski, held the fire line against unskilled, would-be performers who’d be more likely to set themselves on fire than add anything to the performance, pounded out improvised percussion on anything that would make some noise, and then stayed all day the following morning in order to help the Banner Dei members and their friends clean up the post-gig trash piles and load the gear into whatever vehicles they could find. Since that night, both Banner Dei and the Brute Squad have cycled through dozens of members. The cores of both groups, though, remain stable: Banner Dei blows minds, and the Brute Squad gets them in and out of gigs intact without leaving a huge mess behind.

Under the guidance of Kore Valkyrie Smith since 2010, the “Banner Brutes” provide drop-in support for Banner Dei’s members and former bandmates. Either individually or as a group, those Banner Dei personnel can send up a flare, text message, phone call, or blog post and have members of the Brute Squad on the location as quickly as a bunch of mortals can arrive. Because the Brute Squad consists of several dozen unAwakened hangers-on scattered across North and Central America, northern Europe, Japan, and India, and because Smith happens to be really good at resource management (and has backing from several noted Ecstatic philanthropists), a team of three to 15 Brute Squad folks can show up within a day or less with a little advance warning, or be on-site when needed if they know at least two days in advance.

Once dispatched, the Banner Dei Brute Squad can handle trash collection and disposal, crowd control, violence-free de-escalation, light medical attention, and setup and tear-down logistics for stage gear and musical equipment. Most Brute Squad members can also dance, spin fire, perform acrobatics, play musical instruments, or contribute other skills to the performance itself. Kore and her co-leaders train Brute Squad personnel in the essential skills before they’re allowed to back up the band and its people, and though Banner Dei and its support team have rather liberal attitudes about sex and drugs, there’s a strict code of conduct that expels any Brute Squad member who abuses his position or can’t be bothered to respect a given “no.” So far, most folks associated with the Brute Squad have remained trustworthy and reliable; Kore’s very good at vetting people, and the few who step out of line and take advantage of Ecstatic hospitality tend to wind up gibbering mindlessly by the side of a road if they’re ever seen again at all.

Banner Dei’s Brute Squad features a colorful collective of Subculture Devotees (pp. 31-32) whose training lets them haul gear and calm crowds with minimal fuss. Although the oldest members have looked age 40 in the rearview mir­ ror, most Banner Brutes are in their mid-20s to early 30s. Regardless of age or gender, these folks combine tattooed badassery with Zen-focused people skills. Most have traveled extensively throughout the mortal world, and a number have spent time in the Otherworlds as well. Despite appearances, these are friendly people who blend old-school manners with new-millennium social consciousness. They rarely possess paranormal powers themselves (Kore probably does, but if so she doesn’t brag about it), but occasionally bring along mystic goodies they’ve found or been gifted with at various events. The majority of them speak at least two languages, and some enjoy learning as many tongues as they can recall. Arriving in dust-crusted cars (many of which have been modified for all-terrain use), all Banner Brutes sport a tat­ too that marks them as approved and official members of the group. This design — a Hulk-green banner with a white lightning bolt slashed across its surface — glows in low-light situations so Brutes can find each other in the dark. If a

Brute gets booted for good cause (as opposed to retiring from the group on good terms), his tattoo burns away in an agonizing flash of bright green fire, leaving the thunderbolt behind as a permanent scar.