Gwendolyn always believed that she was destined for great things. Perhaps because she'd always been told so. Rome, New York wasn't a place where she'd have much competition, especially as an only child to a single mother. Rachel Petersen was a career woman who'd built a moderately successful sponsored content empire online. At 35 she decided she didn't want to be alone anymore so she picked out a nameless deposit at a sperm bank with blonde hair and a purported 170 IQ. Nine months later came Gwendolyn.

Rachel was the quintessential drone parent of the millennial generation. She got Gwendolyn involved in any activity she chose, always pushing from afar and ready to swoop in and obliterate any obstacle to her daughter. But she was never emotionally close. Learning a foreign language was a must for Gwen, and she could speak Spanish and Russian at an early age. When Gwen was six, her mother required her to begin participating in a physical activity. After some minor messing around with soccer and dancing she settled on mixed martial arts: Jujitsu, Taekwondo and Krav Manga, as taught at the local MMA dojo. No boy was going to go around pulling on her pigtails. By her sixteenth birthday she'd achieved a second-degree black belt. She continued to do her martial arts exercises through adulthood as a part of her daily exercise regimen.

In high school, Gwen tried out for her school's competitive shooting team where she excelled in rapid fire pistol. The discipline, skill and focus she had earned through her marital arts studies paid off for her. In her junior year she placed second at the state championship and qualified for the 2024 Olympics. Unfortunately for her, however, budget cuts paired with anti-firearm sentiment under the Clinton presidency dashed her Olympic dreams, for private funds would only pay the way for the top contender.

Insulted, Gwen quit the team and decided to explore a talent that would demand the most confidence, skill, boldness and finesse so far, independent of anyone else: the theater. And it was here that she finally shone brighter than anyone else. This small-town beauty could not be frightened by any challenge on the stage. Oh, how they fell in love with her! How willingly people were to buy into the character being portrayed, and so easily able to suspend their disbelief. It was all a trick of confidence, and with that there was real power. All the world's a stage, and the better players win. The audience didn't see what you didn't want to show them. So one month she could be Katherine the shrew, the next sink as Eliza Doolittle to the streets of London before arising once again as Verra the demon goddess.

Sheer utilitarianism kept Gwendolyn from Hollywood, or later Phoenix (after the tsunamis devastated the film industry). Professional actresses were a vapid bunch, and seen that way by their peers as people who played for a living and had no credibility when it came to the real world. No, the real actors of tomorrow were in the media. They could change the world with their presentation. Gone were the days of impartiality. And why bother? The woman who controlled the flow of information could shape the opinions of tomorrow.

Gwen was of some financial means while young, but not entirely independent, which kept her from the most exclusive of schools, but she managed to get into Utica College where she pursued her BS in public relations and journalism. While there she pledged Theta Phi Alpha, to no small surprise. She was the ultimate small-town sweetheart, with a pretty face framed by blonde locks and a svelte body to match, with no shortage of orbiters both male and female. Theta Phi Alpha was dedicated to service work and inclusion, and whispers underground were that it was a sorority for DUFFs who wouldn't “fit in” elsewhere. To Gwen, however, it was a sisterhood of ready followers both at Utica and abroad, and she was able to use her service work to secure a scholarship to pursue her master's in broadcast journalism and communications at the Newhouse School of Public Communications at Syracuse University. Her Master's Thesis explored the ability and effects of dichotomy messaging through news reporting in order to frame a stronger central narrative.

From college it was starting over time. There was a long string of lower-level news jobs as Gwen strove to constantly climb the ladder, gaining experience, connections and – a few times – useful enemies on her way up. Relationships were plentiful but casual, lest something tie Gwen down from her target – evening anchorship of a flagship network. She finally secured this position at the age of 38 (though she tells everyone she's 32) at CNN Instant News, the premiere global multimedia news network. Billed as America's Media Darling, she didn't just have her finger on America's pulse. She held the beating heart of American public opinion in her fist.

In the instantaneous news reporting atmosphere of today, facts weren't as important as getting the message out fast since they could always be cleared up later after everyone forgot about the story. Newscasters weren't just reporting anymore. They were creating news and news controversy. When you kept people concerned, you kept them watching.

To Gwen, whose message it was didn't matter as much as having the ability to keep people watching and politicians groveling for positive press. The rise of the Cold-War tensions between the US and the CCD promised to keep this gift going for quite some time, and the announcement that “magic” is a real thing sought to be a tremendous boon in the hands of the right newscaster bound on shaping the conscience of a nation.

It felt like months had passed since Enzo last entered the heart of the Moscow Atharim. Perhaps it had; maybe less. The date on his smart-watch enlightened him to the truth of time's passage; he hadn't processed the information. In the wild of the Russian forests, life slowed to a crawl as it did when in isolation yet the weeks blurred together like the colors of the sky at sunset. One day he was gone, the next he had returned.

He stopped by the apartment he shared with another Atharim hunter in the city to shower, change, and unpack his gear. The hunt and subsequent execution of a male dreyken and a female drakaina drained him of supplies, money, and energy. He needed to rest. He would, but not until touching base with the Atharim leadership. There was no need to bother the Regus, or even his second in command with a mundane field return, but they needed to know he still lived, the tale of his success, and the knowledge gained from the wild. There were still dreyken out there, but the effort to find even a single one was enormous, let alone kill them without yourself being killed.

The moment he descended below the Baccarat mansion, he knew something was wrong.

He stopped the first Atharim he saw. "Excusez-moi! What has happened?"



((OC: I am hoping to be aligned with the most recent timeline in story.))

Anton Stepanov

Origin: Moscow, Russia

Age: 28

Occupation: Opera Singer and Vocal Professor

He is Orpheus Reborn

Pyschological Description: Anton is confident and appears calm. As a sentient, he often has to deal with the emotions of others, but is well trained on how to contain this issue. He isn’t afraid to speak his mind, especially if he knows he’s right.

Physical Description: He stand 5’10” tall and has dark brown hair and hazel eyes. He is not overly muscular, but has a strong build. He is in great physical shape and exercises often.

Biography: Anton was born to Alexei and Diana Stepanov in 2018. At a young age, he showed signs of being a Sentient, which was recognized by his father who is also Sentient. As he grew, his father taught him how to control his gift, so now Anton mostly lives a normal life.

At a young age, he showed a great aptitude for music, and his parents cultivated this. At age four, he started piano lessons. He began singing at an early age as well. He grew to love music and eventually pursued a vocal performance degree at Moscow University.

At University, he experiment more with his sentient abilites. Anton would draw upon the emotions of people in the crowd to make his performances more believable. By focusing on certain people in the audience, he was able to channel their emotions and as a result Anton didn’t act sad, happy, or angry in his performances - he used his abilities to make himself actually feel that way. As a result, he witnessed tremendous success in his degree program. He also discovered he has the ability to manipulate emotions, but at this point, he can only do so if he is touching them. He wonders if he can do this without physical contact.

After achieving his bachelor’s degree, Anton pursued a Master’s degree. During his studies he also learned how to play the lute, lyre, and hurdy gurdy, as he focused his studies on early music. He specializes in Baroque Opera, but has performed in several other styles as well.

Along with his performances on stage, Anton is also a vocal professor at Moscow University and teaches master classes and does vocal coaching worldwide. His current role is the titular role in Claudio Monteverdi’s L’Orfeo for the Bolshoi Theatre.


Edited by Anton, Aug 28 2016, 12:37 PM.

2027

For five whole days his mama had not spoken to him, and for five whole days he had been alone, crouched in the corner of the small room staring wide-eyed at her on the bed. Waiting for her to roll over. To remember he was <em>there. Her pale hair spilled out from the blanket he'd pulled over her to keep her warm, her face pressed against the wall, body curled up tight.

As she had been for days.

She hadn't moved, not even when he called out to her, pleading that he was sorry for hiding. Until he finally gave up, sobbing into his hands, sobbing sobbing sobbing until the tears dried his eyes red. Then he waited some more, legs drawn up to his chest and arms hugged around himself. By now he was starving. But his mama would not stir and the cupboards were empty. He could not even let himself sleep, afraid that if he did he would miss the moment when she roused.

But when his vigil was finally disturbed, it was not by her finally turning to forgive him.</em>

*

The memories have faded. He barely remembers a time before the orphanage, his home from five years of age. A state run facility in the heart of dark Moscow, it was no place for such a gentle soul as Raffe, and he quickly understood that he would need to learn to protect himself. He hid from the other boys at first, shy and afraid of their vicious hierarchy. He didn't want to fight or argue, and the way of life here was tough and raw. He didn't fit in.

Violence he avoided when he could. Discovered that a quick smile and a poke of humour helped smooth his path. Raffe didn't mind being made fun of; those were the sort of punches he could roll with, and be glad to spare himself the physical pain. The others found him strange and girlish, but if he was both those things, he was not weak. He woke one morning with his blonde curls all chopped off on his pillow. He didn't react to the prank. Then he just looked like one of the other boys. They began to leave him alone.

Raffe was ten when he learned his father had killed his mother, a discovery made when rumour of the man's acquittal became the talk of the orphanage. The revelation brought nightmares with it, of ice cold flesh and the stench of rotting meat. And hope. But his father never came to claim him.

Raffe hardened after that. Realised, perhaps for the first time, that he was truly alone in this world. It darkened the edge of his usual affability, so that when one of the older kids picked some fun - something Raffe usually brushed off with a laugh - something in him snapped instead. He felt it spring loose and all the hate spill out as he smashed the boy in the face. As he continued kicking him in the ribs long after he'd curled into a ball on the grass of the small yard. The violence disgusted him. So too did the thrill in the madness of it. The boy was three years older; taller, broader, meaner. And still he had won.

He vowed himself: never again.

His place in the group shifted subtly. A cautious edge of respect emerged, and a wariness that made Raffe feel deflated.

He didn't want to be feared.

He was a bright kid, but struggled with schooling as he grew into adolescence. With a sort of inevitability he ended up mixing with the wrong crowd, skipping classes to hang out, shoot the shit and smoke pot. The sense of something missing ached a hole in his gut, and he chased the feeling into oblivion. He was a misfit among his friends; the one who did not quite fit, despite his popularity. His pretty face earned him enmity among some of the boys, but his glib tongue smoothed most cracks. And when Raffe was around, so too were the girls.

It was probably that alone that paved his way to acceptance among his peers.

Once older, he was often the one the younger kids came to when hurt or sad or scared. He told them stories before lights out. Stoked camaraderie instead of competition. He had a gift for making people forget themselves, for encouraging others to feel comfortable in their own skins. The instinct to nurture was something intrinsic. Something deep. Something that gave him peace. It was nature.

From a small child Raffe loved the outdoors and green things, not that there was much of that in the blocky grey concrete grove that sheltered the orphanage and other bastions of no hope in the Guardian. But the first distinct moment of understanding he was somehow different coalesced in the attic of an apartment in Zamoskvoreche. He was fifteen. The cannabis plants were wilted, the edges of the leaves yellowing. The hum of the electric heaters drilled through his skull as he knelt by the boxes. The light burned his eyes. While the others argued about how to best remedy the situation, Raffe poked one of the leaves, and felt a shiver of recognition.

"Rootbound, huh?"


He fixed up the crop. Shrugged when they asked him how he knew what he was doing. He had a gift for it.

Finally, at eighteen, the state washed their hands of him. Walking out the door with a rucksack of his worldly possessions was the first time he ever met his dad. The resemblance was startling, really, else somewhere in the back of his mind he recognised the face. Raffe paused. Blinked.

"You're a bit late."


The man turned, shifted on uncomfortable feet. How long had he been loitering in the street, waiting? His hands were in the pockets of a rumpled suit. Raffe could smell the stale stink of old booze beneath the spray of cologne.

"I'm sorry about your mother, boy. I was drunk. We were both drunk. I panicked when she... I shouldn't have left. And I didn't even know you were there."


He'd been five years old. Where else would he have been? None of this was news though; he'd seen the newspaper clippings by now, knew the charge of manslaughter and all the sordid details. Knew too, though he didn't remember it, that he'd been locked up with the dead body for nearly a week before anyone thought to look for him.

Raffe didn't remember her, not hardly at all. Just the whisper of things. The cadence of her accent. The brush of her hand on his forehead. But he missed her with an ache that was bone deep.

The man who called himself his father said that his wife had been mad when she found out about the affair; that she'd drawn the line at taking the child into their home. He said he was sorry, handed Raffe a packet of money.

Raffe nodded, not sure how to process this information. And the two parted.

In the six years following, Raffe has struggled to orient himself. With no education his options are limited, and Moscow - jewel of the known world - is a dark and hungry city. These days he works in various bars and clubs to make ends meet. Knows all the local hotspots, knows its light and darkest sides like the back of his hand.

Desc:
A cap of burnished curls tops an angelic face sporting an errant grin. Bright blue eyes sit in a boyish face. Clean-shaven. A little over average tall (5'11''), broad at the shoulder and of lean build.

Raffe is quick to humour and has an affable if irreverent manner. His nature is personable and easy-going, but sometimes displays a jaded edge that can make him prone to brooding behaviour. He thinks nothing of helping others, and can be generous with his time and possessions. In particular he has a soft spot for the underdog and those without a place in conventional society. He enjoys a good-natured tease, and is a generous flirt. A temper lurks beneath the surface, but he is more likely to swallow back harsh words than spit them out.

Raffe has a keen eye for the beautiful; art that steals the soul, music one can get lost in. He enjoys sensory experience and is partial to a drink and a night out, but is tempered by the legacy of his parents. Still smokes recreationally on occasion, but avoids synthetic drugs.

• <li style="display:none">
  
• Glass Houses
  
  
  
  

An update to zeta boards has allowed for us to have multiple selections chosen within a given profile field. So you can now have channeler and Dreamwalker chosen as an ability in your profile at the same time, for instance.

Please update your profiles. Rearranging the options may have disrupted your profile abilities and class choices. So please update if needed.

Thanks.

In the books is it possible to do an illusion to match your voice to someone else? Can Jaxen channel a weave to make his voice sound like someone else?

Today Methos wasn't Methos. Adam was in Moscow for a concert - several actually but Bradley and Chris had joined him. It'd been a while since he'd seen either of them, and he intended to treat his husband well because who knew when they'd been alone again. Kay had Chris engaged in games and books as the two men left for Manifesto decked out in their best.

But Adam didn't go as Methos, Methos was home in bed waiting for the right moment to make his grand display. No tonight was all Adam. His hair was pulled back into a tight pony tail at the base of his neck, the colored dyes hidden under a red velvet beret.

Bradley was dressed in a black and white tux but Adam still couldn't be normal, he wore a red velvet tux from Gucci. He may not act like Methos but he was the man more so now than when he first started out. Methos had evolved into him and he into Methos. They couldn't be parted anymore than you could take the green off of grass.

Adam's arm was draped across Bradley's waist as they entered without much of a problem into the exclusively rich club. Bradley's eyes were wide with the grandeur of the place. It was just another of the same old same old for Adam - he'd been here before see it all before.

They took a booth in a secluded corner and watched the Moscovianites do their thing. It was all very normal for Adam.

Name: Adam "Methos" Turner

Age: 46 (Feb 15, 2000)

Origin: Baton Rouge, LA, USA

Occupation: Rockstar - singer/songwriter/digital synthesiser

Personality:

Adam is tyically quiet and reserved, when he is alone and with his family you would never beleive he was Methos. Methos was everything Adam wasn't. He was outgoing, charismatic. He had confidence and stood out in a crowd. But Methos was a take it or leave kinda guy. You either hated him, or you loved him. Methos likes to party hard, but he was not one of those smash up your hotel types, nor did he ever dabble in anything stronger than pot despite what the rumors may have said. One rumor had him snorting coke on a daily basis with his husband - all of which were lies created by rivals trying to make Methos look bad. Methos was flamboyouant in his attire. You never knew what he'd wear or who'd he'd be. He thrives on surprising you with every turn.

Description:

Methos lives to dazzle and surprise you. His natural hair color is jet black, his eyes are the color of dark chocolate. But Methos' hair has not been straight black since he was 16 years old. It is typically dyed multiple colors, sprinkled with glitter and styled with gel. He wears guyliner and lipstick among other make products to enhance whatever look he's going for at the moment. His attire is never the same, Methos prides himself on only wearing an outfit once. Each outfit he wears he then auctions off and gives the proceeds to his favorite charity of the moment. Methos has many tattoos, most of which have very sentimental reasons but he never shares those reasons with anyone outside his most inner circle and family.
He is 5'10" and approximately 180lbs.

History:

Born to Bobby and Netti Turner of Baton Rouge, Adam was the third son, fifth child of eight children of course Netti and Bobby had children before theys got married. Only the last four youngins was theirs. Adam had 2 older half brothers and 2 half sister and 2 younger sisters and a baby brother. Adam would have been classified as one of them good ol' boys but he wasn't a foot ball player or any super athletic types nor was he super smart. He skated by in school and really only excelled in music.

He was rocking on the guitar at the age of 8 and that carried him into several other instruaments, but it wasn't until he bought himself a keyboard that could synthesize music that Adam's music started to really peak his interest.

At 15 created his own music video and dropped it on youtube and it became a hit sensation. This propelled Adam into stardom in highschool as well as across the internet. He was famous...

Adam followed the credo that David Bowie started. "I always had a repulsive need to be something more than human. I felt very puny as a human. I thought, 'Fuck that. I want to be a superhuman."

Two months after the first video Adam created his Methos persona and dropped another video on another account.

After the millionth hit in days he was picked up by 13th Planet record label and two months after that released his first album dedicated to David Bowie his inspiration entitled "Add Water and Stir". Three days later Bowie passed.

Methos put out new videos for each of his songs on his new album over the next two years. When he was 18 he went on tour for the first time.

Being on tour was the greatest thing in the world. He got to explore who he really was. Adam had always known he liked other boys, but he kept it to himself. Now that he was Methos he could be whoever, do whatever and see whoever he wanted and no one judeged him. And that is how he met Bradley Whitehurst. Bradley was a groupie and a roadie for a summer. They didn't hook up then, but they would years later after Bradley finished college and Methos ran into a bit of an accounting problem with his accountant. Bradley fixed the problem and they have been togethere ever since (started dating in 23)

By 22 he had released three more albums and had toured the world four times. Changing his look and sound for each album

From 24 to 26 Methos switched labels three times before settling on his own. Believing he could do better than anyone else. And he was right. His next album went double platinum in two weeks.

The next decade he toured "The Greatest Hits". Each city displayed one of several personas. You never knew who you were going to get.

In 37 Methos changed his look adding yet another persona to his rotation and released a smash album - free to anyone who wanted it. In each city the album toured Methos played in a local dance club unannounced.

Also in 37 Methos married his long time boyfriend Bradley Whitehurst, a forensic accountant he met on tour.

When Methos turned 40 he stayed home with his husband and son who they had adopted at the age of 3.

In 44 Methos took up the stage again releasing another album and is currently touring that album with "The Greatest Hits." Methos still drops into local clubs and plays unannounced in every city he tours in.


Records/Songs etc

Mutant Angel (video as Adam Turner)
Stop Forever (video as Methos)
Add Water and Stir (Jan 13, 2016) - tribute to David Bowie (rock heavy electronic synthesizer usage)
Mechanically Plundering Album (emo punk rock)
Sound Of Lost Minds Album (electronic jazz and blues)
Possessive Underground Album
Fertile Anomaly Album (double platinum) - Ballads (soft slow but still very Methos) - the touts it as an album you can make love to.
The Great Hits
Eternal Sensationalism Album (free) '37 (techno/electronica )
Relaxation Satisfaction Album (last one) (techno reggae blend)


Edited by Methos, Aug 28 2016, 11:53 AM.

It had only been 2 hours since he left, yet he was back. He felt a comfort here, so here he was. Looking around he did not see his redhead he liked so he found a quiet booth and mindlessly ordered a scotch.

Only a few weeks here and I got 2 on my payroll and no idea on if i can trust em,
his thoughts swirled further and deeper. I need me crew, but this only a few be trained to handle this kinda of shit and i can't risk em.


A wicked grin crossed his face and a purdy blond brought his bottle. She smiled at Manix, prolly more for the tip than anything, unless she misinterpreted the grin. Manix decided to pull a few Marines of the "Storm Cloud". The home could use protection and maybe one to keep him company.

He laughed out loud and he took a long swig from the bottle, his neighbors seem to disapprove: I need no protection but I wonder what these land lubbers would think of Grompus as a body guard. Grompus being near 7 1/2 feet tall, 450 lbs and ugly as sin and loyal to death. Manix had saved Grompus from his own twin when the twin went insane.

He was drunk and knew it. He also knew he could burn it out of his blood in a heartbeat. He was tired and anxious over Aria and Jax, Manix realized he wanted a good old fashion fistfight. He looked the room over, no one here to give em a good row, maybe if a couple of bouncers ganged up on em.

Manix had been to sea ports across the globe, even some on no maps and knew most fighting styles out there, of course there was option "b".........Laughing again he took another pull, this time a bouncer was watching em. Manix winked at the bouncer, out of pure onerousness then held up his hands as if saying he'd be good.

Enjoying the show and the booze, his thoughts drifted back to the "now": Will I find what I have searched for? Manannan Mac Lir, Celtic God of the Sea, he prayed, guide me ur servant to truth.
He slipped his hand into his special lil flask, one that he had twisted into something other than a water flask. the home waters felt good, peace found his heart

Aria wanted to go up and see Dane. She had questions. Like what the fuck happened? And why the fuck was he back? But she wasn't going to do that. The last thing she needed was to give the Regus and Borovsky a reason to leave her behind, so she sat in her chair and waited while everyone else was duly impressed and horrified at Ascendancy's latest display of power.

Aria could only roll her eyes. Nox was probably fanboying it up if he was above ground. He'd been hunting so much since he got back he was likely below the city streets doing whatever he did when she wasn't with him.

But neither of the two men were really part of her conscious thought. Aria's mind was skirting the edges of every person in the vicinity. Something was still wrong but Aria couldn't put her finger on it. And she really didn't have time as she felt the fury and bristling personality of Martin Borovsky near long before he showed his face around a corner and crooked his finger and walked away. He didn't even glare or sneer at her. He barely gave her any second thought. His disgust for Ascendancy was clearly written all over his feelings. Aria smiled to herself as she relished the feeling of the man who at the present hated her less than Ascendancy.

Deep in the bowels of the Atharim they gathered their sonic weapons and their tools of the trade. Aria was going as a guide and only took her swords and her guns. She wasn't going to take on Ascendancy in close range. A sniper rifle from a distance and a bullet to his head was the only way she was going to take down a god. Aria knew first hand what a god like the Ascendancy could do - and Nox wasn't even half the god Ascendancy was. She was not an idiot. She took whatever weapon that Martin handed her - she didn't intend to use it though.

Once everyone was geared and armed to the tooth they ascended to the street level and by the cover of night they walked the short distance to the hidden entrance. The things that lay hidden in the world until you uncover them. Aria would never have know of the entrance if she'd not been lead from the facilities below unhindered. But now she could not unknown the fact. The Ascendancy would need to block this entrance once this was done. The Atharim would know of it if any of them survived this night.

Aria intended to survive. It was just a matter of how much running she was going to have to do. She doubted the all powerful and might Ascendancy cared for her life. The Atharim would hunt her down for her betrayal. If she survived. And if Ascendancy died, the Regus and Martin would see her dead with in the hour. She didn't intend to die today.

Aria opened the steel door that lead into the bowels of the earth. "Are you ready to enter hell?"



Edited by Aria, Aug 25 2016, 04:34 PM.