http://www.magic.ccd




Fill in the following fields to register to the magical powers' index.



*NAME:________________

*SEX:________________

*CID (Custody identification number):_________________

*LOCATION:________________

OCCUPATION:_______________________


Fill in the following descriptions to the best of your ability:


*Summarize what you can do with magic:

How long have you been able to touch magic:

Have you ever been targeted due to your magic:

Have you experienced undue prejudice because of your magic:

Anything else we should know:



*mandatory fields

Oliver Holden, PPC


Oliver Holden paused in front of a mirror to adjust the gleaming pin on his lapel. The round Congressional pin was perfect as always, but his fingers brushed the symbol reverently anyway. His dark hair was neatly cut. The tie was straight. And his suit jacket buttoned. Unseen, he felt the cool metal of a charm laying against his chest. His eyes fell to where he knew it rested.

He wondered how many others stood before this same mirror for minor adjustments before being let into the Oval Office. Many, he presumed. Someday he would find out for himself. Be on the other side of that door while others sweat in the hall.

His hair was thinner than it used to be. His once tanned skin loose around the eyes. All in all, he was healthy for his age, but he saw every wrinkle. He felt the decay of every cell. Year after year, he knew death inched closer. It was sickening.

The door opened and out stepped Dawson's Chief of Staff-a woman named Lacey Freiburg. Ruthless, sharp, and intelligent, when Oliver shook her hand, he meant it.

"Thank you for coming, Mister Speaker. The President will see you now." She followed him inside, closing the door as she did.

The President rose from his desk and circled around to greet him. Also in the room was the Vice President, Colonel Palin and strangely enough, the Secretary of Homeland Security. Oliver hadn't expected the Cabinet member to be present today.

Each shook his hand, and the foursome sat on the couches to talk.

Frederick Dawson, the President, was looking old. Older than he did only a couple years ago after he won the White House.

"Thank you all for coming," the President began while his Chief of Staff distributed information packets.

"Inside this document you will find the draft of an executive order for a new Cabinet Position."

Oliver tentatively read the document. This was executive branch business. Why was he here?

As though Dawson read his mind, "Mister Speaker, I asked you here to ask Congress to create a committee on powered relations as well. We need an entire new set of laws governing, policing, judging and tracking these ..." Dawson's voice trailed away as disgust crept in. He didn't know what to call them.

"These psychopaths," Dawson concluded.

"They cannot be allowed to roam free as they are. Look at what is happening in Moscow! One of them could stroll over and melt down the White House! Collapse the Capitol! They could destroy all of government in a single thought!

Dawson steadied himself, and Oliver looked at the Vice President. By the looks on Col Palin's face, he shared the President's mistrust. As well he should. These magicians, or whatever they were, had unchecked power. But as far as Oliver was concerned, only Nikolai Brandon had the ability to melt buildings. And that creature was on the other side of the world.

He looked finally at the Secretary of Homeland Security. "I take it the military is readying for battle against these powered humans?" A nod of confirmation.

Oliver's lips pursed thoughtfully. "very well. I will ask Congress to form such a committee. But Mister President, I think you are wrong in your assumption of danger. If Brandon is to be believed, power users have been around for as long as the Sickness, and nothing like you fear has happened yet."

The President leaned forward, "Yet! That's why I need one as a Cabinet Member. An advisor I can study and learn all about how these people function. Who do you all recommend?"

The others made a case for several people, but none were power users.

Oliver knew exactly who should fill the role, but not at all for the reasons that Dawson described.

"There's only one man that had the bravery to stand up for the truth. And he did it much to everyone's mocking.

"Nicholas Trano."

The recognition crossed all their faces. He was perfect. But Dawson and his toeing the line with martial law had to go.

Memento mori.

It was an early morning; late enough, however, to see the burgeoning rays of sunlight spill over the peaks of the Armenian Highlands. In a small valley, located in the north east of the country that was once called Syria, a group of black military vehicles were drawn up, soldiers working over them like a hive of silent ants. As the Third armed itself for battle, the soldiers of the CCD seemed reluctant to break the almost tranquil silence that lay over the roiling landscape. It would be broken later, of course, in a storm of harsh gunfire, barked orders, and the misleadingly soft patter of the rail guns clutched in the hands of the men of the Third.

Victoria was sweating quietly in full battle armour. Her helmet, complete with the built in Land Warrior in a visor that could be turned transparent and tinted at will, lay on the cheap, pop up table in front of her. A Wallet was set on the cheap, plastic surface, one that would fats become too hot to touch without gloves on. Even if the black gloves she was wearing were starting to collect sweat. Ignoring that, ignoring the weather, Victoria forced herself to concentrate on the map in front of her. The wallet had raised a holographic, 3D image of the surrounding area. Victoria could see the transport vehicles and light defences that marked their current location in the valley. Then, the small rise, that dipped into the cluster of buildings surrounding a cave entrance. The target.

Sure, it was the norm now, but technology like this was still pretty impressive when she stopped to think about it. Something like this would've been a miracle when she was born. Anyway. Silly thoughts for when she wasn't in a combat zone. Her head raised, surveying the three officers in front of her. Grim, scarred, Captain Henderson, who periodically scowled at nothing in particular. Major Mikhailov, arms clapsed behind his back, a slightly fresher face. Mikhailov was younger -still older than Victoria-, and a fresh, innocent looking face hid a desire to serve the CCD that was almost terrifying. Finally, Captain Edwards, a mostly silent woman, who honestly Victoria knew little about, even if they had served together for a year. Then again, Victoria didn't socialise much. Still, all of them were her most competent officers. They didn't need much today. Only two companies; anything else would have been too much.

For a moment, Victoria's eyes strayed to her men, arming and armouring. Quiet laughing, joking around. To a lesser trained eye, they seemed blase, with no real care that they were about to go to war. Victoria knew, however. She could sense their fear, that tension in the air. The slight movements that betrayed anxiety; someone sucking on their lip, eyes darting momentarily. Another laughing too hard at a joke that really didn't deserve it. Obsessively checking a gun that had been checked every five minutes. She'd yet to see a solider who didn't go into battle with a dry mouth, and sweaty hands however. It was when you got into it that the fight came out. When the Third pushed themselves. They always did. It was like clockwork, and today wouldn't be any different.

Her eyes snapped back to her officers, and as she straightened, so did they. Their eyes had never even left hers, and the tension hit a subtle new level. This was going to be the preparation, the beginning. Clearing her throat, Victoria began, a hand flicking over the hovering battlefield to manipulate it better for her.

"From what the forward reconnaissance units have brought back, we know that they spread out between the caves, and the few buildings outside. Now, and this is more speculation on my part, the men who are currently around the outside look uncertain. Angry. There's definitely tension there. That paired with the information gathered by Henderson, it seems likely that Elder Maan, based upon our word, informed those from his village on the imminent threat we presented. Therefore, if we make our presence known before engaging, we should be able to reduce the number of combatants against us."
Grim silence greeted her words. While there hadn't been argument, as there never would be, advice from her officers had indicated their displeasure for this. Victoria was the one set on keeping her word, ensuring they could save as many as possible. Henderson had complained about losing the element of surprise, risking the men's lives. Mikhailov had quietly noted that they were enemies of the state, and deserved punishment. Both beliefs that were only creating more and more situations like this. It was with a quiet irritation that Victoria cursed the rigidness of the CCD forces in this. They needed to be flexible. To adapt, and no one seemed to understand that.

Compressing an irritated sigh the the thinning of her lips, she flipped the map to concentrate on the small village. "Reconnaissance also brought back little note of new defensive positions. Therefore we can assume word didn't spread to those who know, fortunately. There may well be IEDs on the road coming in, but with little in our way, we move fast, and quick. Edwards, your company is tasked with taking the surface. Henderson, we'll then move in fast and quick on their heels, and breach the caves. Work on a squad basis. We don't know the layout, but as the Land Warriors are on local link, we should be able to map it out."


The briefing didn't need much more. They were competent to be able to get on with tasks set. A few minutes more, and there was a series of nods, the three of them departing. Victoria let herself relax slightly then, leaning with her hands on the table, head bowed. Off to war again. She knew some had issue with killing; it had been a surprise, initially, how many people could only handle one tour of duty. That she didn't have an issue with taking life when it was needed frightened her, to a certain degree, and Victoria was never entirely sure whether the fear of her emotionless state excused it or not. Likely not. She was still someone who would defend herself with little remorse. Attack, too. As much as she tried to hide it, to excuse herself.

An irritated noise left her lips, and Victoria straightened, picking up her helmet to strap it on. Her existential crisis could come after she staggered out of that cave. Hopefully alive. Her hand went to her side-arm, and she pulled it out, loading in a cartridge. A short pause, and she felt the power start to flow through her. It wouldn't be influencing emotions today, however.

"Third!"
Her voice seemed far away, inconsequential in the bask of the glow emanating inside her. "By my mark, advance! For the glory of the Ascendancy! For the Custody!"


A ragged cheer greeted her words, and the Third advanced to war.

Description: Morven is disciplined, determined and ambitious. At her worst she is vicious and moody, and can hold a grudge for a long time. Her temper, when provoked, rages something fierce. She protects those she loves with a startling intensity, whether they need or desire her interference. At her very core she has a strong sense of justice, and will act according to her morals irrespective of consequences. She loves the outdoors. Is both passionate and flirtatious. Dedicated to her job.

Brown skin and dark, amber-flecked eyes; thick, tightly curled dark hair to just past her shoulders. She is not over tall (5'5'') but statuesque in bearing. Her accent has dilluted after five years living in London, but the cadence is still there.

Biography: Born in the village of Lairg in the Scottish highlands in 2022. Morven's upbringing was, for the most part, inconsequential. She was tomboyish as a child, forever outdoors among the elements, often as not trailed by her younger sister Lyall. The two were close as tree roots, twin shadows, and born only a year apart. Independent and adventurous from an early age, as teenagers they would spend summers hiking in the highlands. As they grew older, their explorations drew further afield; a firm favourite to travel south to trek the Lairig Ghru trail into the Cairngorms, and spend a night or two under the stars. It was on one such trip, the summer before Morven was due to leave for med school, that Lyall began to confess of vivid dreams and voices that whispered on the wind. In the glow and smoke of their fire, her eyes lit strangely bright, and Morven teased her about pechs and doonies.

The next day Lyall was uneasy, gaze flitting to shadows in the trees. "We're being watched."Her expression flickered uncertainly. "We shouldn't stay in the open tonight."

As the sun sank, they took refuge in a bothy near the Derry Burn, a simple stone dwelling with a fireplace and chimney in its northern gable. Outside the sky had darkened with bulky cloud when the stranger arrived, a lone traveller seeking refuge, speaking  of wolves in the mountains. His voice was soft, inoffensive, but he stared at Lyall in a way that made a chill ghost Morven's spine. She sat by her sister protectively, and glowered when his gaze crossed hers, but he made no attempt at conversation, and unrolled his sleeping bag along the furthest wall.

Morven drowsed, determined not to sleep, while outside the winds began to churn.

Somewhere distant, wolves howled a mournful cry.

And her eyes snapped open.

The heavy night shadows shifted. Rain pelted the roof tiles. Lightning cracked through the shutters. Lyall suddenly yelped, struggling against the weight of an assailant. Metal glinted. Blood spilled.

Something broke inside her. A dam unleashed. Dizzying spindles of light lashed in the darkness. Morven pulled herself to her feet and the stranger flew backwards, the blade wrenched from his grasp. Winded, he gained his feet, only to stumble, then crash unnaturally through the door like he was yanked backwards on puppet strings. Rain lashed hard, sheeting his face. The whites of his eyes flashed, sparking bright as lightning forked the sky. The heavens screamed. Morven's skin tingled as she stalked passed the threshold, white hot with anger. He flailed backwards again as the storm around them worsened. Her wrath was dreadful. Uncompromising. Uncontrolled.

The wolves continued to howl.

Back inside, Lyall curled on the floor, nursing her wounds. Blood bubbled through her fingers and she panted like a dog, panicked, murmuring between breaths about snakes. "They're calling,"she said. "They say if I go home, more snakes will come for me."

Morven gathered her sister up. Doctored her wounds. Lay in protective watch until the sun rose.

In the morning the river had flooded. It was not unusual in August.

She did not look for the body.

• S.O.S
  
• Accepting Consequences
  
• Another Emergency
  
• Exploring the Damage
  
• Crash and Burn
  

contined from here

Martin nodded and followed the Regus out of the gym. It irked him slightly that he'd gone to the gym in the first place. It was more important to speak with the man before him than to play patty-cake with his underlings. He sighed at himself.

They had been friends once upon a time. Martin didn't think that friendship extended forward now not in the same fashion it had once. Forever present yes, but Martin could tell something was wrong with his friend - the Sentient had set him on edge, he'd seen it in Armande's eyes. Whatever that girl did she seemed to grate on everyone she met - except the on friend he knew she had - there had to be more there.

Once inside the man's office Regus took a seat quietly. "I know we've much to discuss, but you seem rattled by the monster in our midst. Anything I can do to alleviate that conceren? Though she is part of the reason we have much to speak about."

<big>
The mid-6th Age
In the realms of the far northern pantheon of the Norse

</big>

Her mother hadn't been overly happy to see her off on her trip to Moscow. She said it was unsafe. The city would be in turmoil. But her mother didn't know she could take care of herself. She couldn't do much but a big bar of earth to the head would be just as effective as using a tire iron. Ilesha had really wanted to see the monument for herself.

The plane trip was boring - more than half the day spent in a seat. But it was better than sitting at home watching it unfold on her wallet. This way she could see the power for herself. Earth and metal called to her. It was a part of her.

Ilesha promised her mother she'd be safe. She'd all everyday. And she'd call when she landed. Which she had done and when she found her hotel in Moscow. Her mother kept her on the phone for a good thirty minutes before Ilesha could hear her father yelling into the ether that she had to go now. He hung up the call without ceremony. Ilesha received an apology in text from him. She'd smiled happily at it and replied in kind.

Ilesha's hotel was not near the Kremlin - she couldn't afford that kind of ritzy place. But every map said you could get to the kremlin from nearly any road into the city. The language nearly everyone spoke on the street as she walked up one of the broadways was English. If it weren't for the cooler weather and the slightly odd looking outfits, Ilesha could have imagined she was back home in New York. She received a few strange looks as she walked with a determination to the center of Moscow.

She saw the Red Square come into view. There were crowds still even days later and Ilesha had to fight her way forward so she could get up into the open area itself. There were tons of cameras, tourists galore, probably more than normal. Ilesha knew she was one of them.

Ilesha started humming and the flow of power came easily as she let the earth call to her. It sang in a muted sounds. She knew it was a melody only she could hear. But the closer she got to the huge arch the more it sang to her, but she couldn't see anything residual left over. It was like a huge lump of rock. She knew it had been shaped with her power - it was the only explanation.

Ilesha frowned as the disappointment of her trip came crashing in. How did he do this? What was the power he wielded if not like her own? Ilesha sat down on a bench facing away from the perfect display of earthly powers and focused her attention on other possibilities of how it could be done.

((For those not in the know, torch is brit-speak for flashlight. He doesn’t have an actual torch.))

Before Cain scouted out the address that Nox gave him, he stopped by his old haunt in the underground to collect his things. He had his bag stashed away behind an old wooden crate that had somehow ended up in the tunnels. It didn’t have too many valuables in it, mainly just a loo roll, some extra clothing, and other useful knickknacks that the redhead had been able to accumulate on his way towards the capital. Cain carefully checked it for signs of theft or tampering, but didn’t find anything. Satisfied, he slung the bag over his shoulder and got moving. Briefly he considered telling someone about his departure, but it didn’t seem worth it. He hadn’t made any friends Underground, and after a night or two of not staking his claim on his spot, the other ‘residents’ of the tunnels would move in happily. Still, he exchanged a nod or two with friendly people he’d met and carefully ignored those that he’d had problems with.

Soon enough, the magician found himself at a fork in the road. If he took the left tunnel, Cain would find himself back above ground near the markets. However, he’d had nagging thoughts for the past few hours about the skills demonstrated by Nox and Dane. He’d been dying to try some of them out, ever since he realized that he could use powers other than just fire. The redhead bit his lip in contemplation. There wasn’t really a safe place to practice his magic outside of the tunnels; after all, it tended to be a bit flashy. However, he’d also learned today that the Underground wasn’t exactly clear of Atharim. Regardless, he needed to practice at some point, and it would be best to have some new tricks under his belt just in case he needed to use it against his new host. Cain trusted Nox for the most part, but his time on the streets had taught him that even the nice guys could turn against you in a heartbeat.

Mind made up, Cain headed to the right, and walked until the darkness was absolute other than the light of his torch. Bracing himself, the redhead flipped the switch, turning the light off and allowing himself to be submersed in the inky blackness that surrounded him. The feeling was unnerving to say the least. It was easy to convince himself that the faint scurrying and dripping noises he could hear were signs of more monsters sneaking up on him. The fear the visions conjured was sufficient to allow him to grab hold of his power. The redhead’s breath hitched as it filled him. Every sense sharpened; he could feel the slight rustle of the wind against his skin, and the previously impenetrable darkness became less opaque. What was the most intoxicating though was the feeling that accompanied it, as if he was on top of the greatest mountain rather than submerged in the dredges of Moscow’s depths.

When Cain opened his eyes, he wasn’t certain how much time had passed. It wasn’t easy to conquer his magic. He had the impression that if he wasn’t careful, it would steamroll all over him. In times of need, like when he’d been fighting the ‘chups’ (as Nox called them) he’d been able to use his magic fairly quickly, but those times had been the exception rather than the rule. Still, it was easy for him to extend a hand and use the portion of his ability that was associated with fire. A flame appeared above his outstretched hand, lighting up the space around him. Clenching his fist, Cain dispersed the apparition. He was good at fire; he’d been doing that trick for months now. What was more interesting was the other elements.

Carefully, the redhead reached for strings of the different flavor of magic, the air magic. It didn’t come to him nearly as easily as fire did. Whereas threads of fire seemed almost eager to jump into his grasp, air was more like greased noodles. After a bit of a struggle, he managed to sew together a semi-coherent pattern, using the shape that he’d seen Nox use earlier. In the darkness, the glowing strings were plain for him to see, although the wall itself was invisible. When he placed his hand on the construct it was a bit of a strange sensation. It felt cool and smooth, rather than the warm, coarse feeling he’d expect from more mundane threads. Perhaps the threads themselves were more metaphysical rather than physical? Regardless, Cain let the construct fall, and practiced putting it up a few more times, until he felt like he could form it in a pinch. It could be extremely useful if he was confronted by any gunmen or monsters.

Afterwards, Cain played around a bit with the size and shape of the wall. It was a bit of a trick, manipulating the pattern in slight ways to tweak its effects. Eventually though it was fairly straightforward to make the wall curved or shorter or taller. Playing around a bit, the redhead ended up with a disk on his arm, almost like a shield. He chuckled as he swung it around playfully. He figured that there was a lot more that he could do with the technique, but to be honest he was getting a bit bored of it. Something that Dane had done caught his eye earlier, both literally and metaphorically. The man had combined air and fire to make a globe of light.

It was a challenge to hold onto the slippery streams of air while reaching for fire. The latter seemed to leap into his grasp, eager to be used. Eventually, Cain realized that it was much easier to do it the other way around. Fire was always just a moment’s thought away. Once he was holding onto it, the magic seemed content to sit still while he struggled to hold onto air. As long as he didn’t let the tricky element out of his metaphorical sights, the redhead didn’t have too many problems weaving the two magics together. His first attempt ended up a wobbly mess, awkwardly dull and flickering… but still recognizably the result he’d been going for.

“Yes!”
he cried, pumping a fist in the air, before chuckling and being grateful that no one else was around to see him.

Still, he could feel himself getting less fresh. Cain wouldn’t say he was tired yet, but he definitely didn’t feel at one hundred percent. Clearly there was a limit to how much magic he could use at a time, even though he’d never been desperate enough to reach that point in the past. The globe of light was something that he could easily work on in the privacy of Nox’s dwelling. What he couldn’t do above ground was the trick with the earth that the other man had done. Frowning, the man tried to remember the feel of the earth magic. Nox had only used it once by itself, and briefly. He thought about the magic, about stability and stubbornness, about weathering the ages and remaining unchanged as empires rose and fell. Perhaps unsurprisingly, earth came to him far more easily than air, although not quite as much as fire. Using it though proved harder.

Earth was content to be held, but not to be moved. Forming the net of strings that he’d seen Nox use was simple enough, but somehow laying them was challenging. Similar to how he’d had to wrestle his magic under control, he had to wrestle the spell into settling into the ground. The concrete and soil that made up the tunnels didn’t want to change. It didn’t want to move from its resting place. Cain had to grit his teeth and force it to do what he wanted. It took a few moments, but eventually the redhead felt the tremors under his feet. He cut off the spell before he ended up bringing lord knows how many tons of rock down on himself.

“Wow,”
he whispered to himself. The redhead quickly wove another earth spell, shattering a nearby rock into pieces. “Wow!”
he repeated. Cain felt like he was on top of the world. He had honest to goodness magic, magic that he could use to do crazy things like make fireballs or earthquakes. It was only the sobering memory of how much more powerful his two new acquaintances were that kept his ego in check. Feeling a bit creative, he formed the same pattern he used to make the wall of air, except this time with earth magic. Settling the net into the ground in front of him, he yanked on the stone with his magic, and laughed when a large wall of dirt rose before him. Cain made a mental note to remember that spell. The air magic was perhaps more versatile, but much more difficult for him to use.

“And now for my final trick,”
he mumbled to himself.

Cain frowned as he swung the beam of his torch around the cavern. It was getting tedious using the tech to see his nets. He wondered… With the ease of practice, the man formed a fireball, and then quickly dropped his hand. It was simple enough to keep the flame floating in the air; he didn’t need to hold it physically. Cautiously, the redhead turned around so that he couldn’t see the fire (although the light still illuminated the tunnel). Even without having it in his line of vision, as long as he kept a sliver of consciousness directed towards maintaining it, the light didn’t extinguish.

Nodding in satisfaction, Cain reached for threads of fire and earth. It was difficult enough to wield both at once, and to his frustration once he had a hold of the two, his old spell wore off, plunging him back into darkness. “Shite,”
he swore, quickly weaving another fireball. On the plus side, he was getting good experience making fireballs without having to hold his hand out awkwardly. Once he had light again, the redhead tried to make lava as he’d seen Nox do. Combining fire and earth was easier than it’d been with fire and air, but every time he’d start to weave the two together, his flame spell would escape his grasp.

Cain wiped at his brow. His use of magic wasn’t quite physically exhausting, but it certainly seemed to take something out of him. Also, the mental exertion from keeping track of the many strings of magic was taking its toll. Frowning, the redhead decided to give up on the fireball for now, and focus on twisting together threads of fire and earth. Finally, he had something similar to what he’d seen the other magician use, and he settled it onto his previously-raised wall of stone.

“Woah!”
the redhead had to jump back to avoid the pool of lava that formed as the previously vertical wall melted downwards, but he grinned at the successful spell. “Call me Cain Belasis, magician extraordinaire.”


Cain must’ve been overestimating his endurance though, because when he let the spells dissipate, his grasp on his magic slipped away from him. He thought about trying for it again and practicing the spells some more, but he didn’t think he could. His fear was gone, and in its place was a giddy sort of excitement. He was a magician! For the first time in months, the fear that had been dogging him had faded to the background, and he could appreciate what it meant to have his gift. As the poor grandson of a day laborer in nowheresville England, he hadn’t had much to feel special about. Now though… his magic separated him from the masses. It made him feel powerful and unique. Cain knew it was silly; there was an organization dedicated to killing him. There were other magicians far more powerful and vicious. Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to be afraid enough to even try to access his power.

No matter. It’d been a successful day, and he might as well go check out his new lodging. Gathering up his backpack and torch, Cain headed back in the direction that he came from, feeling much more upbeat than when he’d entered.
Edited by Cain Belasis, Aug 5 2016, 08:31 AM.

She'd been here for over a year now. It had to be approaching two. Victoria tried to muster some thoughts for it, but finally gave up. The combination of the midday heat, and the pounding of the helicopter blade, and the roaring of the wind through the open door was enough to scatter any real attempt at solid thought like that. She could check her diary when she got back. Victoria kept everything that happened in her life punctually ordered in a book, events bullet pointed under dates, sometimes even times. Occasionally she'd sit back and just laugh at herself. A true military stereotype. Perhaps she'd be more suited to screaming at recruits in a boot camp, and chewing nervous young soldiers out for being late by a minute.

Idle fantasy, of course. Rather boring idle fantasy. As much as Victoria would wonder on what else she could be doing now, if things had gone differently, she enjoyed leading the Third. It was funny. When you went through the gates of hell with a group of people, they amusingly enough started to grow on you. She'd been offered the occasional position elsewhere since the Imam War, but Victoria was reluctant to leave her regiment, even the Panzer Division. They trusted her too; and could you truly leave people who relied on you, trusted you, to the unknown? Her duty to the Third was as strong as its duty to her.

A sharp voice snapped her out of her reverie, causing her to look up. One of her men was leaning over, shouting out over the din that they'd be arriving in ten. It took her a moment, before Victoria closed her eyes, clearing the fog in her mind out, and gave him a sharp nod. Lieutenant Durand, right. New guy, fresh from officer academy. All so excited to serve with the hardened Third. Serving as a kind of aide-de-camp until Victoria gave the go ahead. He wasn't half bad. Arrogant, but he was young, competent enough, and handsome. Arrogance was assured. She could've laughed at herself again. Victoria was what, five years older than him, and acting like it was twenty. She was never entirely sure whether her confidence was arrogance like she criticised, or well grounded in her abilities.

Well, that was what she tested on campaign.

As the helicopter stepped down, Victoria was stepping out before it had truly touched down, holding herself steady in the swaying dust and wind, an arm over her mouth. The grey beret on her head with the 3rd's insignia, the orange epaulettes, and blue marking on her camos marked Victoria out. A shout rang out, and the soldiers gathered around snapped to attention as their colonel surveyed them. Her gloved hand moved up to put a pair of sunglasses on, and with a small press, the land warrior sprung to life, her vision highlighting the people in front of her, fading as the dust cleared.

"At ease."


The still ranks, arms raised, fell back into their bustling mass. It wasn't like the whole regiment was here; that wasn't needed. Three trucks had come to the small Syrian town, escorted by a pair of jeeps, both with heavy rail-guns mounted on the back. The pair of men on them were relaxed enough to not seem as a threat to the locals, but Victoria knew their eyes saw everything. If anything came up, they'd be firing instantly. They didn't have any of the power suits out here. For one, it was far too hot for it, and there was a fine line between impressing and starting to intimidate. Three truckloads of prime Custody infantry was enough to impress upon people that Victoria wasn't playing here.

Durand appeared at her elbow again, clearing his throat to get her attention. Victoria just nodded, which got him talking as the pair of them paced into the village, the Colonel flanked by a squad of her men. She herself was unarmed: mostly. She had her sidearm, of course, holstered on her hip. But it wasn't for shooting that she'd need it. Hopefully not today.

"The Town Elder is... stubborn. A bit angry, too, by the looks of things. Doesn't appreciate us coming here, I think. He wasn't open to Captain Henderson, but, well, you've got the magic touch, ma'am."
The smile om his face immediately died when Victoria didn't react to the jest, mouth remaining set in its grim line, eyes hidden by the sunglasses. Clearing his throat, Durand continued. Victoria would undoubtedly drill the humour out of him in her presence. It wasn't exactly intentional, and it wasn't like Victoria stopped it at all. It was just... humour tended to die around her, a bit. "I think, from what the searches have come up with, talking with the locals, that the town is supplying the cell we've been looking for. And that he'll know where their base is."


Victoria cut him off sternly. "I don't need speculation, Lieutenant, I need facts. This is less than useful, as it means I will be going in their with expectations. I only want speculations that can be backed with real; evidence, not hearsay, am I understood? Lives rest on this."


Durand visibly wilted, and stammered out an apology, promising it wouldn't happen again. Victoria was already striding forward however, to the central building. That would be it then. Durand was useful, but his inexperience had made itself known again. That was irritating. Taking a deep breath, she stopped, calming herself down. It wouldn't work if she went in their irritated.

Letting out the deep breath, her hand rested on her sidearm, and the power flowed through her.

Victoria successfully kept any reaction down. Really, she wanted to let out a small groan as the euphoria of it filled her. As straight-laced as she was, the fact that it was so addicting honestly scared her. She was too disciplined to let it have a hold over her, though. Victoria would not let herself become a tool of her power. Whatever it was.

Steeling herself, straightening her spine, the Colonel strode through the doorway, into the main room of the building. The village elder was sat before a low table, on one of the cushions that were strewn around it. A couple of young men holding ancient Kalashnikovs stood at the corners, suspicion clear across their face. Two soldiers had followed Victoria in, and she could feel their grip tighten on their rail guns, the power heightening her senses. With an almost imperceptible shake of her head, the two men relaxed slightly. Victoria did not fear them. She could stop them herself now, if she wanted. That was purely with the side arm too.

Looking down at the Elder in front of her, Victoria gave a small bow to him. "Greetings, Elder. I am Colonel Victoria Wolff, Commander of the Third Regiment, of Army Division Panzer. May I sit? We have much to speak about.

Office of the Consul on Public Engagement, Propaganda, and Interdominance Relations

Alexandrova Lesya Vladislavovna sat at her desk and stared through the screens floating before her. The hum of the air circulating in the room was whisper quiet, a white background upon which to frame her thoughts.

The Ascendancy's directive lay in her mind, made all the more sharp by the revelation earlier in the week. Both she and Leonid had known of course. Knowledge was the currency of the world and between the two of them, there was little across the empire and world they didn't catch at least some whisper of.

In this, though, they knew for the most simple of reasons. Because Nikolai had told them. They were his to the core, part of his inner circle. Not the Sphere and its Privileges. That was politics. That was show. That was reward for those who needed to be bought. No. They were in the true Sphere. And they made his will known, shaped the people he ruled- or would one day rule.

And now there was a new need. The revelation had been...controversial. Privately she wondered if it had been necessary. Leonid had seen it as opportunity. It could be. If it could be shaped, controlled.

Awe would wear off. Awe would give way to familiarity. And the saying was true regarding familiarity. It was what those unknown gospel writers, in perhaps the greatest work of propaganda ever written, has shown so clearly. Miracles were miracles...until they were common place. And they became common place very quickly.

This needed to keep its vitality, its importance. It needed to be nurtured and fed, but not openly, not obviously. The appearance needed to be of comfort and acceptance of the newly strange. The truth was more subtle. Nikolai needed to be viewed as a god by all. Anything overt would be rejected outright. They needed a deft hand.

And so Alexandrova pored over the internet, combing through journals and posts and articles and threads, seeking voices, fresh voices, young voices. Voices that could speak the truth they needed to hear.

A few were promising. It could not be a sycophant, not a gushing man or woman with a childish crush. It needed to be powerful and emotion filled but logical and forceful and undeniable.

She read until the words ran together. But it was enough. She had to make a choice. She singled out three prospects, three that seemed to be what she wanted. She would look for more. This wasn't the job of one person. But it was a beginning.

She forwarded the samples to Leonid along with her thoughts.

Example:
"Supersition. Myth. Supernatural. Powers."
Author presents an interesting perspective. The connection to mythology is a tantalizing one, not simply for history's sake. Connecting Asc's power to past myths satisfies the need to make him appear comfortable. The god who abides by law, by elections. The god that can live with man, as may have happened in the past. But the implication, perhaps not realized by Ms. Alohkin, is that connecting him to the ancient gods bathes him in their light, in their power. Even subconsciously, this sense of worship and awe can be kindled. I recommend an invitation for further interview.

Leonid soon responded. She had waited only for a second set of eyes and his thoughts, though in truth she knew what he'd say. Their partnership went back decades, each of them coming to know and trust each other. And it was a partnership, an alien thing in this place of insatiable lust for power.

His responses, when they came, were expected.

Invitations were extended. Travel arrangements were made. Now came the interesting part.


Edited by Marcus DuBois, Aug 3 2016, 11:41 PM.