I'd like to say welcome. We've been curious about your character since we saw your name pop up on the new member list.

Ascendancy has said she approved your bio so we are glad to have you jump on in.

Since I remember what's it's like to be new around here even tho it was a long while ago. I wanted to offer any help we can. Any of us would be willing to help.

Just let us know.

There are several open threads you can jump into. And there are several free characters we can pull out of their homes to join you as well. Since we've not seen your bio yet, if you are starting outside of Moscow several of us (myself included) are always willing to play NPCs to get you to Moscow.

Can't wait to see your bio and have you running around in character with the rest of us.

- Aria (yeah I know I'm posting as Nox ), Nox/Dorian/Ayden/Sierra/Sage - I'm sure I've forgotten a few of my characters *sighs*

((Continued from Glass house)) http://w11.zetaboards.com/TheFirstAge/topic/30001617/))

Manix dress in casual pants and a nice button up enters his "pub". Finding a booth in a corner he sat down and ordered a scotch on the rocks from the blond waitress. He had no doubt Carmen would be there to chew on his ass some more, why did he always like the feisty ones.

Humming a sea shanty he waited. He knew Carmen would have to blow off fer steam before she would listen to Manix.

It was late when Beto arrived home. Washington was cooler, despite the summer humidity, than New Mexico and he was glad to be back. At least he could breath normally again. The return trip had been uneventful. That is not to say that it was not helpful. He and Ms. Makawee had been able to converse at length, though in his mind it was mostly to complete his picture of her.

Rather than press her, he'd let her speak freely and only prompted with questions to keep the conversation growing. Trust. This was how it was built. With time and interest.

He'd arranged for her to stay at the Embassy Suites in Georgetown, their standard choice for high profile witnesses and experts. She counted as one, if not the other.

This morning he was meeting the Assistant Attorney General John Donaghy, head of the Office of Legal Policy and his boss. It had been him who'd approved of Beto's trip to New Mexico since he did not have a district. Beto had had his own reasons for going. Still, he also wanted what John wanted. Information. There were recommendations that needed to be made. All existing Federal statutes needed to be reconsidered in the light of the channeler revelation. They had to determine which statutes and provisions would cover these newly revealed channelers and what new recommendations Justice need able to make to the Executive. Ms. Makawee's contributions would be crucial to that.

This morning he walked with her to John's office and gestured to have a seat while he went to John's secretary, Elsa. She was an older woman, 64, hair silver blue now. The tattoo on the side of her neck, just barely visible above the collar of her light blue jacket hinted at a wild streak in her youth. He gave her a warm smile, eyes shining, and pulled out a jar out of his bag to set on her desk. It might seem ironic, of course, given where they worked and what they enforced. But it was what it was, these games. And it was useful. "Hey gorgeous. I saw this and thought of you."
The label on the jar said 'Cannon's Sweet Hots Sweet Green Chile'. Feigning innocence, he said, "It fits,"
and then winked.

At her laugh, he smiled broadly before asking, "Good to go in?"


She nodded, "Ahh Beto. Always the charmer. I do wish you'd let me set you up with my daughter."

He tilted his head. "Oh come on now, Elsa. You know you will always be my girl,"
and then walked to the door and went in. The rituals were important, however alien they felt. The playful banter and flirtation preserved the illusion and gave him a bit of protection from people and their endless efforts to entangle him in personal affairs. He dated occasionally, though only to keep anyone from looking further into his life. It fascinated- perhaps even amused- him that the more distance and coolness he let himself display, the more interest he attracted. But maintaining the facade, while fairly easy, could be tiring. He enjoyed his alone time, able to shed the mask and just be himself. There was no trying necessary there. It was a sanctuary where he could breathe.

John looked up as he walked in. He was a tall imposing man in his early 50s, a little heavier then he once was, wearing a very sharp blue suit that set off his piercing blue eyes, a bit of grey at the temples streaking his brown manicured hair. Beto knew he got his hair cut every two days to maintain his look. He smiled as he came in and sat down.

"Welcome back. I got your email. Good work."
He chuckled wryly. "Course I got one from Harding too. He wasn't happy you were in his backyard. Panties in twist."


Beto smiled, mostly to himself. "Harding is a small man. He enjoys his little fiefdom without seeing the bigger picture. I got a message from him too. Thank you for smoothing things over with the New Mexico prosecutor."


"So...the girl."
His voice got low. "Did you see? Did she...do things?"
Beto didn't show the amusement he felt. He...'liked' John. The man was an effective leader and did his job well. He even respected him. But he was also amused at the awe his voice betrayed.

But it was a reminder. He leaned forward, letting his eyes widen a little, his voice a bit breathy. "Yes, John. I did. It was...something. Different from seeing it on a screen. Like night and day different."


John's eyes sparkled as he shook his head in wonder. Beto knew he was going to ask the girl for a demonstration. "It's just hard to believe...When I was a kid, superhero movies were all the rage. But it was fake. This, though...."
The awe left his voice and was replaced by concern. "The danger they pose, with these abilities of their's, is real. Bilson Iron Cloud is pushing for a registration like they're doing in the CCD. He's rabid on the subject. He's even trying to drum up some interest from a few senators."


Beto's eyebrow shot up. "Dangerous, that. Not sure how the President would feel about one of his prosecutors at Tribal Justice taking such a stand. It might be perceived as a conflict of interests down the line. Does he say why?"


John waved his hand. "The usual reasons. Threat. Protection. And he has a point. If these people can do a tenth of what Brandon can do, then how do we stop them? Still, not something a prosecutor should be pushing for."


Beto said nothing. He understood the point. And there were things to think about. People like Ms. Makawee could make bad decisions whose effects were far reaching. They would need to be held to account. Prosecuted. And if convicted, held. But none of that was registration. Registration was a PR move to placate the fear some people felt. And it was never good to act on fear. Too easy for people to make mistakes. "Perhaps registration might be the answer, given time. But it's too early for that, I think. In any event, Ms. Makawee is outside. Would you like me to bring her in now?"

The final product of the Lir' compound is a approved military training site. CCD waivers allow up to 100 military troops, not allowed within 1 mile of the Kremlin. The Compound contains Manix Lir's Mansion, Berthing for trainees and current military troops (Vikings), training ground for sea and land based warfare and a secured underground gun range. The entire facility covers 2 square city blocks surrounded by 25 meter fence with bio scanners, thermal imagery and a defensive electric system. 2 Monitoring stations are in operation at all times and the facility boast a large auto connect generator in case of power outage.

Mansion:
The entry way is where all visitor are held awaiting approval for entry. The foray itself is its own bunker. It has 6' walls with Kevlar sheets molded into the the wall at 3". There are only 2 doors one leading in and one leading into the house. Both doors are made of steel and carry a "A" fire rating with blast doors that can drop down automatically or by a push of the panic button. 2 Marine guards are always on duty and rotate every 6 hours. The interior of the mansion is divided into 2 wings, the West wing is the primary residence of Manix Lir' with the East wing used for guest. Other than the standard bio sensors and thermal imaging, little is know about the interior defenses. Rumors suggest that there is compressed knock out gas hidden in the ceiling and walls for rowdy visitors.

Undercity:
Manix originally found the undercity site of 6 rooms that he converted for his secret research and activities. Having found a passage way to a decrepit old Mansion Manix bought and renovated it into his "outside persona" No one other than Chief or SynJyn is allowed into the undercity, which has since been converted into his research facility.

Berthing unit:
Built to hold 200 troops at a time, it is 3 stories above ground and 2 stories underground. Underground is used for weapon storage, gun range emergency fallout shelter with airtight rooms and filtration systems, emergency food, water and fuel storage. The first or ground level floor is used as a common room with pool tables, weight room and cafeteria. Multi able TV viewing areas set up as well and a full library. 2nd and 3rd floor are strictly for sleeping and privet areas. Depending on rank, they may have a single room or as many as 6 to a room. Each room has it's own balcony, clothing storage and rack, very little else is allowed.

Training Ground:
2 square city blocks it comprises of an over sized Olympic pool 30 feet deep. Berthing for 200, Mock ship set-ups for for raiding and boarding training. Multiple obstacle courses, an underground firing range and a full stock medical center used for trainee's and families. The upper floors of the berthing complex is reserved for Viking's that wish their families to move in with em.


Edited by Manix, Sep 27 2016, 05:30 PM.

(( Sorry. Don't want the posts tangled in a mass of other posts. ))

Continued from Miscellaneous Errands

Nox and Elyse took the metro most of the way to the location Aria had told him to go. It was an odd location very run down and looked like a bunch of construction going on. Must be nice to have money.

Outside the brownstone house - more like a mansion to him. They seemed like they kept meeting these rich bastards. The journal was held under Nox's arm in a canvas wrap. It was how it was given to Aria, it was how she would deliver it to Manix.

Nox knocked on the door and smiled at Elyse. "Let's see how this goes."

HQ is on fire in Triumphant Return

Specifically on Page 4 post # 36.

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It occurred to her that he might betray her presence -- might in fact be leading her anywhere. She only had assumption that he was a godling after all; she couldn't actually tell, the way she could with women. But she followed anyway, leaving tight knots of shining power in her wake, like tiny fallen pyramids. Small trails of smoke wisped where they fell, barely discernible at first; the flames kindled insidiously slow. It would be several minutes before they fully combusted.

He was wrong about no-one knowing she'd been here.

Nox had listened to Elyse's breathing most of the night. His head was full of things he had to do. Of things that he should have done before shit hit the fan. He didn't sleep at all, and when too many sleepless hours had passed Nox pulled himself from underneath Elyse's sleeping form. Nox was at a loss of how to leave Elyse a note, he didn't want her to think he'd left. But he hoped she'd understand he couldn't leave his wallet with her to leave the message and she didn't have one. Hopefully Sage would help fix that up soon.

Nox pulled his jeans and t-shirt on from the day before and resigned himself to getting his things from the hotel later that morning, along with picking up the puppy from the vet and then if he was lucky dropping off the book to Aria's so-called friend to pay off her debt.

Dorian had given them free reign of the house to which Nox took full advantage of once he got downstairs to the first floor. He glanced at time and started a pot of coffee - a large pot. He was drained, but it was still 4am. Right on time for his nightmares to have woken him up anyway.

The pot was nearly finished when Christian walked in bleary eyed in a pair of pajamas. He smiled as he poured a cup of coffee for himself and sipped at it before he turned to Nox with a smile. "Is this normal?"

Nox nodded. "Yep. I'd go for a run, but this is all the clothes I got for the moment."


"I'd offer some of Cruz's but you don't look like you'd want to wear slacks and a button down. I doubt Cruz owns anything but... and sadly I don't think you'd fit into mine."

Nox grinned as he finished his cup of coffee. "That's alright. I'll get a workout in just not a run."


"Dorian doesn't have anything set up in this house for any amount of training. Everything is still very much as we found it. Ana will have everything fixed up here. But I'm afraid I'll be doing all the work." Christian sighed.

"I can help. Me and my sister converted a warehouse into living quarters. I built an entire sound proof room, tiled the bathroom and installed a claw foot bathtub all by myself. Aria's boyfriend did the painting."
The memory that Lucas' painting was gone made Nox frown. So much lost in such a short period of time.

Christian took Nox's cup and poured him another cup of coffee and nodded for him to follow him. "The basement is relatively unfinished. You could turn it into whatever you need. I'm sure Dorian wouldn't mind. As long as there was adequate space to spar in he'll be more than happy."

Nox grinned. "A man after my own heart."
Nox followed Christian downstairs to the unfinished basement. It was pretty much just a storage space full of crap inside of cinder block walls and supports holding up the three story structure above it. There was amble room to create a sparring ring, one like he had in the warehouse as well as a few extra rooms down the way for other things. But it was dusty and filled with boxes of things Nox didn't think any rich person would truly want. He opened the first box to find piles of old ragged clothes and a bunch of moths fluttered out of it. "Who the hell owned this place before Dorian?"


Christian laughed. "I'm going to go start breakfast. Dorian will be down to head to work soon. I'll bring you another cup of coffee in a bit. You look like you could use the whole pot."

Nox smiled. "Thanks man."


Well it was one way to get a workout in. Nox started moving boxes and sorting through each thing. Nox put his wallet on a random sweep of everything he owned in his music library. The music floated from a wispy ballet to techno then into some old school Methos before he was actually dancing with a piece from Swan Lake. It was actually the same song that had started playing when Nox switched the playlist when he first met Dane. It was full of memories and Nox got lost in the actual forms of the dance. He forgot about what he was doing and fell into the music and lost himself dancing around what he'd already cleared in the basement.

Images of Ambulances leaving the Kremlin. A man who was clearly the Ascendancy with burns covering his head. Pictures of other injuries embedded in the document.

A snippet of a deleted email with personal information redacted stating that a high security patient was inbound on a helicopter.

Rumors of Assassins in the Kremlin. Images of snakes biting their own tail flashed through the rotation.

A medical report summarizing the victims injuries with the time highlighted and the security memo posted with it. Timestamped images around midnight of the security cameras on the roof rolling a man in from a helicopter.

The words Ascendancy in Grave Condition. In Surgery. Not Immortal! Not a God!

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It was a crisp, bright morning without a cloud in the blue sky. The sun had barely peaked above the horizon before the wind started blowing, whipping a cloud of fine brown dust and yellow sand across the beige tents as they strained against their tethers. The sandstorm was already promising to leave a mess behind at Forward Operating Base Able, likely grounding the helicopters for another day. The sand was playing hell with their intakes, a flaw which was supposedly fixed when the Arapahoes rolled off the production line.

They were in the sandbox, all right. Things never went the way you expected them to. When Toni’s squad had first disembarked from the C-130J and secured their equipment, they found their tents had no friggin’ cots. Not a good thing in the snake- and scorpion- infested Sahara. There was a scorpion called the friggin’ Deathstalker. Which sounded real kickass but she didn’t want to wake up to one. Apparently the equipment that was supposed to be delivered by the Nigerien military had been instead sold to the locals. The liaison officer, Maj. Abebi Aketola, apologetically explained that this was all too common an occurrence, but that the responsible parties would be severely punished. That was reassuring to Toni.

Major Atekola had plenty of helpful advice about Zinder -- pronounced Cinder -- the large city apparently built entirely out of clay and mud that sprawled out near the the airfield they were rapidly turning into a fortified encampment. “When you go into the city, stay in the market areas,” he said with a heavy accent. “You can go into the shops, but don’t into any of the houses and definitely stay out of the lower parts of the city. That’s how people disappear in Zinder.” Not that Toni had any interest in doing any of those things -- and her squad certainly wasn’t going to get any passes to go to any of those places. Zinder was creepy. There were far too few people for a city that size -- like three quarters of the city were just gone. All too skinny locals just watched you. The adults, anyway. The children played recklessly when they didn’t look emaciated. And the women, especially, seemed very nervous. It was all very unnerving.

She found out more about that soon enough. “Don’t forget that we are guests here, not occupiers,” said the new company protocol officer, 1st Lt. Donavan Marshall. The West Point grad was eager to get his first deployment out of the way, likely so he could get his second bar and a fresh new assignment. “We don’t enforce local laws. Stay in your lane. As a part of our guest status agreement we will help train and organize local law enforcement groups contracted by Shale Industries. But we do not get involved with local politics when it runs contrary to national law. We are here to maintain order and protect the work on the Transnigerian Aqueduct, the Shale Industries employees and contractors.”

Some of those women were undoubtedly slaves, then. The civil war of the 2020s and 2030s had wiped out nearly half the population before the military had restored order. Surviving families had turned to selling off their children, especially their daughters. Slavery was technically illegal, but in practice the law was still ignored. Many of these women themselves were complicit in it, having no other options. Faced with the choice between slavery or starvation, of course they chose to remain.

It made Toni want to vomit to think of someone beaten down so badly. She sighed. Orders were orders. Best she could do was help make sure this aqueduct got done. Access to water in the far reaches of the desert would get the mines operating again, which would restore prosperity to Niger and Chad -- and, of course, Nigeria, who was undoubtedly making money hand over fist in this deal through their water sales. And prosperity meant options besides starvation or slavery. They’d already tried the fighting thing out and it turned out they weren’t so good at it.

But all of those things were way above Toni’s pay grade to worry about. What was for her to worry about was making sure her squad was properly bedded down and ready to roll first thing in the morning. First thing was to dig out bunkers reinforced with sandbags so they could take cover if they got mortared. Flying shrapnel would rip right through those tents. That made for a good night’s sleep. Toni and Weber crashed in the one long tent reserved for females. The camp had room for 4,000 soldiers but was only about a quarter filled, and only a couple of the pilots and other non-ranger personnel were female. The morning would consist of baby-wipe baths -- water was too scarce to waste on showers -- and relieving oneself in the one-seater latrine before PT. Toni led her squad on a morning run in full battle rattle around the inside of the still-being-constructed dirt berm and barbed wire perimeter. She expected them to get acclimated Then came breakfast, which was prepackaged MREs and bottled water. Apparently the locals hired to run the DFAC had been fired for trying to use substandard food products. Awkward.

Toni finished up the last of her lemon poppyseed pound cake - delicious!
-- and put on her kevlar and body armor. Double-checked her M6 for cleanliness and operational failure due to the dust. She clicked on her Land Warriors and saw a message from the CO that the time of departure had moved up by five minutes.

“All right Weber, it’s time to roll,”
she said. Barbie doll looked like she was still recovering from the long flight and from sleeping on the tent floor. Well, she did have a woobie at least. “Today we’re heading to the Nigerian border to provide escort for a convoy of construction materials to Maradi. Then we’re picking up a Shale VIP who’s flying in to Maradi and taking him to one of the mining camps. Taking the ground vehicles since the wind's too bad for the helicopters so it'll be a long day. But you should get some stuff to write about.”
Pretty much everything was calm on the Nigerian side. The government seemed to really want to get this pipeline built and was taking security seriously. But things really started to break down on this side of the border. Along the way they’d have the opportunity to inspect the completed sections pipeline from the border to Maradi. “Be sure to give your boots a good shake before you put them on.”



Edited by Toni Perez, Sep 19 2016, 12:18 AM.

**Breaking News**

Larson Lir', a fishing and merchant tycoon, released information and a video of an "unknown" monster that attacked the families defensive ship "The Rage". Captain SynJyn Quick, leader of the elite Viking's aired this report.

"Attention all vessels, this is Defensive Ship "The Rage" at 1400 Zulu we encountered a destroyed passenger vessel located at -34.086 x 171.997. Upon attempted rescue efforts we encounter a previous unknown beast that was capable of swallowing lifeboats whole. Video attachments are available of the encounter. Consider all ship traffic in this area extremely dangerous."


(The briefing was followed by several security camera feeds showing the monster swallowing the lifeboat whole, the Vikings taking up defensive position followed by several shots of the monster from different angles)

While some experts are already claiming this is a elaborate hoax, others are not so sure. Our own oceanologist has this to say: "This is not the first such report, it is the first with such conclusive evidence. Add this to the mystery of the discovery of several dead and half eaten giant squid and it is hard to say this is a hoax."
Larson Lir' had this to say in response to the critics: "I no be giving a damn what they think, the warning stand, believe or not, is no me concern. The Lir' family gets no profit from such a tale, so the critics can bugger off."


So there you have it, believe or not, i'd avoid surfing in that area for awhile.

Janet Danes reporting