I've started a thread (with Asc's permission) at Dragonmount on their Turnings of the Wheel RP board. Since it's WoT related in a different age it works. We can use it as advertising for FA.

In order to keep it completely divergent from here I've pushed it 5 years into the future with a few facts that should be fun.

You have to be logged in to see the board, but here's the link to the thread. Anyone is more than welcome to join from here or at DM no bio's required.

The First Age: Charity Event

Should showcase monsters and channeling if all goes as I plan but you never now with RPs

As far as cities went, Moscow was pretty nice. Crowded, but she expected that. There was an energy here that she hadn't felt in a long time. Excitement and optimism. Everything seemed lit up, including the people. She passed a kid walking down the street with a shirt that was displaying ever changing images and scenes at a rapid but rhythmic pace. The style vaguely tickled her mind, though she couldn't put her finger on it. She hadn't grown up seeing much TV as a kid. One or two scenes made her raise her eyebrow and she laughed to herself. That'd go over real well in Idaho. The kid- maybe 19- looked her in the eye and smiled as he passed her.

Yep. Definitely an energy. In some places anyway. The higher the higher ups, the lower the lowly. She'd seen a bit, though she didn't really have much time to explore yet. She'd just gotten in yesterday and primarily had seen just the route to her hotel. The dinner in the lobby restaurant was good enough. Food didn't really interest her.

No, she was here for a reason, one that made it hard to sleep that night, so anxious was she. She'd gotten up early and gotten ready- simple black jeans and boots, white shirt and her grey leather jacket. It was cold, but she didn't notice it that much. She'd hunted in the north west in winter. You got used to it.

The sidewalks had been salted and her feet crunched their way down the street. The neighborhood had a quieter air about it, more relaxed. Small shops and houses lined the street, with the occasional market on the corner. She passed a bookstore with old books displayed in the window. She didn't bother stopping. She'd never really been interested in reading for fun.

Up ahead was a much larger building, really quite beautiful. It seemed like some old manor house or something. Stone steps lead to two polished wooden doors. Her wallet beeped. She was at her location. She stood there for a moment and then started up the stairs.

Once inside, she was questioned at the door. She gave the appropriate phrases and was taken to another room where, after an eternity of scans and verification, she was finally ushered into a library to cool her heels. There were a few tables about, but the room was empty. She did notice the cameras strategically placed throughout the room. She smiled at one of them and then leaned back to half sit on one of the tables facing the door while she pulled out her wallet and logged back into the darkweb and the Atharim forums for more research.

It seemed like forever before a robed priest, maybe her age, tall and whispy with thinning grey-tinged brown hair- no way was this guy a hunter- walked in. It seemed a bit odd to see a priest here, but she supposed there were all sort who were Atharim. "Ms. Cross. I am Father DeLuca. Would you follow me to my office please?"

She pushed off the table and slipped her wallet in her pocket. "Sure thing. Thanks."
She followed him through various hallways. She saw people sometimes walking about. It was quiet though. No seemingly idle chit-chat or anything. People seemed focused on their work. Well, it was what she expected, she supposed. An organization was an organization, after all. Especially at the heart. New heart maybe. She wasn't sure. Made sense, though. What with all that was going on in Moscow, it made sense to make this the hub.

The man let her into a small office and gestured to the chair before taking his seat behind his desk. "We were surprised at your message, Ms. Cross. We've had a few Americans join us here in DI. But in general, that branch of the Atharim tends to...keep its independence. What is it you want?"

She smiled and leaned back in her chair. She smiled. "Simple. I want to hunt gods. This new order. I want in."


The man looked at her for a moment over clasped hands. Finally his eyebrows raised. "The Order of the Archangels is by invitation only. The Regus himself is the one who chooses."

She laughed a bit. She understood of course. But it wasn't gonna stop her. "Well, then, let me speak to him. Simple as that."
She nodded at his computer terminal. "You have my record. You know what I can do, what I've done. You won't find many with more experience than me. Let me talk to him."


The man sighed, shaking his head slowly. "I'm afraid the Regus is very busy," he began but she interrupted him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure he is. But it will only take a moment, I'm sure. Just let him know that I am here and..."
he voice trailed off as she tried to think of a word. One came to her, but she didn't like it. She wouldn't say 'request an audience', not for anyone. She tried to make her voice more friendly-like. "Ask to speak to him."[/color] Once she got to talk to him, she was sure he'd listen. She could be persuasive if she wanted to be.

The man compressed his lips, but said nothing. Finally, he typed something into his computer and she heard a chime a few seconds later. He looked at her and then said, "It seems the Regus is free for a brief visit. I will take you to him." A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. "I do hope you remember that you asked to see him."

Dorian ran his fingers through his hair as he disembarked the private plane that had brought him into Moscow. His father had insisted, as usual. Cruz was with him, he was here to check out Moscow University. Cruz would return home to Madrid on the plane when he decided if he would transfer next semester. Dorian thought it was funny that Cruz wanted to come with him. Maybe being his grandfather's choice for VP of RnD was grating on him, but Dorian didn't ask and Cruz didn't offer, he only informed his father he was coming to which Dorian gave him a flourished bow and a "As you wish"
before Cruz told Anastasia his intentions.

She looked at Dorian. Dorian shrugged, "I have nothing to do with this."


The memories were still fresh from the morning. Cruz had little to say on the trip down on the subject, but he was hardly quiet. He rattled on about Moscow University, and Dorian told him of his short lived time there. Before the calling Borovsky bestowed upon him. To hunt monsters. It was not an easy job and it was more complicated being in the Department, but it had it's advantages. He had a home unlike most hunters who rarely found a haven as such.

Sadly his reputation had pulled him to Moscow, but Dorian really was glad to be away from his father. He was happy that Cruz might come live in Moscow. Ana was not happy, but she'd deal with it, like everything else. It would give her plenty of time for Christian but also make it more difficult without Cruz as a buffer between her and Dorian's father. He sighed. Life sucked!

Cruz followed him down the stairs to the tarmac. "Dad, I'm going to head straight there. I have the address to the new house."

Dorian nodded and Cruz left with his own contingent of drivers and luggage handlers, the remainder looked at Dorian as if he were the only thing in the world. He smiled before he moved towards the car that awaited him. The driver opened the door and Dorian got into the back seat of the black SUV. His luggage was loaded, the rest would be driven there on trucks. It was a pain moving, but it would be worth it in the end.

The house was smaller than he preferred but it was just him so it didn't matter. His father had found it. Dorian of course purchased it, his father would never gift Dorian anything outside of Madrid, he already owned countless businesses and houses there all gifts from his father to persuade him to come home and remove himself from this dangerous life style. He knew what Dorian really did for a living, it turns out he'd been donating money to one of their charities for years. It was a medical thing he claimed, but he wasn't certain his father truly understood what it meant.

Dorian walked into the foray and frowned, it was dreadful inside. The decor, he didn't even want to think about it. A man with greyed hair in a black suit approached him, "I'm Pavlo, your butler among other functions of the household. Can I assist you in anything sir?"

Dorian frowned, "Yes, either call my wife and tell her I'm need of her expertise on this horrid decor or hire a better designer because I refuse to stay in this."
He waved his hand at the tacky wooden panels and the gold trimmed everything. He shuddered. "I do hope my bedroom is better. I'm going out for a drink. Please take this all down."
Dorian caught sight of a watercolor on the wall. He pointed, "Except that, put that in my room."


"Of course sir, I will call Mrs. Vega and see what she recommends."

Dorian nodded, "And if you call me Mr. Vega I'll have you fired. My name is Dorian."


Pavlo nodded, "Yes sir."

Dorian laughed, "Dor-ee-an""
He enunciated his words, "Not sir."


Pavlo sighed and nodded, "As you wish, si... Master Dorian."

Dorian sighed but smiled anyway, "We'll get along just fine, I think."


Dorian stalked out the front door with a sigh, it would of course be a horrid house his father picked out. All in the name of getting him home. He'd show him. He should leave it horrid but he shuddered, no, that was even beyond his own rebellion.

He could go to Manifesto but he was hardly dressed for such a place. He went someplace else, someplace a little more tame. Where was it Martin had taken him all those years ago... Chesterfields he thought was the name. So that's where he told the driver.

It was of course under new management and the beer and wine selections were far better, as well as the food. He smiled happily. The blonde at the hostess station smiled brightly at him he smiled back at her. No point being rude. The girl who waited on him however was covered in tattoos and green hair, he sighed. She too smiled at him, but Dorian only gave her a cursory smile and ordered their finest beer and whatever the special of the day was.

Dorian sent Martin a text. "I have a new job. Figured might like to know. A new task force in the CCDPD. Apparently my reputation has caught up with me, and I've been asked to come join this new special terrorist task force. At Chesterfields getting a bite to eat, come join me oh Metatron. " Dorian laughed as he sent the text.


Edited by Dorian, Mar 20 2015, 12:42 PM.

Dorian Vega
Birthdate: May 6, 2010 (Age 35)

Origin: Madrid, Spain
Powers & supernatural powers: Atharim

Psychological description: Dorian is practical and patient most of the time. He has been known to have a temper when he gets aggravated. He does not like to repeat himself. Dorian's image is all about being the perfect son to his wealthy father. He puts on the air of perfect son, perfect husband, perfect father when in the company of his father's peers and typically when he's at home in Spain. However Dorian is far from the perfect image he portrays to most of the world, he is rebellious against his father's views on life, mainly due to the fact that Dorian likes men. Dorian is charming and has expensive tastes even when he's out hunting monsters. He is an experienced leader. Dorian is a minor technophobe - because of his father's ventures in the technological field, Dorian avoids most of it.

Physical description: Dorian is 5'11", his black hair cut close, almost always perfectly in its place. He dons a mustache and thin beard that he takes great pride in maintaining. His gray blue eyes are deep set and framed with a stunning pair of eye lashes. Dorian is always impeccably dressed, everything he owns is designer down to the socks on his feet and the boxers he wears. He even has his uniform custom made.

Dorian has a tribal flame tattoo that covers the left side of his body from shoulder to groin spanning both front and back and down his right arm to just above his wrist. With a proper long sleeved shirt there is no evidence of the large black tattoo that he got at 18. In the middle of the tribal tattoo on his left forearm, a tribal dragon oroborous with the Chinese symbol of son scribed in the middle of the circle the beast creates sit displaying his affiliation hidden in plain sight amongst his teenage rebellious times. Luckily the original tattoo was easily extended to encompass it.

Classically he wears a black Gucci watch decked out in the latest of wrist worn computers. The only thing out of place and out of his sophisticated look is the black leather cord around his neck tied to his gold wedding band.

Biography:

Being the only son of a wealthy family had both its ups and downs. Dorian Vega was the only son, the only child of Emilio Vega, CEO and owner of Jivana, a technology company that focused on providing the world the most cutting edge electronics for the betterment of man kind. In other words, Jivana, provided the best technology available for hospitals, doctors as well as a few consumer products that monitored your health and fitness.

Emilio had married young, his wife Dolores, and Dorian was born shortly there after. Emilio was the son of the original CEO and owner, it was after all the family business. Dorian was to be groomed for the position himself. But Dorian had other thoughts on that. By the age of 5 he knew he was different. His first kiss at the age of 10 had proved that, the boy he'd kissed punched Dorian in the face afterwards. It was rather humorous, after the fact. Dorian learned how to keep his preferences quiet. His father had lectured him on it, no, it wasn't a lecture it was yelling.

Despite the fact that Dorian was not interested in the girls his age, he was quiet the charmer. He had a few girlfriends before his wife, Anastasia, but he loved none, and it really was all for show. Since the punch in the face Dorian put on a new show. He dressed exactly like he was expected to. Dorian loved to have the finest things around him, his clothes were no different. The expensive silks and fine accessories. It was his cover for things, everything was perfect. His clothes, his hair, his attitude. He was charming yet intelligent.

But he still rebelled in little ways, and in those moments of rebellion Dorian concocted a plan, it was devious, and it was mean, but it would work, and it DID work. Dorian was pandering at the time to the heiress of some fashionista, he feigned his interest well. Well enough to sleep with her. It had probably been the hardest thing in his life to do considering women were just not his thing, but he managed through it all, he even enjoyed himself, more than once with Anastasia. He insured there would be an accident, and sure enough at the age of 16 Anastasia became pregnant.

Upon hearing the news Dolores impressed upon Dorian the proper Catholic upbringing she held, and that no grandchild of hers would be born to an unwed underage couple. So with the consent of Anastasia's family, they were married in secret, and their son, Cruz, born 3 months later in wedlock. The perfect little family except a few years too early. The whole thing was kept quiet until Dorian turned 18 when he came into his inheritance. The house his parents lived in were his, they moved to live by the Spaniard coast in a much smaller house.

His father expected him to start working for the company business but Dorian had other plans, he went to University in Moscow instead studying business, as per his perfect image demanded. Finally away from his father and his perfect view of his life, Dorian was able to be free.

Dorian's first boyfriend was an adrenaline junkie, he liked to jump out of planes, bungee jump off bridges and over cliffs. His latest acts were in the fighting rings well beneath the streets of Moscow. Dorian had started to pick up a few things with his new beau, he started working out hard core, started learning various martial arts, pretty much anything anyone would teach him.

His boyfriend became disinterested in Dorian when Dorian started showing him up in the ring. But Dorian had persuaded him to tell him where he was getting his rush from, he did better than that, he showed Dorian the door, and left him standing at the entrance as he stalked off with another man - a man far less pretty than Dorian was, and a lot weaker.

Dorian didn't like the perception that he'd been a weak person before now. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't, but he was certainly glad he wasn't now. Dorian despite his attire easily walked into the fight club and was surprised when no one commented on his wish to enter into a match.

Dorian came to find out that the matches were against so-called monsters. The man he was to fight looked almost zombie like. He smelled of death though, and Dorian knew that something was off. His opponent had inhuman speed and strength and Dorian had to quickly adjust his thinking. This wasn't a sparring match, the thing nearly bit him twice and tried to rip his head off more than once.

It was the hardest fight Dorian had ever been in, but it was the most satisfying one too. By the end, his opponent lay crumpled on the ground gasping for air as Dorian had crushed its wind pipe with his fist. He hadn't meant to do it and no one seemed to care really as the man, creature, thing lay lying on the ground dying.

Blood covered his hands, he felt every ache and pain in his body, but it felt wonderful. A man came up to him with a smile. He was a few years older than he was, probably 10 or so. His russian accent was harsh on Dorian's ears, "That was some fight. You ever seen one of them before?"


Dorian shrugged and headed towards the bathroom to clean up. "No, my first fight. I don't think it's even human, if you can beleive that."


The man laughed, "It's not. It's called a Rougarou."


Dorian stopped in the bathroom doorway and turned towards the man. "A what?"


The man laughed again and held out his hand. "Martin Borovsky, I'd like to tell you more about that and maybe offer you some training and a job if you like what you hear. Few men can do what you just did on their first match. And I've been watching this place for a while."


Dorian shrugged, "Sure why not."
He knew his father wouldn't approve, which made it all the better. The man handed Dorian a card with information on it, date, time and place to meet him. Dorian took it with a smile, but before he could say another word the man was gone, almost like he'd slipped into thin air.

Dorian met the man at some sports bar in the heart of Moscow. It was designed rather well, but the taste in wine and beer was god awful. It was something he was going to have to deal with. He ordered their finest beer and a burger, the wine was too far below his standards he didn't even want to risk it.

Martin Borovsky showed up just as Dorian's food arrived, he laughed, "Good eating?"


Dorian frowned, "Not really, but I'm starving. So what's your offer?"


Another laugh from Martin brought a smile to Dorian's face, "Right to the point. I like that. I told you the name of the beast you fought. There is an entire world outside of what you know, full of myth and legend which the stories told only scratch the surface. Your fight showed me you have what it takes to get this job done, but I need a man in the CCDPD. I want to train you in what I know, what my organization knows while you take on the joys of being an officer of the law."


Dorian laughed, "You think I'm cop material?"


"No. But I need someone young to go through their training. I need someone I trust to do the work they do. Train here in Moscow. You can go back to your homeland once your training is done. We'll see to it that you are assigned there. We have pull in high places."


Dorian left that day with a number to call with his answer. He gave it serious thought, did he want to fill the role specifically required. It wasn't just hunting so-called monsters. It was turning his life into something he knew he wasn't. In the end, he called the number and left his answer. "I'm in."


Three days after that he was removed from the roster at Moscow University and enrolled in what went for the CCDPD police academy. His education was enlightening. His father called once and yelled at him. Dorian hung the phone over the top of it and had an entirely different conversation with another new recruit while it went on. He hadn't heard a word of it. At the end his father swore at him, and told him to come home, to which Dorian politely said NO.

During those two years any remaining down time he had he spent was with Martin. They became friends through it all, talking monsters and weapons. And of all the things Martin insisted Dorian learn it was the sword. He said it was something that all his recruits learned, it was a matter of his pride, and nothing else.

After the academy Dorian was stationed in Moscow for another 2 years while he trained with Martin and other recruits of the Atharim. He had even hunted a few monsters mostly rougarou and chupacabra, but a few others. A dreyken was the last fight he had with Martin before he was transferred back to Spain to keep a watchful on strange cases.

Dorian hunted on his down time, his vacations tended towards monster hunts. And he had a few strange cases on his roster. Of course he never could tell the whole truth about those, but the Atharim were good at cover stories, and they were believable too.

For 12 years Dorian gained a reputation for solving weird cases. They were almost always some monster or another and there had always been some cover story created to make the civilian population happy. No monsters in Spain, at least not in Madrid on his watch.

His son started University and was becoming a chip off his grandfather's block. Emilio Vega was a proud grandfather, and was insistent upon letting Cruz join Jivana as soon as he graduated with his Masters in Computer Engineering. The masters was required in order to be VP of RnD after all. But that was still years away.

Anastasia lived happily with her husband, even though they did not share the same sleeping space. Dorian's preferences having come to light early on in their marriage. But they lived happily on the outside as well as inside their home. Ana was kept happy with another man who knew all to well the game they played to keep Dorian's parents in the dark. One wrong move and their tightly knit world could come crashing down.

The downside to being good at your job was that you gained reputation, and that reputation pulled Dorian back to Moscow, to the now heart of the Atharim and to a new task force that was doing exactly what the Atharim did. Martin hadn't even had to pull any strings, he was asked out and out by the leader of this new task force, a transfer he could hardly refuse, the prestige was too good and his father would be so furious with him.


Edited by Dorian, Mar 20 2015, 10:08 AM.

Okay. I don't know how many times this has happened recently, but it's becoming a regular problem. I come browse new threads, find an interesting one, let's say Thread X, and think to myself, "Ah. I might join this one."

I leave to mull over how to join it, given that it'll have to be jaxen that does the joining, it is something of a conundrum to decipher. Then, next time I check thread x, that same person who started the thread has done 2-4 more posts continuing on with the original post's scene and obliterated any chance of anyone else joining it.

No way I'm joining thread x after all that. For the sake of my sanity, if you start a thread and have no intention to wait on whether or not people might join it (and by wait I mean a reasonable amount of time greater than 24 hours), then mark is as closed so I (and I assume everyone else) won't waste my time pondering how to join the scene. then the rest of us will know that you intend to do something with the thread all by yourself.

Default threads should be open for anyone to join. And left open for people to do that. Closed threads should be the special circumstance. Yet lately it seems like all everyone is doing is closed over and over again, but just not marking them as such.

thank you and goodnight.

Edited by Jaxen Marveet, Mar 19 2015, 05:02 PM.

Dane smiled ruefully as he curled down over the body of his present project. The plastic tarp protecting his clothes crinkled loud as he did. He really needed something better fitting. Perhaps a tailor could whip something up for him?

He stroked the hair from the face of the wretch beneath him. The man had been crying. As per the streaks down the side of his grubby face. The man was dark-haired and dark-skinned. Young enough to be without wrinkle, but for those caused by long hours working in the desert sun, but not so young as to be ignorant of the world. Nor to have gone without contributing to the darkness filling it, either.

The man looked away when Dane touched his hair. Likely riddled with lice, or maybe fleas, Dane wore latex gloves. They weren't for the blood, as he actually enjoyed watching the red streak through running water when he washed them, but lice disgusted him. The man's entire being disgusted him.

"I can't remember. Do you speak English?"
Dane asked, annoyed that the man would not look him in the eyes. He was stretched out on a regular table, something any family might have in their kitchen. Only rather than a comfortable little house, they were in a garage. The room smelled faintly of motor oil.

The creature whimpered, but he nodded. "Okay, good."
Dane responded. He hated dealing with translators.

"What do you want with me?" The bastard asked.

Dane was taken aback. "Oh! Have I not said?"
It was possible. He likely had gotten carried away. "Please forgive this oversight, sir."
His smile was charm itself, as though he were speaking to his Sunday School teacher. "Tell me where to find Donny Ramirez."
The man's cracked lips smushed together into a snarl.

"Never." He spat, barely missing Dane's face.

Dane straightened, examining the garage around them. His eyes fell into something on a shelf, which a curl of one power floated to him. "Are you thirsty?"
He asked, twisting the cap off a bottle of motor oil.

A tangle of power yanked the man up, where Dane put the bottle to his lips. Gloved hands wrenched his jaw open. "Since you don't want to talk about Donny. You can tell me how this tastes. Pretend its wine. A thick merlot."


And he poured. And laughed at the pitiful flailing.

Nox had left a note saying he and Aria would be gone. She wasn't exactly sure why he'd left the note, it's not like they were talking anyway. He was still pissed at her for using the power against Aria. But the note sat on the counter, she picked it up and crumpled it before tossing it in the garbage can. It bounced from the rim and the little puppy she'd taken in chased after it, skidding across the floor as it tried to stop. Aurora giggled.

She'd yet to name the puppy, she wasn't exactly sure she was going to keep it, but at least it loved her more than he loved anyone else. Unconditional love, that's what a brother was supposed to give, yet he seemed to be more interested in loving Aria. The name came out in her mind dripping with venom. She really disliked the girl, and for no other reason that she was stealing away her brother. Not that Nox was usually worth it, but he was still HER brother, not Aria's.

A soft buzz came from her wallet followed by the loud ring of someone calling. Aurora smiled as she saw Diego's name pop up. She quickly answered it, "Hi Diego."


The happiness in her voice was apparent and she was pretty sure she could hear the soft lilt of laughter on his voice, "Aurora."


She grinned knowing he couldn't see it but it still happened, "How can I be of service, Mr. De La Cruz?"


"I couldn't help but notice that things have been difficult for you. You mentioned your brother. And his friend. I thought you might like to go somewhere else this weekend. Away from them. Does that interest you?"


Aurora smiled happily, "It does interest me. What should I bring?"


The voice on the other end gave hints at what was to come with just his voice, "Oh not much. Just you will do fine."


Aurora's body tightened at the prospect and she smiled. Her voice came out more breathless than she anticipated. "Okay. I'll see you when you get her."


He chuckled softly before hanging up the phone. Aurora was sure he liked making her do that. Aurora wandered to her room, the puppy following her in. What was she going to do with him? She didn't know how long she'd be gone. So she did the only thing she could do. So she refilled both the water and food dispensers and placed them in her bathroom, she'd lock her little puppy up in there until she returned. It was the safest place for it. Wandering the warehouse could be dangerous and far more messy.

Aurora decided to wear a pair of black jeans that fit the curves of her body well, leaving little to the imagination, and a heavy sweater with a low hanging cowl neck in grey and purple. She grabbed her purse and all essentials, including makeup and protection which she had to steal from Nox's room. He'd never miss what she took.

Aurora went to the kitchen and opened a bottle of water while she waited for Diego, her body was tense, her mind was all over the place thinking about the possibilities. She smiled at the thoughts, this time there would be no puppy or brother to get in the way of things.
Edited by Aurora, Mar 19 2015, 06:52 PM.

Aria woke early the next morning. She lay in Lucas' arms and pulled away gently so as not to wake him. He didn't need to be up for several more hours. Aria found her way down to the resort's gym and was going to go a few rounds with the punching bag but Nox had already beat her too it. She grinned at him. "Can't sleep?"


Nox laughed, "Something like that. Woke up in someone else's bed and sleep just wouldn't come when I got to mine, so here I am."


Aria shook her head. "Spar then since there is only one?"


Nox nodded as he smashed a right hook into the bag and turned to her with his ever loving grin. "Bring it!"


For the next hour they sparred in the wee hours of the morning. Much like the did back in Moscow. Nox's alarm went of at precisely 8am and the spar immediately stopped, it was like clockwork. He left her to get his own gear ready, they'd be leaving in about an hour to take the quickest and fastest route to the monastery. High up in the mountains where the ruined datsan stood. There was a road that lead there, but it would take three hours by road, where as it would take only 1.5 by dog sled.

The terrain was difficult, but the guide promised that it was worth the trip. There was no threat of passing snow storm despite the coldness of the region. He also promised they'd not get stranded anywhere.

They were headed to Aginskoye, Russia, a place where the reign of the man who destroyed the datsan had not breached with his influence. English was not spoken. Aria had hired the guide from the Resort town, he claimed to know enough of the locations dialect of Russian that they shouldn't pose any issue, but Aria had taken some time to brush up on the dialect herself. Russian wasn't a primary language she'd learned, but she had learned it. With the heart of the CCD being Moscow, Father Dimitri felt that one of the languages she should at least have a firm grasp on be the region's original language, so Aria had studied Russian among the various other languages she'd been commanded to learn to speak. Reading and writing was not quite so mandatory and she could still only really read Latin, Italian and of course English. But she could speak many.

Aria showered and dressed quickly before waking Lucas. Aria sat on the edge of the bed and leaned in to kissed him softly, "If you are coming you have to get up now Love."



Edited by Aria, Mar 17 2015, 08:09 AM.

Emily hadn't stayed at the ski resort long. She left after her rendezvous with Nox. Emily called Andrew and said that she would start her move in at Moscow - it made no sense for her to come back to Chicago and then leave a few days later. Andrew had done well and acquired a house for her and her sisters in Moscow near the University and had equipped it with a holoconference table that could be used at the house until the HQ in Moscow was completed. That way she could keep track of business while they worked on the move.

She had been in Moscow a few days. Emily could have called Ayden, but didn't want her friend to see her shame. She stayed in the house as much as possible only leaving to get food and to pick up her sister, Rachel from the airport the night before. Rachel had almost finished her transfer to Moscow State University, but needed to do some stuff in town to complete it. Mara, their youngest sister, was staying with their housekeeper Matt and finishing some school projects. Among the things that Andrew had done was getting her vehicle to Moscow. She didn't have her staff here yet, but she wanted to pick her sister up anyways.

Despite feeling glad to see the younger version of herself, Emily had to paint on a smile she didn't feel when she arrived at the airport. Emily didn't want her sister to know how she felt inside - quite the feat as they were close and Rachel could read her like a book. They hugged, and Emily took her sister out to dinner, before they went to their new home.

It didn't take long for Rachel to realize that something was up. Emily wasn't herself and she noticed Rachel occasionally giving her concerned glances as Emily helped her unpack. The night passed without incident, however.

The next morning, Emily drove Rachel to the University to finalize her transfer. Emily pulled up the car to the registrar's building. "You ready?"
she asked her sister, hiding behind the fake smile again.

"Yes - a bit nervous, but I'll be okay."
Rachel reached for the door handle and then turned back to face her sister. "Emily, are you okay?"


The smile disappeared, and Emily couldn't look at her sister. "Yes, everything is okay."


"You don't look..."


"Everything is fine, Rachel!"
Emily interrupted and the words came out louder and with more venom than she intended. Emily immediately regretted the words as they came out. In her mind's eye she could see the hurt expression on her sister's face, but instead of an apology, Emily said. "Do you have everything you need, transcripts, money for food?"


There was a moment of silence. "Yes."
Emily looked up and could see the hurt eyes laced with concern on her sisters face. Rachel reached over and gave Emily a hug. "I love you."
she said.

"I love you too,"
Emily murmured in reply. Rachel left the car and Emily placed her forehead on the steering wheel. She didn't notice that Rachel looked back before entering the Registrar's office. A few moment's later, Emily drove home, resisting the urge to cry.

He had promised Dr. Weston a week, and he intended to deliver. His determination was not without doubt though. Ultimately it would be the men themselves who determined the outcome. The Ascendant Power was an intimate force that each had to accept on their own. Fortunately Nikolai had chosen his candidates well. They were outstanding in their respective fields and displayed an aptitude for tolerance and adaptability. Unfortunately, adaptation did not always manifest in benign behaviour.

Michael felt both utterly isolated and perfectly at home. As he watched his students, he could feel the struggle inside of each. He did not believe in any ability that could discern someone's true nature - at best the practitioners were extremely adept with educated guesses - but he saw truth in his student's eyes, even in those who wished to hide it. The struggle of becoming something more - or less - than human was familiar and its unique brand was distinguishable.

Michael saw the unbridled wonder in the recovered Monserre's bright eyes. The Ascendants' healing capacity was superior to the average human's, which no doubt surprised his doctors when he was up and fit to continue within 48 hours. He felt the barely contained hunger in Taichechski's. It was not all egotistical. Some responded with curiosity and fascination, wariness and even fear. The last two emotions were the most sensible, but also the most detrimental. Caution was certainly due, but uncertainty bred mistakes and fear bred doubt.

Nonetheless, by the fifth day all of the men had been able to grasp the Ascendant Power 9 out of 10 times and hold it safely 7 out of 10. It was not the perfection the Dr. wanted, but he doubted it would ever exist.

Michael pushed them. Hard. He forced them to their physical and mental limits, so much so that they had neither the time nor the energy to experiment. It was a simple schedule. Eat. Learn. Sleep.

As hard as it was, he received no complaints. At least not directly. No doubt some of them harboured an abiding hatred of his relentless regime. However, the shroud of their tomb-like habitation hung heavy around them all. Every one of them wanted to be released from the cage they lived in, and their only hope was through the Ascendant Power.

On the morning of the 6th day as the 8 men assembled, Michael grasped the Ascendant Power and held a simple ball of Fire and Air in his left palm. Tony's trick had rubbed off on him. Fireballs seemed to impress people. "Today, the days of indulgence are over,"
it was of course a hyperbolic statement which delivered the intended effect. "Now, you will learn to use your gift."