Working with Aria had been interesting to say the least. She encouraged him to explore his talents. He knew it was multiple purposes considering her ultimate mission was to kill Ascendancy. A nearly impossible task, one which she didn't want to actually do but with the new way of things in the Atharim there might be no way out.

Today he spend the day alone in the warehouse. He'd been doing some designing of the work space, dojo was his work in progress name, he had thoughts and plans and ideas to go over with Aria. But today he was not working on that, he was playing. Playing with the power was dangerous, it could back fire, and he'd rather do it without prying eyes and those who could laugh at him when he failed. Nox hated to look like a failure.

Nox looked at the large open area that they'd designated training room. It was literally empty, one day he'd fill it with obstacles and other various things to test his skills and others like him, but right now, he was looking to extend his ability with things. To understand what worked with the new tying off technique and how to increase the duration he could use his power, which ultimately meant using it less. He grinned as he popped in his ear buds and the music thrummed in his ears. It was some catchy tune with a good beat, he used it when he needed to keep the momentum going. He had Aurora edit out the lyrics and replace the melody with just some other instrument. She found it all fun and interesting.

Nox knelt on the ground and surveyed his kingdom with a grin. He picked up a handful of gravel on the ground that they'd yet to sweep away. Nox rolled the gravel around in the palm of his hand contemplating his arrows weave, earth and fire. He had earth in his hand. Nox took one pebble of gravel in his between his forefinger and thumb and threw it like a baseball. It was small and had little weight to it, it didn't go far. But a weave wasn't heavy either, it was particularly insubstantial.

Nox wove a bed of air and dropped the gravel on it. It floated in mid-air, he smiled happily at the small little feat of power. Magic!

The modification to the original weave he used air instead of earth, and left the fire off just for now. The ball formed around the small earth pelts and Nox flung the weave at the pallet he'd used with Bas and Pytor here. It flew into and landed neatly into the wood like a bullet might. He'd have to figure out if it pierced Oni skin, but it was a neat trick none the less. He could unleash a few of these with one weave and if they were fast enough they'd hurt. What if they were sharp?

A new thought rattled around in his head.

Calvin got started on his assignment the next day. He had to admit he was feeling excited about it. Calvin hadn't felt this way in a long time. Chase had given him ten locations and the first was somewhere in the wilderness of Spain.

Calvin started off by running at a normal pace through the Moscow wilderness, feeling free from his struggles. He increased his pace - moving as fast as he had been taught he could. At this rate, it shouldn't take long for him to arrive in Spain.

He arrived in a forest and Calvin began to search. He needed to find an item - something permanent and he began to look for one. He walked through the forest, his wolf eyes scanning until he arrived in a clearing.

In the clearing stood a woman. Calvin recognized her, although he hadn't expected to see her here. Guilt swam into Calvin's mind and his clothes began to shift to what he wore the last time he saw her. A knife and a bottle of whiskey appeared unbidden into his hand.

NO! It wasn't my fault!
Calvin thought closing his eyes. He focused on Lucas. He wouldn't give into it now.

When Calvin opened his eyes, his clothes had returned to normal and the knife was gone. The bottle of whiskey had been replaced by his guitar. He willed it away and stepped forward to the woman. She had turned to face him, but he didn't know how much of the struggle she had witnessed.

"Hi."
Calvin said, not sure of what else to say yet.

Every gleaming society had its darknesses, and often, the brighter shone the elite, the deeper the colour of the shadows.

The Almaz was a club bolted into the Underground, but claimed exclusively by the favour of the obscenely rich. Cash or favour granted admittance - often both were required to get a foot through the door - but it did not hold the prestige of somewhere like Manifesto. It was not the sort of place one openly admitted to attending, nor a name that found its way into polite conversation or the sparkle of the tabloids. No paparazzi paved the way to its doors. On the contrary. Recording devices were prohibited within, and security took the rule seriously enough to break fingers and worse for transgression.

The clientèle was mixed; the golden elite getting their dark kicks alongside the cream of local gang life, though you might only tell by the absence or proliferation of tattoos amongst the formal dress-code. Big money was won and lost on the fights, that being the Almaz's bead and butter. Allies forged and shattered in its walls, deals soaked in loyalty of blood. Upside leather and velvet decorated a lavish bar area, filtering down into the pits below, where the real entertainment happened. Down there rings and cages separated the various fights, couched by plush ringside tables. This was not sportsmanship; it was brutality.

For now Ori lingered upstairs, by the bar, indulging in the hum of conversation beneath the drum of industrial style music. She was known here, but not a regular face; Luka came here too, albeit not as a customer, and it had sucked some of the lustre easily recovered elsewhere. Intention had pulled her here tonight, though. The promised heat of violence below stirred passion and ferocity in those around her, and it was whispered rumours of a particular fight tonight that had bent Ori's ear.

Some time earlier that afternoon she'd sent Giovanni a message to meet her at the club, though the details had been vague. She trusted he'd come running. In any case, he was her delay; his name was cleared at the door - supposing he wasn't foolish enough to try and spin an alias, though he would still be searched before the bouncers allowed him in. If he didn't show it changed nothing of her plans, but he would be missing a fuckload of fun.

The past two weeks had been wonderful, albeit very difficult. It had been two weeks and two days since his last drink, and even though the call to drink was still there sometimes, it was becoming easier to manage. Especially since he started seeing Alex, Lucas, and playing guitar.

The guys at work had bought it for him, as well as a couple of lessons for Christmas/congratulations. That had been really nice of them and had been quite the surprise when he had seen it. He knew he found some true friends and hoped things stayed that way when he left. The more he thought about it, the more he was looking to do something else besides fix cars. He thought he knew what he wanted, but wasn't sure. Maybe it was something to talk with Alex about.

He met with Alex once a week and they discussed his progress. Calvin thought he had made some big strides and was feeling significantly better about things. He told Alex that he was playing guitar and whenever he felt the need to drink, he practiced. She encouraged this course of action and said she wanted to hear a song when he got good enough. That had made the first week a lot easier - and he quickly picked things up. His teacher said that he was a natural at the instrument. He called Lucas often - just to check in and say he was doing alright. He often started by telling Lucas how long it had been - it made him feel successful.

He had also told her about the Dream, the nightmare, and the strange girl he had met there. He told her about Dawn Wind too. Calvin had been coming to terms with the deaths of his family and Snow. He was beginning to understand that they were not his fault, but Dawn Wind - the alpha wolf's blood was on his hands. He should have listened, but he kept himself from allowing the guilt to eat him.

That was what brought him to the Dream this time. First off, he wanted to find the spot he buried Dawn Wind and talk. He knew the wolf wouldn't hear him, but it was for his comfort. Secondly, he needed to work on the other things that Alex wanted him to work on - his abilities. He wanted to talk to Sierra, but had not yet worked up the courage to call her. For now, he'd ask the wolves to train him in the dream, as Dawn Wind had started to long ago.

Calvin arrived at the mound, and wondered if it only existed because he wanted it to. Calvin sat on the ground and spoke, telling the wolf how sorry he was and what he was doing to fix himself. He also spoke of the strides he had made lately - that things were getting better. He emoted, allowing himself to feel the guilt released from what had happened and then turned his attention to the Dream Woods around him. Hopefully a wolf would teach him something and he could get started with really learning how to use the gift he had.

The time had finally come, he'd put it off long enough, his fear of needles was outweighed by his fear of the results of the convocation that he'd attended nearly a day past. So Nox did the most life saving thing he could think to do and Nox had asked Aria for Lucas' shop, and the address, and he'd brave his fear and Aria's boyfriend again.

But Nox was still fighting his irrational fear of needles, he did everything with in his power not to have to go, telling himself that finding the families of those in the plane crash was more important. He had done so, but found that Lucas' shop was still keeping hours, even after he'd spent the past many hours licking envelopes and walking them to the farthest post drop box he knew of. Sadly it was just barely after noon when he dropped them in the box, and found himself in the Enlightened District.

Lucas' shop wasn't too far from Aria's place, which now was with in a short jaunt from where he stood. The world had played a nasty trick on him. Nox wasn't surprised really that Lucas' shop was so close to Aria's apartent, but Nox knew that it could have been anywhere, she wandered the entirety of the city by foot and metro since she got her. He still had a lot to learn.

Before he'd walked out of their warehouse apartment Aurora tucked a book with the drawing of the tattoo in his hot little hand. She knew him alot better than she let on at times. With the drawing was neatly tucked into a book and held close to his chest to keep the wind from whipping it here and there Nox walked towards Lucas' shop. Nox's thoughts drifted to his sister to keep from thinking about what he was about to endure. Nox knew Aurora would kill him if the paper came back a mess. Though she wasn't exactly sure what she was going to do still but it was still a peice of their parents that she held on to. Maybe he'd get it framed for her much like Aria's drawing.

Nox wasn't exactly looking forward to seeing Lucas, the last time hadn't ended great. Though at least it hadn't come to blows. For Aria's sake he's tone down himself. Which said a lot about what he'd do for Aria. But in the long run it was in his own self interest to stay on Aria and thus Lucas' good side. Aria could turn him in to her new handler and that would cement her loyalty and condemn his life. Nox knew Aria wouldn't do that. He hoped he knew her that well. She'd set out to find a way to not kill Ascendancy, knowing that it meant her life as Atharim was over, yet she still looked for the answer. She was far braver than he was.

The Dueling Dragons stood before him. Nox took a deep breathe and regretted doing so as the near ice crystals form in his lungs. Moscow was hell in the winter! And you thought hell was cold, Nox joked in his head. He pulled open the door and the little bell tinkled it's welcoming call. The rush of warm air bathed him, he pulled his coat closer to soak in all the warmth he could.

Nox stood in the door way and stamped the snow from his boots. He'd actually bought a pair of good rugged and warm boots for all the walking he seemed to be doing. Two men stood working on customers, he recognized Lucas. Nox opened the book and pulled out the drawing of the tattoo he wanted to splay across his left forearm. Tradition said the dragon was done in all black ink. Nox was far from traditional. He wanted it to be red and black. Screw Tradition!

Nox walked to the counter and set the paper on it and his book on top of it so when the door opened it wouldn't blow away. He'd wait till they were done. Until then he'd look around at the photos on the wall of various tattoos in 'stock' and done prior. It was an interesting bunch of work. They were clearly good at their jobs. And it was a good distraction from his fears.


Edited by Nox, Jan 14 2015, 09:35 AM.

Pyotr sat at the bar. He could feel the intoxication getting to him his head swam from the alcohol he had consumed. He had come to the Red Light District because he sought solitude. This bar offered it. He avoided the bars with strippers or anyone that would bother him. It was him and the vodka tonight.

Coming to a run down bar had its downsides though. The vodka wasn't the greastet tasting liquor. He also wasn't used to drinking hard liquor, so feeling the effects didn't take long. He and Michelle had broken off whatever they had. He couldn't give her what she wanted. They were "friends" but there was still an awkwardness between them. Pyotr felt empty and alone

He wondered what it was about loneliness that made him seek solitude.Maybe he didn't want others to see him like this. Pyotr drained his glass and ordered another. The bartender asked something but Pyotr didn't answer. He only began sipping again as he thought about things.

New found confidence. He still had it, but still there was an unhappiness there. He was a waiter and he wondered if he wanted to continue in that or move on. He had served Ascendancy - he really couldn't go any higher than that. Maybe it was time for a change - something new.

Pyotr's inner self shrugged and Pyotr continued to nurse his vodka. A new start would be good, but he had no idea what he would do. He wasn't good at much. He rubbed his forehead in frustration. Maybe having these thoughts while intoxicated wasn't a good idea.

The room was still and silent save for the tick of the clock, its soft sound like the echo of feet on winding stone stairs, ascending an infinite tower. Each beat, each step, slowed his heart until it too beat in time, as he ascended the Bhutanese meditation tower of the Chong Ran discipline. Each step shaved off layers to his awareness. He ceased being aware of the weight of his clothes or even where his body ended and the air began.

His body was gone now. Only his spirit remained, an infinite void before him. He stretched out like a god and gave it form. Everything in the void began to coalesce into shelves of books and tables, artifacts and tablets. The soft leather chair took form as did the odors of old manuscripts and aged wood. His offices beneath the Vatican sprung into being, though more cavernous and filled than even his literal one. It was here that he kept his true library, here where he went to study and commune.

He gave himself form and sat down in his chair, the soft leather the work of an artisan. It was here that he came to meditate, the Platonic reality beyond the cave walls.

Another chair sprung into being, and on it the form of Regus Wijngaard. Regus did not allow him to speak. Instead a catalog of the man's actions ran through his mind, his softness. One by one, he summoned the next Regus, analyzed his course, sifted through the successes and failures until came the Regus Joseph of Alexandria. It had been in his reign that Pope Sylvester and he had become allies, the Atharim and the Holy Church two hands of God to carry out his will. But that had come at a price. Atharim scattered into cells and enclaves, autonomous in so many ways. He did not judge the Regus. At that time, for the good of the 'Remnant' it had been necessary. It had saved them. But just as the Regus Joseph has changed the Atharim to save them, it was up to him, the current Regus, to chart a new course.

Finally, came Iscariot himself. The Regus peered into his long dead eyes. A man who loved mankind so much that he gave up what he loved to save them. The betrayal of Jesus of Nazareth had torn at him, even as his writings in his personal Gospel testified. But Apollyon was coming. The world would break. The Age would stop. It had to be done.

The man smiled at him and nodded, one brother to another across the centuries and millenia. Apollyon was here. The Abomination of Daniel walked the earth. The ending approached. The Remnant had to be strong.

It began today. Deliberately, he allowed his study to begin to mist until the infinite void returned. He summoned stairs and began descending. Soon he became aware of the sound of his heartbeat, then that of his steps on the stone. He became aware of where his body ended and the air began, the feel of the cloth on his skin. The sound of the clock ticking. He opened his eyes, refreshed. Light pierce the curtains of his room. Morning had come.

Quietly, he readied himself, until he stood in front of his mirror, his long black robe over his tunic. He draped the red sash down his right shoulder. then slipped the silken cord into the folds. It was complete. He was The Regus Armande Nicodemus.

Stepping out into the hallway, he made his way to the large chamber far beneath Baccarat Mansion. Once a secret ballroom bathed in expensive earthy woods, it would now serve the Atharim's new purpose. Entering an ornate side room, he waited as the Atharim gathered in the main hall. Martin would join him soon, letting him know everyone had come.

It would begin.

(OOC: All attending Atharim are free to post their attendance for the soon to start convocation.)


Edited by Regus, Jan 11 2015, 05:48 PM.

<table><tr>
<td></td>
<td>"Baron" Declan Darius Ashlan Cooper Gregory
PPC
</td>
</tr></table>




+++



Before Declan's career as a museum curator began, he'd worked on projects around the world. In Indonesia, he studied traditional fight-choreography as part of religious festivals of Hari Idul Ad'ha, Hari Idul Ftri, and Muharram. In Northern Sudan, he spent 18 months at a cemetery excavation side by side with a hundred of his peers from the British Museum. But his doctoral work, during the five years he met Soren, was conducted on the Dannish island of Samsø. The island was featured prominently in ballads, known as the site of a famous battle of the berserks, and said to have been the place where Óðinn learned a special form of magic.

Only in his wildest dreams did Declan imagine himself traveling to the Himalayas. Nepal and the Himalayas were in the middle of the world's largest landmass, yet they were the most difficult to access. There were even portions of the mountain ranges unclaimed by any country in the world due to their sheer inaccessibility by humans.

India was familiar to Declan as beloved folklore to any child. The history of the British Raj left boys like him with a mixed sense of pride and shame. All of it was in the past, however. Gone were the days of colonial invasions and the paramountcy of the British Crown. When Declan deboarded in New Delhi, he was glad to be out of the confines of a nine hour flight from London. First class was never fine enough for nine continuous hours.

He was to meet Soren at the Leela Palace Hotel to finalize arrangements. When Declan arrived, he was known to the front desk and greeted with the best in customer service. A faint smile touched his lips when the worker addressed him as Baron Gregory. He paid for the hotel with his own funds, as nothing like this could be afforded by the museum, but the price of the flight cost more than a night in a two-bedroom suite.

"When my colleague arrives, you may send him up."
He signed for Soren and went to shower.

[[In response to Off Course]]

Snow fell silently. Moscow was a city that never truly slept, which - for a man who found such release difficult to come by himself - should have made for a welcome habitat. Instead, tonight at least, it only made for a gaudy prison. Sören stood not far from the street he had stalked the girl, blowing smoke into the neon lights of raucous night life. He didn't smoke, at least not usually, but it was a decent excuse for what might otherwise be seen as loitering. If the cigarettes rotted his lungs from the inside out, he was certain it would not be the thing to kill him, thus it was only one more way he diced with the destiny the runes had dealt him, and dared it to prove him wrong.

He had plenty of money to procure decent accommodation, and he visited Moscow frequently enough to know where to find it, but the idea of sleep was distant. His episode with the police officer rankled; or, more succinctly, his loss of the ring that should be his by right. It took every fibre of self-control not to slip to the hospital the girl lay in, but with Sarkozy knowing what he was the risk was too great, and he had no-one to send in his place. Instead Sören swallowed the poison of defeat -- or scowled over it anyway -- and waited for rational thought to calm the indignation. To conjecture a way to rectify this mess.

His Wallet buzzed in his pocket, something he was initially tempted to ignore, but business was business. He could do with something new to sharpen his mind upon, before past failures began to gnaw away at his patience. Declan Gregory, a man he knew through his connections with the British Museum, flashed up on the screen. A finger swiped to answer, the cigarette dropped and crushed to sizzle briefly in a bed of ice. Banal pleasantries proceeded the meat of the conversation. They'd been friends a long time; turned out this was the perfect of example of how such things could be useful. It might be a good idea to get out of Moscow anyhow.


Edited by Soren, Jan 11 2015, 08:02 AM.

It was her turn to pick what they were going to do, and Zoya had very pointedly decided that Ivan would engage in basket weaving. Her decision was mostly based on the endless teasing she’d received from in the past weeks. She wasn’t opposed to the activity, but this was payback. Best case scenario, she would get under his skin, smile sweetly, and he would know the entire time exactly why she had dragged him there. Or, at least, she’d get to see just how dexterous those hands of his could be.

Looking down at her wallet Zo scrolled through the names on her contact list. Ayden’s name was the first on the list, and she’d paused to stare at it for a moment. She needed to call her. Since the incident at the river, Zo had put off calling the other woman for far too long. The warning in Ayden’s words still rang loudly in her ears, but part of her was still too nervous to bring herself to make the call. Soon, though, she had to do it soon.

Finding Ivan’s number, she quickly set to sending him a message.

Beat you here, Supercop. Meet you outside the shop.

Putting the wallet away, she slipped her hands in her pockets. The day was a little chilly, but it wasn’t something she couldn’t tolerate. Outside of the shops, people made their way without so much as a glance in her direction. It was a busy day, but that wasn’t strange for the marketplace.

Every now and then, Zoya looked through the crowd for Ivan’s tall figure. In the past few weeks the two of them had managed to spend some time together. As far as she was concerned, they were still just getting to know each other, but she still couldn’t shake the sense of familiarity he gave her whenever he drew close. When she stopped to think about it after putting some distance between them, the whole situation made her restless. Yet, she had no desire to stop seeing him just yet.