Here is a list of the current Partially Playing Characters (PPCs) and their writers in case anyone would be interested in involving them in a thread

<table>
<thead><tr><th colspan="2">NOTE: Players may have no more than 3 on-going PPCs at any time. This does not include partially playing character that aren't meant to have more than one appearance.
</th></tr></thead>
<tr>
<th>PPC</th>
<th>Writer</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Scion Marveet</td>
<td>Jaxen</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
Giordano Pirozzi
Dr. Isaac Flynn
Victor Shcherbakov
Alistair Pavlo
</td>
<td>Aria</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Lucas Andreeff (Upgraded to PC)</td>
<td>Aria</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
Luciano Moretti (Deceased)</td>
<td>Giovanni</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Gustavo Perez</td>
<td>Zoya</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
Takeo Onoda Affiliates
Junichi Yamada
Kasumi Fujimoto
Sergei Braun</td>
<td>Takeo </td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
Jessika James Thrice </td>
<td>Jensen</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Consul Leonid Pavlovich Bykov
Anatoly Yushakov
Elouera Galloway
Consul Alexandra Lesya Vladislavovna

</td>
<td>Marcus</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Marta Gonzales</td>
<td>Enrique</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Baron Declan Darius Ashlan Cooper Gregory</td>
<td> Dane Gregory</td>
</tr>
</table>


NOTE:
PPC's have a limited purpose: i.e. the development of a PC or their storyline. Should they expand, and start having character development and/or growing relationships with other PC's then they are approaching the realm of a PC. If you want to upgrade a PPC to a full fledged PC, a submission of a proper bio and PC application is required .


Should an on-going PPC die in the course of a storyline, then it may be replaced by another. If you let me know of any changes (PC upgrade or character death) I'll note it in the roster.

Feel Free to post a PPC on this thread and I will add it to the roster on top. Include a brief description of who they are and the basic character details like their name, age, and if you like a location. You may include an image with your 'brief', but the basic image guidelines apply:

Quote:<dl>
<dt>Quote:</dt>
<dd> </dd>
</dl>


Keep the picture, style, dress, etc in context with our modern setting and current timeline. You picture must be of an actual person, not a drawing.

"I've been dreaming for so long,
To find a meaning
To understand.
The secret of life,
Why am I here
To try again?"
~Within Temptation, Jillian

Thin, ivory coloured fingers swept through tousled, raven black and blue hair, as a small woman ran through the dark Underground city of Moscow. Never had she thought she would be overseas, and Moscow? No. Although, it didn’t seem to matter where she went, it was always the same. Her wanting, sickly needing, for something more, and the landscape? Not surprising that the best place she fit in, was far beneath the well-to-do, and hustle and bustle of another yuppie city. Granted, she had heard that under President Brandon’s rule, things were better here, possibly better opportunities.

Breathing heavily, her chest burned, and she winced. Her new thought had been to try and engage in some type of new physical activity to get her mind off of her addiction; however, just as moving to the other side of the world had not helped, neither did running from it. Abruptly, she came to a stop, furrowing her dark brows at a gaping hole in the wall of the caved sides of the Underground city. Glancing quickly over her shoulder, to make sure her new “neighbours” weren’t following her again, she raised an eyebrow and tilted her head to the side in wonder.

Possibly, it was just another old subway tunnel...or maybe, it was something more. Inhabitants of the “city”, ranted and raved about the things they had seen in these parts: Reptilian-like creatures, cloaked monks, monsters, altars to Gods unknown. When stories like this crossed her ears, she often smirked, titled emerald eyes glittering, and said something like,

“Yeah, I’ve seen weird shit in my life too.”


It wasn’t that she didn’t believe, her early life had been based around mythology, but hearing it from one drug addict to the next? Her sources weren’t reliable.

Pursing her lips, she studied the entrance to the tunnel, and ran her fingers along the dirt encrusted wall, her wan fingers began to shake slightly and she pulled them back from the wall. Biting her lower lip, she shook her head, and looked back at the tunnel.

If there IS something down there, I HAVE to know what it is
. Her lips quirked in a half-smile, and she slipped into the tunnel. The rustling of her long, tight-fitted blue coat was all she could hear, and she suddenly began berating herself for not bringing a source of light with her. The heels on her boots clicked loudly on random pieces of what she thought must have been metal.

Gods, I’m stupid, coming in here alone.
She felt like a rabbit climbing into a fox den. Serena closed her eyes, as she suddenly felt the tightening of her chest grasp at her lungs. No, no, no. Not now..You idiot, Serena. Keep it together!
But she couldn’t, sweat began to bead on her brow and upper lip, her knees locked as her calf muscles cramped. The large, steel-toed boot of anxiety crashed into her chest as she hit the ground.

“Dammit!”
She yelled in frustration and self-hatred. How long had it been since she had used? Surely, she had something left, something hiding in the small secret pocket of her coat. Tingling fingers fumbled into her jacket, only to find her pocket empty. The familiar tightening in her throat, the thick ball of tears that would never come, threatened to cease her breathing.

“Right here? Right now?”
Her eyes opened to reveal the same darkness that had hidden behind her lids. She felt utterly alone, yet...the fear of the unknown clung to her like a thick fog in the heavy darkness.

Panicking, she shook, and reached within, grasping at whatever she could, she needed help!

And there it was, flowing swiftly through her. The same powerful, euphoric feeling that made her feel more alive than anything artificial. She latched onto it, somehow pulling it towards her, trying to will it to do something, anything!

Light! I need light!


What she got, was a fire. Near by debris, burst into flames, and Serena screamed.

Edited by Serena Morrigan, Jun 28 2014, 11:05 PM.

Character Name: Serena Morrigan

Age: 20

Origin: New York City

Occupation/Skills: Serena is a homeless drug addict; however, she used to be one of the top dancers at an underground club

Psychological Description: She has an addictive personality, and she tends to be manipulative. Serena is mischievious, and one can often tell by what seems like a spark ignited behind her eyes. Her sense of humour can often be odd, and sometimes dark

Physical Description: She stands at 5 feet 2 inches, which she often hides by wearing high heeled boots that come to her knees. She has a small build, and often attempts to accentuate the curves she has but wearing a long, tight-fitted coat, that buttons just below her chest. She contains pixie-like qualities, her eyes are emerald in colour and slightly tilted, and her hair is short, blue and black

Powers: Channeler

Current Strength Level: 6

Potential Strength Level: 21

Experience Level: New

Reborn God: The Morrigan- Triple Goddess. First Incarnation: Maeve


Biography:

Tilted emerald eyes stared up at what could be seen of the starlight, between two large brick buildings. A glaze deadened them from their usual mischievous spark, as they searched the night sky. There was something out there, something bigger than her, something she seemed to be grasping at her entire life. But what? This can’t be it. Cool, wet bricks seemed to support the deadweight of her small body, as if it was the only thing keeping her from sinking into the ground. She willed it, weakly, to happen. Slowly, her heavy lids closed, merely to blink, and it seemed like a great feat in itself.

Just die, already! She cursed herself silently, and tried to move the muscles in her neck to shake her head in disbelief and it caused a series of cramps to erupt along her spine and shoulders.

Ok, no moving. Moving is bad.

The small woman let out a soft snort, and her lungs seemed to burn with the same pain that had wracked her back. Then it happened, the emptiness, the chills, sweating profusely, the uncontrollable convulsing and cramping of her legs, and the familiar stinging need. She opened her mouth to scream, and nothing came out. She tried to turn to her side, pulling her legs to her chest, and whimpered as she clasped her arms together, cradling herself in the fetal position.

“No…” She managed a moan, and she ached to feel, to cry, but she couldn’t. She was the shell of a human, breathing other people’s air, merely existing just to get her next fix.

Twenty years of life on this earth, and this is what it had come to. Laying practically unconscious in dark alleyways, yearning for a substance that would take her away from all of this. It would wash away the pain, physical AND emotional.

Once, she had had a family, and a glorious job that made her feel like a celebrity. The young woman closed her eyes, attempting to hold onto her memories, but only caught glimpses of the positive moments, and recalled with a movie-like quality, the pain and anguish of so many others.

Serena’s family had originated in Ireland, and had immigrated to the United States fifty years before she had been born, long before the tumultuous and unpredictable natural disasters had begun to consistently tear at the world. She had been born into a middle class family, both parents were kind, hard-working individuals.Her older sister was the type that was good at everything she did, especially scholastically. Serena had been the troublemaker, the athlete, the “artistic” one. She never finished anything, even if she was incredibly good at it.

The Morrigans were Wiccan, and practiced their craft in a small community of gatherers in upstate New York. They had freedom, as long as they kept their practice to themselves. Serena had never questioned their faith, it was what they had always done. As far as she knew, she was part of a line of hereditary witches, that traced back as far as what she had learned of the Inquisition and Witch Trials. She knew she had had ancestors that had been burned at the stake, and that was all that she needed to fuel her fire to keep her faith.

It was not until she was 17, that she learned how dangerous it was to be Wiccan. Her faith and family were hunted, and now, all she could recall was the heat of the flames licking at her window pain, crawling up the walls, and she...running faster than the wind, only to look back at her sister’s face, gasping for air, hand outstretched clawing for someone to help her...And Serena, did not.

A week later, the small teenager found herself sick, feverish, and leaning against a cool brick wall in the heart of New York City. A young man had taken her in, thinking she was withdrawing from a binge. He took care of her, nursed her back to health, and implanted the glorious of dreams of fame, fortune and beauty into her mind. He promised her wealth, and the love of many. He promised her the magical world of the underground. She could become whatever character she wanted, as long as she danced.

And so it was, for the next two years, Serena became a beautiful blue haired pixie, adorned with wings and sparkling with glitter. She had always been able to dance, and moved her body in the most seductive of ways, always in tune with the music. She became a celebrity in the underground club scene, and she reveled in every moment. The magic, they mystery of each night was never enough for her, until she was given a small little pill, and that was all it took…

Her journey within was even more tumultuous, than the one without. Her disease of addiction, increased with every pill, line, or needle. All she cared about towards the end, was her next fix. She could not eat, sleep, or function without something to take her out of her own mind. It was her constant search, her need for something greater. As the rest of the world was wracked by earthquakes, floods, political uprisings, civil wars, she became too withdrawn to see anything past her own eyelids. She was selfish, ruthless, manipulative and bitterly lost.

It was to this end, coming to in the alleyway, where she ended up. One last hurrah, that should have killed her, but didn’t. Here she lay, cold, alone, hungry, and completely unaware of any other danger than herself.

“Well, hello there, little lady.”

Serena shivered, and slowly opened her eyes, standing above her were two large men. One grinning a slimy, greedy smile; The other, straddling over her curled legs, twirling a knife in his hands.

Whimpering, Serena shook her head. “Please, don’t.”

The man standing over her, reeked of alcohol, stale urine, and sweat. He grasped at her short raven and blue coloured hair, his thick fingers tugging on it, so her head lifted off the ground.
“A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be laying all exposed out here.” He traced a chubby finger down her luminescent cheek.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Serena looked up at the full moon, peering out from behind the roof of one of the buildings next to her. She closed her eyes tightly, and bit down on her cheek. The rusty taste of blood dancing around her tongue.

“Aw, look at that. So easy, not even a struggle.” The raspy voice of the first man, crept closer to her, and his breath was thick in her ear, causing her to shudder.

A strong hand grasped at her left leg and pulled it away from her other one. The man that had whispered in her ear had moved to the lower part of her body, and his thick fingers reached their way up to her thigh.

Serena screamed silently, infuriated and afraid.

And for the first time, in a long time, the young pixie-like woman reached out. Goddess, if you are still there, if you still even exist. Help me….NOW! Something seemed to well inside of her, it grew with each thought, each feeling she fed into it. It swirled within every part of her body, her mind filled with ecstasy, with inexplicable joy, with what felt like the strength of the Gods she had only read about. She slammed her fists into the ground, and let out a growl. The bricks erupted around her, and tossed her assailants back against the wall. Concentrating, the pools of water, that had filled in the alley from the earlier rainstorm rippled, and the gutters on the building shook, as she lashed out towards the men with her hands. Water seemed to seep out from the earth, the air, and a loud crash from an erupting fire hydrant echoed in the night. She felt alive, a power coursing through her veins that she could never have injected there. A spiral of water, like a strange oceanic tornado, plummeted towards the large men, pushing them back into the street, into traffic.

Quickly, she turned to run, leaving the devastation behind her. Sprinting, her legs seemed to carry her with her new found strength, however momentary it would be, she did not know; but, she ran until she no longer could. She immersed herself in the concrete jungle.

In a weeks time, she found herself dragging her feet, running her hands along the same cool bricks of the alleyway. She pressed herself against the building wall, and sunk down to a crouching position. Tremors engulfed her body once more, her eyes burned with fever, and she leaned forward to empty her stomach. Shaking her head in disbelief, she smirked as she thought how ironic it had been that she had not taken a single drug, nor injected anything since that night. The pure, invigorating euphoria she had tapped into could not be compared, and now, she was still suffering from what felt like withdrawal symptoms.

Dizzy, she leaned forward to empty her stomach again, tears forming in her eyes, she wretched uncontrollably. A gentle hand reached out to her, and ran soft fingers through her hair. A cold, wet cloth was applied to her neck, and a soft voice spoke to her,

“Come, child. There is much I have seen, and much you must learn. There are others like you…”

Edited by Serena Morrigan, Jun 28 2014, 08:55 PM.

Character Name: Jared Vanders

Age: 30
Birthday: August 1 2015

Origin: Roswell, New Mexico – Currently – Sierra Leone

Occupation/Skills: Soldier/Mercenary – A reconnaissance expert and good at collecting information from computer systems – 2nd Dan Black Belt in Aikido (Nidan)

Psychological Description: Jared enjoys having a good time and getting to know new people. Due to experience, he responds well in crisis situations and is able to keep his head and make good choices. He is willing to do potentially bad things in order for the good of all believing that often times, the end justifies the means. He has a strong love for his brothers and sisters in arms as they are his family.

Physical Description: He stands 6 feet tall and weighs 180 pounds. His hair and eyes are both dark. He is strong, but not overly muscular.

Powers: Channeler

Current Strength Level: 15

Potential Strength Level: 38

Experience Level: Adept

Reborn God: Osiris

Biography:

Early History
Jared was a child prodigy. He excelled at most things that he put his mind to. He was also very intelligent, skipping two grades in school and graduating from High School at age 16. Growing up in Roswell, he had an interest in stories of aliens and UFOs and enjoyed attending the local conventions. While he was interested in many things, such as video games, reading, math, and science, he had two main areas of study that he really enjoyed and focused on: computers and martial arts (aikido to be specific). At age nine he began studying aikido at a local dojo and he had made his first app by age 10 (a math game to help younger kids learn how to add and subtract). By sixteen he had graduated from High School at the top of his class and had begun attending the University of New Mexico. At 20 he received a Bachelors of Science in Computer Engineering with a specialization in coding, cryptography, and information protection. He also received his second Dan Black Belt (Nidan) in aikido at this time. As his college graduation neared, Jared came across a recruiter for the Marines. After speaking with him for some time, and learning the opportunities he would have to utilize his degree in information gathering, Jared signed up, much to the dismay of his parents.

Life in the Marines
Jared joined up as a member of the MARSOC. He was assigned to be a part of the Special Reconnaissance Division and as such underwent training for working behind enemy lines. Training included deployment of sensors, commando operations, signals intelligence and unconventional warfare. As a result, he spent time working with computer systems, but also underwent a strict combat training program.

After training, Jared was deployed to several areas, but had little real combat experience. He kept up a strict training regimen, however, keeping up his skills in marksmanship, martial arts, and computer engineering. At 25, something happened that would change his life forever. His unit was doing a training exercise and one of his close friends and partner in the exercise, Michael James, was accidentally injured. It was a simple accident that had been caused by a piece of wood that was hanging out in the open in the building they were using. He would have been fine, but Michael’s hand landed on a nail as he tried to gain his balance. The wound wasn’t bad, but it was bleeding.

Jared reached for his radio, “Sergeant Castle…”


Suddenly Jared felt a power filling him inside. Michael began to shudder as the wound on his hand closed before their very eyes.

“Vanders, is that you? Respond!”
Jared heard his sergeant say through the radio.

“Nothing, sir. James had a dizzy spell, but seems to be okay now. I’m bringing him outside.”


James felt a little tired from the ordeal, but agreed to keep silent on the matter. Both men had no idea what had happened.

They exited the building and the medical team checked out James and all turned out okay. Sergeant Castle gave Jared a strange look as he walked by.

The next day, Jared was sick with flu-like symptoms. He had a fever, was vomiting, and could barely stand. He was sent to the infirmary and was commanded to stay in bed until the symptoms had passed.
He had a few visitors come in throughout the day to wish him well, but Jared was surprised to see Sergeant Castle come in.

“Hi Sarge. Forgive me for not standing and saluting.”
Jared said before coughing.

“I know what happened, Jared.”
Castle said matter of factly.

Jared coughed again, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”


“Come on. James was injured wasn’t he? And you did something and healed it.”


Jared paused a minute before answering,“Yes, sir.”


“You have a special gift Jared. One I have as well. It’s also why you’re sick today. People like us disappear if others find out. If the sickness continues they’ll find out. I can help teach you to control it. Then you will be fine. You have a talent for healing, and although my talents are different, I think I can help you. We’ll start practicing as soon as you’re well…got it?”


Jared moved his mouth without speaking for awhile, still figuring out what just happened before answering, “yes, sir.”


The next day, Jared was up again and he began training with Sergeant Castle. Castle taught him some basic exercises, but they soon found out that Jared could only channel if someone was hurt. This posed to be a serious problem as neither one of them wanted to hurt someone just so Jared could heal them. Castle thought of the problem and soon came up with an idea. He faked an injury, putting fake blood and a slash in his pants, and went to find Jared.

“Jared,”
Castle said, walking in. “I’ve cut my leg. It’s not bad, so it would be good for you to practice. Now just as I taught you.”


Jared went though the exercises, and felt the power flowing through him (due to his love of video games, he referred to seizing the power as collecting mana), and channeled (which he calls using magic or spell casting).

“Stop!”
Castle said as the spell began to touch him. He raised his pant leg to show Jared that his leg was fine.

Jared had stopped immediately, his military training obeying the order as soon as it was issued and then he laid his eyes on the leg. His eyes widened as he realized what the sergeant had done.

“Good,”
Castle said sitting up. “Now watch and do what I do.”


Castle made of ball of light that floated above his hand. Jared copied it. The exercises continued, Jared, now unblocked, was able to copy Castle’s spells. They continued practicing. Through practice, they learned Jared was not able to just use healing magic, but he could also use combat magic. His ability to use combat magic, was smaller than Castle’s (who specialized in combat magic), and they came to the conclusion that his abilities wouldn’t be as strong in each area, but he could do more than most.

Eventually Castle got sent to Officer Training School and Jared was promoted to Sergeant. He remained in MARSOC until he was 27 and then decided to go into civilian life.

Civilian Life
Jared returned to Roswell, his military experience earning him a spot in the Roswell Police Department. He soon moved up the ranks and joined the SWAT Division. For the next year and a half, he would live the quiet life of a civilian. He practiced his magic occasionally, keeping his skills up as he did everything else. He joined an aikido dojo and continued practicing that as well, but he found civilian life rather boring compared to military life, although he did find some friends in the police department. Jared began to realize that he was a soldier and he wouldn’t be happy until he rejoined that life and was fighting for a good cause.

When Jared was 29, he ran across a rerun of Bear Grylls' Escape to the Legion documentary. He did more research on this Legion, now called the Légion Première. Without hesitation, Jared submitted an application to join. Upon receiving confirmation that he had been accepted into their training program, he met with his parents to tell the news. They were less than enthusiastic.

“What the hell do you want to go doing this for,”
his dad asked between bites. “You’re a genius. You can do whatever you want and you choose to go around getting yourself killed.”


“I’m not getting myself killed dad, and besides, it’s not your choice. It’s mine.”


“Doesn’t mean I have to like it, boy.”


The words hurt. Jared did want his parents’ approval, although he would do this without it if needed. What seemed like a long silence passed in the room, his mother quietly sobbing as if making a louder sound would cause more tension.

Jared broke the silence, “Dad, what do you do? I mean, what’s your job?”


His dad spoke without looking up, “I’m an electrical engineer, you know that, boy.”


“What would you say if I told you that you should go work as car salesmen?”


“That’s silly, I’m an electrical engineer.”


“Dad,”
Jared waited until his dad looked up and met his eyes. “I’m a soldier.”


A glimmer came into Jared’s dad’s eyes and his mother’s sobbing abruptly stopped. His father looked at him differently than he ever had before. There was a deep respect in his eyes that Jared had never seen before.

His dad put down his fork and gestured for his wife to stand up. They both moved towards Jared and he stood to meet them and as a family, they hugged.

“Know, son that we are only concerned for your safety. We can’t prevent you from being who you are. Keep safe. We’ll pray for you and write. Please write.”
His dad said.

His mother kissed him on the check and his dad stuck out his hand for shaking. Jared took it, but brought his father in for a hug.
He hadn’t expected his parents to be there when he left for training, but they drove him to the airport themselves and stayed until the flight left.

Légion Première
The training was brutal. Nothing in the Marines compared to the three months of training he had for the Légion Première. There were constant psych-evaluations, the field training seemed to continue forever, and despite growing up in New Mexico, it was hot. Jared woke up early, trained all day, and then was glad to get to bed at night.

Despite the toughness of the situation though, Jared quickly found himself accepted as one of the trainees. He had a new family, and they become quite close knit, relying on each other for morale support and a good kick if it was needed.

Jared made it through training and was a member of the Legion for a year when the Sierra Leone Crisis started. He was then shipped off to Sierra Leone to help.

Other Notes
As Osiris reborn, he takes the form of Osiris the god of death and rebirth, which is why he is able to use both combative and restorative magic. However, as a “jack-of-all-trades” of channeling, he excels at none of them; rather he has a moderate ability in each. For example, he can do typical “battlefield” healings, but is unable to heal more mortal injuries. Because of this, he refers to himself as a "Red Mage" Given his training in more "traditional" forms of combat, he prefers to use his hands to channeling.

Assigned to the 4th Platoon, 1st Company, 1st Battalion






Edited by Jared Vanders, Aug 1 2014, 03:21 PM.

Who wants to add it to the Norse section? Doesnt' really fall under godwars, but is interesting stuff.

She was offered the chance to be dropped at her apartment. Torri thought about it a good, long minute too. There was nothing she wanted more than to strip her socks, stand in a hot shower, and sleep in her own sheets.

She curled her hand around the plastic bag that held her tooth. "Take me to the Facility,"
she said with a sigh. She'd slept there often enough in the past. Sure the bunks were cold and the clothing standard, but there were also kits that could see to patching up her face. If the dentate printer didn't jam again, she'd have a new tooth by morning.

She'd been given a temporary Wallet until a new one could be issued. It buzzed in her hand and she shot awake.

She was still in the back seat of the car.

She cleared her eyes and frowned at the message.

"I'm on my way in."
She tapped out a brief reply. It was a good thing she wasn't going home anyway. It would have been a bitch to have gotten her hopes up for nothing.

This was his twenty-fifth Christmas in the Kremlin.

The first one was clear as yesterday in his mind. At the time, he was the newly elected president of the Russian Federation. What struck him at the time was the scale of the scenery. The tree in the Red Square was a perfect cone that dominated the foreground of St. Basil's Cathedral. Every ornate corner of GUM was illuminated by a miles and miles of lights. He recalled the sound of his footsteps muffled as he strode the red carpets of the Grand Palace and trying not to gawk at the decor. The Russians bathed him in luxury at first, trying to win the heart of their new president like he was a Tsar reborn.

Twenty-five years later, the Ascendancy stood in the same Grand Palace hours before his twenty-fifth state Christmas dinner, although it was still days before Christmas. December twenty-fifth; his twenty-fifth state-dinner; twenty-five years in the Kremlin. Forty-three years after Bologna; after the car park and the Dreyken, after the Atharim and Rome, after Garret tried to kill him for saving their lives in a way Nik knew not how.

He closed his eyes and swallowed the sting of emotion. The hurt was an old wound now but fresh as his memory of that first Christmas in Moscow... and Rome.

He absently rubbed his arm. The scars were covered by the pristine sleeve of a white dress shirt but he could feel five ridges beneath his fingertips. He would be wearing a tuxedo tonight. The affair was white-tie, opulent and gaudy, but Nik tolerated it for the necessity it was. People needed to see the CCD celebrate their power, to see the Ascendancy calm and collected; confidence in his authority kept him in authority. There were many an instance of men coming into power who knew not how to keep their power. That's what the dinner was about: Christmas happened to be the excuse.

A quiet ding drew his attention to a glass workstation suspended from the ceiling. When powered down, the glass glittered like a crystalline work of art. Everything in the god-awful room was art. The Grand Palace itself was a show of force, but the Royal Apartments were built for Tsars, for the gods of the Russian empire.

Alek Brandon, Nikolai's father, was of Russian descent, but when Nik swept his gaze across the wider room to reach for the tuxedo jacket, he felt little connection to the suite. Mosaics of jade, topaz and gems adorned the walls like jewelry. A panel in the reception room contained thousands of precious stones dripping forever in a waterfall of riches. Antique Parisian clocks ticked on marble mantles. Fireplaces of alabastar or malachite blazed with fires large enough to stave the chill off the harsh Russian winters. A swirling sky of chandeliers scattered drops of light like the beams themselves were bent to the will of the empire. A box stamped with the gold leaf of the Imperial Treasury waited on a table. He had yet to decide if he could bring himself to wear what was within.

The glass workstation brought up the image of a staffer. "Commander Vellas has arrived, sir."


"Let him in."


"Yes, Ascendancy."


Why bring Michael to the Royal Apartments rather than the executive offices in the Armory building?

Nik settled his tuxedo jacket on a suit rack and muted the work station of all its screens. With the glass quiet, they might as well have been plunged into the middle ages. It was a fitting place for the greats to convene.

<small>((Continued from No Rest for the Wicked))</small>


Zoya just drove. She was still trembling in her car. Her hands gripped the wheel tightly and her muscles remained tense. Despite the fact that she’d raced away from the factory for close to twenty minutes, the woman continued to look hesitantly behind her over the rear view mirror. Part of her feared there were more of whatever that thing had been. Maybe it wasn’t dead. Maybe it would get up and find her.

She didn’t know where she was, or where she was going. Zoya had simply started the vehicle and gone. The street she found herself in didn’t seem the most welcoming or reassuring, but at least, ahead of her was the neon flashing light of a bar. A drink sounded good. She needed to steady her nerves and the young woman seriously doubted a book and a cup of tea would do the trick.

Pulling over, she parked her car along the street and stared out her windshield as people went in and out of the door. A few stood outside, smoking to their hearts content. They looked rough. Not the sort of men she’d usually find herself sharing a beer with, but after the night she’d had, they might as well have been kittens; gruff, cancer stick smoking, kittens.

Feeling hot, she rid herself of her scarf and tossed it on the passenger sit next to her before getting out. She was wasting too much time sitting in the car, thinking, when all she really wanted to do was control her nerves and forget the sound and smell of the grotesque creature. She wanted to forget the way its body had moved across the floor behind her… ignore the image of the shining orbs as its neck tilted a few degrees too much…

The door slammed as she closed it. A visible shudder took over her body, but it had nothing to do with the chill in the air. After locking the car for good measure, Zoya pocketed her keys and headed straight for the establishment. She wasn’t dolled up. She still wore the minimal makeup from earlier in the day, and aside from her jacket, she had on a black tank top, and jeans. Her clothes fit her well, however, and some of the men outside watched her as she made her way past them.

Inside, the place was like any other bar. It had music playing in the background and a fair amount of people, none of which looked all too friendly. She walked around some guy that was just turning away from the bar, and sat herself down on a stool. “Give me a shot of tequila… and a beer… whatever is on tap.”

It was late morning when the Légion Première jet touched down at Lungi International Airport. The facility was still closed to international travel, but the remnants of the Sierra Leonean government were able to strong-arm General Wallace-Johnson, whom had overseen the liberation of Freetown from the Temne rebels the day before.

The flight from Mecca to Freetown had been without rest for Jacques. Throughout the night he had been speaking with investors, contract holders, the Chinese, the Moroccan government, and the remnants of the Sierra Leonean government. Representatives of countries neighbouring Sierra Leone had refused to speak.

By the time they had landed, Jacques had managed no more then a few hours of sleep, before being roused by field reports from his teams in the northern portion of the country. The picture was rapidly solidifying into a horror story all too common to Africa. Ethnic cleansings, mass rapes, torture. The Temne hatred burned brightly, it seemed.

They were met at the airport by five of the Légion Première armoured SUVs, all of which showed varying forms of scars from the previous day. Mr Trano was left aboard the jet and was joined by two of the Legion's medics and various supplies, and after the jet was refueled, it would press on to Casablanca where he would receive proper medical treatment, and then would be carried onward to the United States for long-term care.

The Lungi airport was a sister image of the one they had abandoned in Dominance V. Bodies still lay scattered about, as did burned out vehicles and damaged planes. The brunt of the fighting had been aimed at the military base, however, and not the terminals and facilities of the airport itself, and so the airport was still mostly functional, and already swarming with foreign-born refugees or those of dual citizenship, eager to escape.

Jacques stood within the protective laager of SUVs with Capitaine Antic as the medics' gear was transferred to the plane, where he had left Reed and Trano. He assumed she would fly to the United States with him; after all, she was a member of his crew. And American.

"The bureaucracy has proven very slow going, Capitaine. Third Company is mobilizing now, but considering how hard it was for myself to land here, they will likely be arriving by the sea. Expect it to be a fortnight before they can arrive."
Jacques held a cup of coffee fresh brewed from the kitchenette aboard the jet, and one of his junior officers was tasked the honour of pouring small cups for each of the Legionnaires that were present in the motorcade that would escort him to their new HQ in the city.

Casualty reports for the Sierra Leone action were blessedly low; the Legion had not been a target, and most of their teams had been at locations that were of low priority to the Temne offensive's first day goals. That would change in the coming weeks, unless the government-loyal forces were able to get back on their feet quickly.

And from what Jacques had pieced together, that had seemed unlikely. The forces that had liberated Freetown now patrolled the streets and the national park to the south seeking stragglers of the Temne attack, and were digging in along the north-south run of the Peninsula Highway, cutting Freetown and the park off from the rest of the country.

It seemed likely that General Wallace-Johnson sought to stabilize his base of operations before entertaining the idea of bringing order to the rest of the country. It did not sit well with Jacques. The man was planning something.

"We had trouble reaching the airport, Sar. The Sierra Leonean military controls the ferries and the crossings. We were able to secure passage only by order of the President's wife, and that ruffled more then a few feathers. Getting back may be a challenge."
Capitaine Antic forwarded a recording of the strongly-worded command the woman had issued; the morning had seen the bruising of her injuries fully swollen. She was in for a rough few days of recovery.

Jacques nodded quietly and downed the dregs of his coffee before handing off the cup to one of his men who was already gathering the others to return to the jet. "We shall make do, Capitaine. I will speak with whomever is commanding the detail at the crossing."


The Capitaine smiled and nodded; none could doubt how persuasive the CEO could be. There was a reason why the previous CEO had chosen the young battle Capitaine to be his successor.

The men began to load back up into the SUVs, with Jacques left alone in the private compartment of the center-most vehicle. With how bad the roads were between the airport and the Tagrin Ferry Terminal, it would take near to an hour to reach. An hour of rest the CEO clearly needed.

-----

The situation in the Embassy district of Freetown had quieted down quickly after the government loyal forces had arrived. They had bypassed the embassy's for the most part, asides from a small detail of troops that held the only road into the area, but even that post had been abandoned after a few hours when the throngs of foreign-nationals began to swarm them, seeking access to their embassies and the perceived safety there.

Sierra Leone had never been an important country, at least not until recently. The discovery of rare minerals in abundance had made it a point of great interest for many countries, but few held embassies on it's soil. The Chinese had the largest presence amongst those that did, and their people swarmed to the embassy in the dozens, with rumours of hundreds more on their way in the next few days, fleeing from all corners of the country to the only place they thought they were assured to escape.

Already, the Chinese were collapsing their embassy, packing up equipment and furniture, burning documents. Three helicopters had arrived from 'civilian' ships in the South Antlantic Ocean to carry away non-vital personnel.

The Moroccan embassy had already been filled to capacity by the Legionnaires and the government personnel they had rescued. Wounded government-loyal troops that had been taken in for triage had been relocated that morning, and civilian wounded were being moved to clinics and field-hospitals around the city.

As for the government VIPs, they had demanded to return to the administrative district, and were seen off with the remnants of the Presidential Guard and General Wallace-Johnson's troops. But the embassy was small, and simply hadn't the space for the throngs of Moroccan citizens eager to find shelter in it's walls.

So the Legion was forced to appropriate space. This came in the form of a series of now abandoned, expensive estates to the south and west of the Embassy, forcing the already thread-bare Legionnaires even thinner as they garrisoned three adjacent small mansions and knocked holes in their concrete fences to link the three together, and to secure a corridor between them and the new Legion headquarters.

Volunteers were sought among the refugees and embassy staff to help administrate the situation. The names of the refugees were needed to be taken, a stock taking of food and medical supplies. The Legionnaires were even willing to accept volunteers to bolster their security, although by all accounts, Freetown was safe. There was hardly any sounds of weapons fire in the city since very early that morning when the last large pocket of Temne fighters had been finishsed off.

Natalie had been found a room within the embassy for the night; an office with a couch, and had been provided a fireblanket. The office had it's own restroom, one of the few, marking her as a high priority VIP in the Legion's eyes. They had been payed quite a bit of money to see her safe, after all, but her private washroom would likely not be hers alone for long.

Hollywood had been seen to as best as the beleaguered Embassy doctor and Legion medics could, and once they had completed their surgery, he had been relocated to another boardroom with his kitten.

Unsure of what to do with Ekene, the boy was left under the supervision of Natalie. The fact that he was just a boy had spared him much of the Legion's wrath. Of course, Jay would receive no shortage of ribbing later for having been downed by a kid with a broken hand of all things.

It had been a few days since she'd given up her old life. Two days of anxiety and curiosity. Ayden had wandered the streets of Moscow under a new light. Everything was worth exploring. Never before had she had that luxury to just sit in the park and stare at the birds. Not that she'd done that yet, the weather was far to cold.

The world was her oyster. Ayden was happy, it was stressful that first day leaving the apartment. But to her luck a few streets down from the apartments a bar, Cherserfield, had a 'hiring now' sign out. It would be good to work with people. Stressful, but a new experience for Ayden.

It was open twenty-four hours, which meant that Ayden could work at any time, which wasn't bad, but it made for scheduling things difficult. The man who owned the bar interviewed her, Ayden thought his name was, Mayor Yegorov, but she could have misheard him with his overly Russian accent. He insisted on his employee's speaking English, CCD law or something like that, not a problem. Ayden could speak and understand Russian, as with a few other languages, but she'd prefer to speak her native tongue. It was just easier that way.

The interview had been short. He saw her attire, saw her face, asked her her credentials, Ayden didn't lie, but he hired her anyway. Something about a pretty face bringing in the customers.

She'd start the next morning while it wasn't quite so busy. Ayden had never bartended, but she could learn quickly. And pulling a draft or a bottle was easy. And she was really just a server anyway, so no bar tending needed really. Though it looked an interesting skill, one Ayden might take up.

The second or third night Ayden came home, she'd seen Connor heading towards the elevator. She missed him a lot. He looked nervous, and really she couldn't blame him. Ayden smiled brightly at him and said hi, there was no reason not to, they were going to run into one another on occasion anyway, they lived on the same floor, in the same building. Ayden hoped she'd see him more. But he really seemed nervous. She watched him leave. She really missed him, watching him walk away was disheartening, but at least it was a good view. She kept on smiling, glad to see him. Shutting her door had been hard, but she managed to not try to go after him. It was his choice, he'd do what's best for him, and for Ayden that made her happy. He'd be happy, but he didn't look it right now.

She got her first day off and proceed to the University. She wanted to check out the curriculum offered and the campus. Not that it mattered either way. It was a good school, she'd find something, but what she didn't know.

Ayden went into the admissions building and got the application and the course book. If she'd hurried she'd make the spring semester in January. If she hurried. Ayden wondered if she could get into the library. It would be good to see the options. Ayden had always liked books - real books. She headed towards the library in hopes they'd let her in.