Michael had been kicked out of his own house.

Tony had told him not to come back until he 'was rid of that pretty scowl' .
The man's questionable eyesight aside, Michael had to admit that the man was right. He had let the hunters anger him far too much. He needed to be calm, he needed to think.

So it was he found himself wandering the ancient Nikolskaya Street. He knew relatively little about Moscow beyond what they taught him back home, but even he knew about the Place of Enlightenment.

The allure of the past drew him to the famous street. He felt at home among the antique shop-fronts - their signs still in old Russian. It exuded an aura of calming wisdom; a humble tenacity that bespoke endurance.
There were so many places he didn't know where to start, so he chose at random. A modest establishment with a display of dusty looking books inside the aged wood display window.

His entrance was marked by the faint tinkling of a door-chime. The old woman at the counter looked up from whatever she was doing, her head wrapped in the traditional Russian...style. He wasn't exactly sure what it was called.

His bulky indigo coat earned him a slightly raised eyebrow. He was used to it, and he didn't care. It was too cold to bother with social niceties. Besides, he was fond of it; it was the first coat he had bought after arriving in Moscow.

"Can I help you?" The old woman said, her accent heavy.

"Do you sell historical texts?"
It seemed like a silly question, but he wasn't sure how else to ask.

"Second and third aisles,"was the reply.

The store was bigger than Michael had anticipated. Six aisles of bookcases filled to the ceiling ran at least 20 metres deep. There was also an alcove set aside for reading in the far left corner.

Anger dimmed, Michael made his way towards the shelves to immerse himself in the glories of the distant past.


Edited by Michael Vellas, Jul 31 2013, 09:52 AM.

A question which came up:


Can we update biographies as characters progress and grow (and also to keep a sort of timeline of personal events). For instance, it was suggested editing the main bio post as stories progress. Also, adding other information such as links to threads the character has been involved in, details of how this has changed them if applicable, etc as posts beneath the main bio - so that the main bio itself is untouched, but the progress reads down the thread.

Drum roll, please. The answer:


Fantastic idea guys! Go for it! Its a good way to see how characters change and interact with other characters over time.

Name: Captain Victoria Weston, MD. “Torri”

Age: 27

Origin: Army base in Argentina, but her family is originally from London

Occupation: Army physician, Captain. Virtual Genetics specialty. Newly assigned to Medical Genetics at The Facility, Moscow, DI.

Psychological description: First and foremost Torri is incredibly serious while working. She has outstanding discipline and focus, yet she is quite capable at separating her personal and professional lives. Although honestly, she’s been in contract with the army since she left her parent’s home at the age of eighteen, six years of college, and two years in active duty. She’s not had much of a personal life to speak of. She will speak her mind, but she’s not an idiot. She knows when to shut her mouth, but neither is she shy nor have issue with saying what needs said.

Physical description: She maintains physical standards required of her status and rank. Which is to say she’s in decent shape. She has dark, honey-brown hair which when she takes the time to actually style, flows in silken sheets down to mid-back. Such occasions are infrequent, however, it is not as though she has had much time to date in the past. For formal events and dress attire she wears it to regulation, pulled back to a slick, snug bun pinned at the neck. It is a messier version of this arrangement, usually with lose wisps around her face, which she wears on a day to day basis. Likewise, her makeup is professional and uncomplicated.

Powers: None

Biography:

Torri was born on a CCD base in Argentina: an army brat, as she eventually came to learn she was called. The term bothered her for many years, as she saw her childhood, especially her father’s service, as nothing but honorable. Furthermore, her childhood cemented her faith in the CCD. So on the few occasions she left the housing base, she scowled when other not-so-pleasant names were hurled her way. Eventually her father was transferred to Mexico, and it was in this violence-wracked country that Torri truly saw the need for CCD stability worldwide.

Her parents were originally from DVII, although Torri only knows London as a place to visit every few Christmases. As such her parents’ accents were diluted in their only daughter’s speech, which is otherwise a calm, firm dialect further touched by short durations in many different nations. Her mother was a nurse before marrying her father, although she did not work while Torri was a child. It was her influence which incited Torri’s desire to attend medical school at all. Combined with her fervent patriotism and sincere desire to serve, Torri expressed her intention of enlisting in CCD Armed Services as a physician and was given their full blessing to do so.

She attended a Custody Medical School combined degree program located in the Central Dominance. It was an uniformed service university which trained doctors and other health professionals for military service which accelerated a Bachelor’s and Medical degree into one six-year long program . Her life was fairly isolated during those long, grueling years, confined to studying with peers, sharing a room with a flatmate, and living on what small stipends they were allotted. Yet she found her niches in genetics, pathology, and psychiatry. It was to these three programs she applied for Residencies.

However, although graduating at Captain’s rank, no residency awaited. Instead, she was one of many selected for operational medicine, a stint which was to last two additional twelve-month deployments; two years total, not including the initial three-month CO training during which she nearly pulled her hair out from boredom.

Her time in combat support hospitals was relatively uneventful since the CCD was actually not at war with any other nation. However, the army’s interest kept her in South America’s theater for “stability and support” was the official declaration.

And they were needed.

Over the years, her reputation solidified. Torri was an extremely reliable and a capable GMO. She had a tough bedside manner with a firm enough hand to threaten any soldier into taking care of himself after an injury. She did not cringe at blood and gore, writhing or cursing. Yet the only thing to ever furrow her brow was The Sickness, which army personnel seemed no more immune to it than anyone else.

Furthermore, she was ambitious and not naive. She thought before she spoke and was slow to anger, all excellent qualities for someone of her rank and position. She was fortunate enough to realize she had to pay her dues just like every other army physician, which meant active tours before residency, and she was never bitter over the delay. Besides, when the time came to re-apply, not only was she a year and a half away from the promotion to Major, but she was mentally and academically prepared to earn a rare spot in a civilian hospital Medical Genetics program.

It was a rainy day in Berlin and Torri was on her way home when she was approached by the DPS agent outside the Institute.

“Dr. Victoria Weston?” He called, approaching her out of no where.

“Who asks?” She replied and gave her surroundings a brief check.

“Agent Scott, Custody Domestic Protection Service.” He flashed a badge. “I was sent to escort you. Your presence has been requested.”

Not one to be taken a fool, she demanded a blood sample to confirm his identity, and pulled her Captain’s clearance-issued DNA reader from her bag to take it. Surprisingly, the agent complied and with one finger prick, one drop of blood on the analyzer, and the agent was confirmed for being who he said he was. Although almost everything except his name was classified information - if that even was his name. She sighed, thinking about the dinner and shower waiting at home, but accompanied him without further hesitation. Two days later, she was reporting to the Moscow office.

Continued from: On the Job

It had proven simple enough to get a copy of The Guardian's security recordings of the Emergency Room entrance, and more importantly of the surrounding parking lots. The vehicle that dropped off the mysterious stab-wound patient couldn't be seen on the hospital's cameras, but they did reveal two figures, one whose face was obscured with a hoodie, come up to the entrance, where the stab-wound victim was unceremoniously dropped and the hoodie wearing figure ran off the way they came. It would have been so much easier had they simply driven up, and gave Drayson a good view of their vehicle and license plate.

But at least he knew the time, and the direction they had approached the hospital. With that information, he had returned to the Red Aquare, and more importantly to the Custody of Roads and Transit. Like many modern cities, Moscow had thousands of cameras watching it's streets and intersections. At least, there were thousands that were publicly known of. There were thousands more that were less openly advertised, but the paperwork to gain access to those would take a few hours to clear, at the best of times.

He had acquired three of that Custody's staff to help sift through the camera feeds. They had an approximate time, and an idea of direction, and had been able to narrow down their search accordingly. Computer software analyzed the number of passengers, helping to narrow down just how much time they needed to spend staring at monitors.

He leaned over the shoulder of a young woman, one of the many computer specialists that worked in the Custody, as she expertly cycled through the camera logs of one of the roads approaching the Guardian. They had narrowed it down to within a half hour of when the victim had been dropped on the steps of the hospital, but so far nothing had caught their eye. The cameras were more then capable of getting a good look at the faces of the drivers, and often the passengers, of the passing vehicles, but after cycling through the feeds twice, there just wasn't anything to go on.

Either the victim and his friend hadn't come to the hospital in a vehicle, or they were in the back of one of countless vans and trucks that could easily hide the two passengers, and had dropped off somewhere the Custody of Roads and Transit simply couldn't see.

"Why can't it ever be easy."
He stood and rubbed at his eyes tiredly; he couldn't fathom how some people made their living working at computers. The monitors here were far better then what he used in school, but they still seemed to give him a headache. Of course, that could also have something to do with the fact that he had been hunched over and peering at the screen for too long.

He thanked the three technicians he had appropriated and let them return to their day jobs; which was basically exactly what they had just been doing, but mostly just to watch for accidents or problems with the traffic flow. The angles of view of all the cameras they had accessed were arrayed on an interactive map of Moscow on his Wallet, as well as the license plates of the dozens of vans and trucks that the mystery men could have been hidden in, but he doubted he was going to find anything there.

He exited the building to stand within the walls of the Kremlin, and took a slow sip of terrible communal office coffee pot dregs. His sip was stopped and he lowered the cup to work a mouthful of coffee grinds. There was a brief moment where he nearly entertained the idea of spitting the grinds out, but that simply wouldn't do in so prestigious an area, so he sighed quietly and swallowed, taking a few more shallow sips of coffee to help rinse his mouth of errant grinds, then delivered the cup to the nearest trash can. It was going to be a very long day.

It was while he dealt with that mouthful of coffee gunk that he had an epiphany. Not too far away, a van was parked near an open manhole, a few safety cones put out to ward off foot traffic. One technician fed a roll of cable into the open hole to his partner in the tunnels below.

The tunnels. The city was a bloody maze beneath the streets. Who said the knife victim and his friend had approached the Guardian in a vehicle? What if they had used the service tunnels, or the metros? Or the sewers even. The medical report did indicate the man had been dirty, and that he had reeked to high heaven, although that had been attributed to the fact the fellow had soiled himself, on account of being nearly stabbed in the heart.

He grinned faintly and made his way to the Custody in charge of those tunnels.

Another few hours later, and he had something to work with finally. They hadn't actually spotted any suspicious movement on what few working cameras they had, but he now knew of dozens of ways to reach the streets near the Guardian, and which ones didn't have working surveillance. His map was growing more and more complicated, and the best way to think was to go for a walk.

Continued in: Browsing


Edited by Drayson, Aug 11 2013, 07:02 PM.

The market stretched as far as Nadia could see down the long street before her. Each side was lined with any sorts of things you could imagine. Here, a hawker called of the finest silk anywhere to be found, spun in the very heart of District III and handwoven to ensure that every thread... There, a hobbled over old lady selling home made sweets, little amber colored sugar drops in a little bag... there, an ally full of chickens, of all things, with a man in front scrambling up omelettes for hungry diners who ate on simple bamboo mats at a low table... It was quite the sight to see.

"Stay close, Zoe, and if we get separated, lets meet at the omelette table, okay?" Zoe nodded enthusiastically and immediately began tugging her mother over to the sweet stand. After a couple of dollars were exchanged for the little bag, they made their way a little further down the thoroughfare.

The milling of all the bodies down the busy market was a common feeling for Nadia, though the particulars of the location were new. She had lived in cities her whole life. She was accustomed to taking in a person at only a glance and being a fair judge of safety. Of course, there were always devious pickpockets with a smile on their face, but even for those, she knew most of their tricks. Growing up in a privileged life may coddle some, but Nadia had made a point to be out amongst people and had always had friends from some of the less savory social classes as a child.

Now, watching Zoe eye a few boys starting an impromptu football match up the road, she could feel the beginnings of the same dread that must have clutched her mother's chest each time that Nadia herself "wandered" into the streets. I am NOT my mother. I will NOT make her mistakes. Who was she really trying to convince, though. No one knew who her mother was here in the big city, in the Central Dominance. She was another nameless face, albeit a pretty one, and no one had any expectations for her or her daughter, and if people cared to judge her for being a single parent, well, there was nothing she could do about that. Zoe would be starting into school the following week and she would be just as well dressed and better educated than most of her classmates.

Nadia stopped to observe a street performer juggling very sharp looking knives. She watched with fascination for a moment as deft hands snatched blades from the air, sometimes tossing one behind his back and spinning them in ways where you think it would be impossible to catch safely, yet each time he did. "Hey do you see this Zo--" Her voice cut off as she looked around to realize that the dark haired girl was suddenly no where to be seen. "Zoe?!"

I hear there were lively inquiries into the nature of the relationship between the Atharim and the Furia.

Questions which came up:


Do the Atharim see them as useful people, or useful things? Are they an asset that belong to the Atharim? What would they do if they encountered a Furia that wasn't of the Atharim? What if they're able to identify them at birth, or if an Atharim Furia were to run off to birth her child away from the Atharim fold? If the Atharim can identify potential Furia, would they go out of their way to acquire them and raise them as their own?

As an example, Rune. Was her mother really killed by a Wefuke? Is her uncle really her uncle? Or was she a Furia of the Atharim, who tried running away? What if they came after her, killed her, and gave her child to one of their own? Her 'uncle' in this case. Are they really related?

Rune was just an example, as her background story lends to the 'question' easily. But yeah-- Do the Atharim see Furia as people with useful skills, or as a thing, a creature that had been made specifically to help the Atharim do what they do?

And, drum roll please, the answer:


This was the exact sort of thing i meant by the events from here on out being author driven. You guys, as writers especially of the 'new generation' of atharim get to do some world building in all this! I specifically left some things ambiguous so players can have a chance to craft.

Therefore, the discussion is now officially open. What say you, players?

The best place to start, I believe is to ask yourselves this. Are Furia human at all?

So the title says it all.

What's the best way to start playing here. Bio approved posted and all that jazz.

Character Name: Aria Piccolo

Age: 29

Origin: Santa Lucia, Italy (just outside of Rome)

Occupation: Field Hunter for the Atharim

Psychological description: Aria has a hard time getting to know people, she prefers to remain distant for fear of being overwhelmed.  Aria takes pride in everything she does.  Her moral compass does not always point in the direction of the law - she was after all taught how to kill monsters, regardless of their human appearance.  Aria appears to be cold and distant but underneath she crave that human contact and a deep relationship, she just doesn't know how to balance her 'talents' with real life.

Physical description: Aria has dark hair and green-blue eyes.  She is small in stature, barely clearing 5 foot.  Aria always cares two swords on her back and two guns holstered at her waist.  Aria prefers close fitting clothes, jeans and t-shirts are her typical attire.

Powers & Supernatural Powers: Atharim, Sentient (believes she's Furia)

Biography: ** updated 2/3/2014 to explain Furia vs Sentient

Aria knows little about her birth.  What she believes is she was born outside of Rome in the town of Santa Lucia, Aria was the daughter to one of the Vatican Historical Societies field hunters. His mistress gave birth to their daughter in secret. Once he found out he stormed their house and took the days old baby from her and left her alone in her grief until her last dying day. Aria was not given his as he was not proud of her birth but he accepted the role of mentor.

However there is little truth in what Aria believes.  Aria's mother was indeed a field hunter for the Atharim, she was Furia after all.  Aria's birth was controversial to say the least.  Her mother had been assigned to go in under cover to hunt a sentient.  He had been making trouble just outside of Rome itself.  Unfortunately her mother was tricked by the sentient and fell in love with him.  Knowing any future with him was not going to happen easily she decided to flee the Atharim, but he refused to leave with her.  Soon afterwards Aria's mother found out she was pregnant.  Being on the run from the Atharim and pregnant soon lead to complications.  She started back to Rome but never made it past Santa Lucia before she gave birth to a little girl.

It was only days later that the Atharim caught up to Aria's mother.  Her child, Aria, was taken from her and the Atharim shot her in the head for deserting.  They had little feeling for Furia who would not be part of their legions.

The babe was given to the Vatican Historical Society to be trained and raised as Furia.  As is tradition.

Aria was raised by Father Dimitri and was very close to the her as she grew up, but the older she became the distance grew profoundly.

The first time Aria left the Vatican when she was very young, she was overwhelmed with so many emotions Father Dimitri thought she was sick. The onslaught of despair from the global catastrophe and those seeking hope at the Holy City had been the cause, and that was when Aria started her Furia training.

From the days she could first remember Aria had been brought up to be nothing more than a living weapon. She trained day in and day out with weapons, with books. She could recite the bible nearly from memory. Father Dimitri drilled her in anything and everything the Atharim knew.

Aria's favorite past time was practicing with varying weapons. Swords were her favorite. Father Dimitri told her it was anarchic and not enough to kill the monsters she was to hunt when she came of age. Aria practiced with everything but Swords still remained her favorite even as she grew to appreciate modern firearms. Aria carried two swords and two handguns, despite her father's objections.

Aria learned to hone her extraordinary sense of emotion. But not well enough.  Aria and one of the more junior Atharim in training started seeing much of each other, feelings and intimacy grew.  Venturing their first kiss in the depths of the library Aria found herself not only feeling her own passion but his as well.  The intense emotions they both felt were too much for Aria she passed out and fell to the floor.  The boy thinking she was dead fled the scene.  When Father Dimitri found her he realized what she was and that her training had been all wrong.  

It was this mishap that made Father Dimitri realize Aria was not Furia.  She was Sentient.  Father Dimitri had started keeping Aria away from people.  He had also only allowed those who could control their emotions around Aria to train her.  Father Dimitri kept the fact that Aria was Sentient secret, she was a good enough Furia, far more effective in some cases than others of her supposed kind but at a disadvantage when it came to the world at large.

Father Dimitri never told Aria the truth, nor did he reveal his findings to any other.  To be Sentient was to be hunted.  And for whatever it was worth to Aria, he did care a great deal for the child he had come to know and raise as nearly one of his own.

It wasn't a pretty life, nor was it a fun life, but it was all Aria knew until she came of age and was shipped off to Moscow to be a part of their new headquarters.

Back Stories

Final Steps - Part I
The Dracula Inquisition

RP Timeline
Aria's Complete Story

Michael stood in just inside the entrance of the great museum, momentarily oblivious to the rest of the world. He longed to open himself to his power so he could utilize the enhanced senses, but he dare not risk discovery, not now.

It would have cost him a small fortune to even set foot in the famous halls, but he managed to persuade Commander Zelkinosk - cruel bastard that the superior officer was - that it would aid him in his adjustment to CCD life and warfare. After all, to move forward, one had to learn from the past.

It wasn't a total lie, there was much to be gained from history, but Michael doubted he would learn anything useful here. He knew his job well, far better than some of the incompetents they employed.

This visit was purely self-interest.

"Mister Vellas?" A young, red haired woman said hesitantly. She wore a museum uniform, her hair and clothing neat and precise.

"Yes?"


"I have been told that you would be coming. If you would, I shall be your guide."

Michael suppressed a grimace. "Thank you, Miss-?"


"Avanyeka" she supplied with a uneasy smile.

Michael wondered what it was that made her so uneasy, his expression or profession.

He supposed he would be uneasy around himself too, at the moment.

The military unnerved him also. He had never liked the way they instilled obedience into their soldiers, and the CCD was particularly adept at that. If it wasn't for his particular talents, they would have tried it with him, but he had refused.

It would probably get him into serious trouble one day, but he didn't particularly care at the moment. He had more pressing concerns.

"Shall we?" Miss Avanyeka said, waiting with an awkward half-gesture towards the first exhibit.

He gave her a smile that was meant to be reassuring, but it no doubt failed miserably. "Of course."


Michael was shown all of the priceless artefacts - from the crowning glories of Catherine the Great to the dozens of blades and lead-shot rifles. Miss Avanyeka had a story ready for each one.

It all passed him by in a blur. It was unusual, but he could not summon the interest. He tried - he loved the mysterious allure that was the past - but nothing struck him.

He found himself looking for something more. He felt as if his mind would turn a corner and unlock a door to something amazing if he just found what it is he was looking for.

"Mr. Vellas, are you well?" the woman's voice sounded anxious.

Michael realised he had stopped listening and was staring at nothing.
No
"Yes, I am fine thank you."


Miss Avanyeka was about to continue the tour, but was interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

"My apologies,"
he said before answering. "Hello, this is Michael."


"Michael, where the hell are you!?"
the voice cried through the receiver.

Michael scowled. "Tony? Are you drunk? I told you -"


"I'm not bloody drunk you bastard. I am dying."


"What are you talking about? You sound fine."


"I told you I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Unfortunately, not one to fix 'stab wound to the chest'."


Memories flooded through Michael's mind. Days of fear, desperation, pain.

He purged himself of the unbidden thougts; his mind now ice. "I am coming. Is the assailant still there?"


"Yes, but dead. Very interesting fellow. You said someone was looking for you right? Well, I think they found you."


Edited by Michael Vellas, Jul 25 2013, 07:22 AM.

Manix and I posted at the same time!!!! Oh NooOooOES!!

So after i posted mine i read his and then went back in and edited mine to add his coming over at the end. Thats the only thing i could think to do...

Hope that was ok!!!

^_^'

Toodles