So we are getting a few spammers trying to register a bit today which means they are getting past the captcha and the security question.

I'd like to add some more questions that we will know the answer to to make it a little bit harder for people to register with. 

If you have any good questions PM me the question and the answer (so I make sure I have it right lol) and I'll throw it in.

Within the timeless void there was no pain. No hunters, no scavengers biting at his heels. No Ascendancy or Dominions. 

The great power swelled within Michael as a rising wave that he did not hold back. There was no need in the Garden. His Garden. 

Threads of power spun around the circular chamber that made up his own private training room that was inaccessible by all conventional means. His web consisted of all five types of power, pulsing and fading as he stretched the limits of his abilities before letting the webs fade, incomplete. The eternal struggle for the power was ever present but it had become a familiar one, even comforting. 

Sweat ran down his face and body as he stood in the center of the chamber. It had been hours since he had started sometime just before dawn. That drew a flicker of a smile. While his first students - now *Rods of Dominion* - embraced new power and prestige Michael had not been idle. He allowed the others their chance at glory, even those who hated him. It did not matter. There were things that Michael had wished to explore, free of hunters and of Brandon Nikolai breathing down his neck. Of course he knew he was not left unwatched, however it mattered little. 

Webs of power spun tight around his body, burning with all of his might like a snake coiling around its prey the intensity honed with razor precision. That precision would be much needed for what he had learned of. 

And then the power was dispelled in an instant. 

Michael took a deep breath, satisfied for now. 

He had a part to play, the one they had all come to expect of him.

Description

Dark blonde hair that catches the summer sun and has a gold cast in bright light. Hazel eyes. Rarely smiles. Usually sports facial hair, and sometimes a full beard. He’s 6ft and well-muscled in the way of one who relies on peak physical fitness. As a hunter in the field he blended his appearance, unconcerned with fashion. These days he’s rarely out of uniform, or if he is, he generally sticks to dark colours and smart suits he feels befits the station. He always wears the pin, even off duty. He also wears a thick silver ring inlaid with the image of a sword. The ouroboros is currently his only tattoo and is in the style of a draconic knot.

Bastian is stoic and excellent in a crisis. Not much punctures his shell. He’s a keen observer with a great mind for strategy, sharp reflexes, and a tendency towards calculated risks. There’s a casual arrogance to him, well earned through the discipline that has shaped most of his life, but it doesn’t always make him well liked. He has high ambitions, and despite his origins, believes them well within his grasp.

He has never enjoyed killing but is nonetheless good at it. He finds satisfaction in sparring, though, and is a talented swordsman for its own sake. He also practises meditation.

Bastian is known to value manners, perhaps because formality is a useful shield for dealing with strangers. Most would find him humourless. While he’s never meaningfully rude, he can be exceptionally blunt, and openly admits to forming no attachments, though this is not out of dislike for others. He will work well in a team, and better if he leads it, though he will take orders when he respects the command. Ultimately he is selfish, and will often put pursuit of his own needs first, but there is a contrary streak of heroism in him too.

History

At thirteen, as tradition dictated, Bastian was sent to the Vatican Historical Society for training – a child from one of a handful of dedicated bloodlines that were allegedly able to trace their way back to the mythical heroes of old. He was assigned into the care of Father Dimitri, who would be his teacher, protector, and jailer for the next five years of his life.

Upon arrival he was surprised to discover he was not the Father’s only ward. At first Bastian eyed Aria with the suspicion of rivalry, presuming his dedication was to be tested from the very start. But the truth was far worse. Soon enough he heard the rumours she'd killed a boy by accident, and realised at once why they had been partnered under the same guardian.

It was because neither of them could be fully trusted.

Amongst the Atharim it’s said the Völsungs had been great heroes during the godwars and in the times after; that they had been the caretakers of a legendary god-killing blade, in fact, though the weapon had long since been lost to the turn of time.

But it’s also alleged their line was cursed by the same gods they had helped to end.

The stories are old, dissected and interpreted a hundred times by Atharim scholars, but it does seem as though the Völsung bloodline is beset by an unusual amount of tragedy. Bastian himself grew under the shadow of a much older brother, who was loved, venerated and respected among the Atharim until the day he suddenly snapped. Athrian’s name is blacked from the histories now, despite his prowess as a hunter and the list of his kills. Tarred by his memory, Bastian has always known he was not a child wanted by his parents, but instead one needed in a desperate bid to continue the sparsity of their prophesied bloodline. A literal Plan B.

For it seems there are only two paths for a Völsung to take. Hero, or monster.

Bastian was a studious and serious child. Emotions had never been accepted at home, and his life had always been strict and within the confines of the church. He never treated Aria unkindly, but never offered friendship either – though he was honest about it from the beginning. They might both be outcasts, but it didn’t make them allies. Still, it was not unusual to find them both together in silent study in the library. As it happened Bastian also shared her keenness for the blade, and the two trained hard at it despite Father Dimitri’s disapproval. Their life was an ascetic one filled with endless drills and study and weapons. Aria was treated as a daughter, albeit one in receipt of tough love. But Bastian formed no attachment.

He was determined to prove himself worthy of the tattoo, seeking an acceptance he was never likely to find no matter how hard he tried. Yet he was single-sighted in the goal, for of course he believed in both his family’s curse and its great prophecy. Neither were things he would speak about, just as he never acknowledged his older brother’s fate. But sometimes he imagined one day finding his family’s lost sword.

• 2nd Age: Bayrd Bal Lenitonir
  
• 3rd Age: Baldragos
  
• 6th Age: Baldr
  

In my attempt to update PHP I disabled account switcher completely and it deleted all our attached accounts   So we'll all have to attach them all again.  So VERY sorry.

[[ More AI writing ]]

Beijing, China

In a startling turn of events that gripped the nation's attention, the self-proclaimed warlord General Song Fan met his untimely demise during a dramatic display of defiance against the CCD Consulate in Beijing. General Fan, accompanied by a fervent following of supporters, had been leading a raucous procession through the city streets when tragedy struck unexpectedly.

The charismatic and enigmatic figure, known for his bold declarations and audacious actions, had garnered a considerable following in recent months, rallying fervent devotees to his cause. However, as General Fan and his followers neared the CCD Consulate, anticipation of a confrontation with the Chinese army loomed heavy in the air.

Eyewitnesses recount the scene with a mix of shock and disbelief as General Fan, amidst the fervent chants of his supporters, suddenly clutched his chest in apparent agony before collapsing to the ground. Efforts to revive him proved futile, and the self-proclaimed warlord was pronounced dead at the scene.

The sudden and mysterious nature of General Fan's demise has sent shockwaves throughout the nation, leaving many questions swirling in its wake. Initial reports from authorities indicate that an autopsy conducted on General Fan revealed the cause of death to be a heart attack. However, the absence of any known underlying health conditions or external factors has only deepened the mystery surrounding his sudden passing. However, further details surrounding the circumstances of his death have been restricted from public knowledge, as authorities continue their investigation into the matter.

General Fan's death comes as a significant blow to his followers, who viewed him as a symbol of resistance against perceived injustices. "General Fan was our hope for change, our beacon of courage," remarked one distraught supporter. "His loss leaves a void that cannot easily be filled."

In the wake of General Fan's demise, speculation abounds regarding the implications for the political landscape of China and the potential power vacuum left in his wake. As authorities continue to investigate the circumstances surrounding his death, the nation remains on edge, grappling with the sudden and perplexing end to the saga of General Song Fan.

[ Atharim monitoring, removed autopsy reports from all digital and paper trails ]

[[ Re: Chinese Warlord ]]

[[ Prompt 1:  In the same story I need another article written.  A Chinese warlord Dies of an apparent heart attack as he storms the CCD Consulate in Beijing China.  Self proclaimed General Song Fan parades through the city with his followers chanting behind him.  The Chinese army waits for the attack, but Fan clutches his chest and falls over dead.  The autopsy reveals he died of a heart attack however there is known known cause found.
 
Prompt 2: The information about the autopsy is later redacted by a hidden society who are cleaning up the mess.  rewrite the above article redacting only the information about the autopsy ]]

[[ Written by AI -- I hate writing articles (prompt at the end) ]]

London, England

In a bizarre and tragic incident, a building collapse has left authorities baffled and the community shaken. The structure, located in the heart of London, crumbled unexpectedly, claiming the life of one individual identified as Reggie Hill, a prominent businessman who recently acquired the building and the associated company.

The collapse, which occurred with eerie swiftness, resulted in no injuries to bystanders and remarkably spared neighboring properties from damage. However, the loss of life has cast a shadow over the incident, particularly given the mysterious circumstances surrounding Mr. Hill's untimely demise.

Investigators are currently scrambling to piece together the events leading up to the collapse, yet thus far, concrete answers have proven elusive. "At this stage, we cannot ascertain the exact cause of the collapse," stated the Chief Inspector leading the investigation. "We are exploring all avenues and leaving no stone unturned to uncover the truth behind this tragedy."

Complicating matters further is Mr. Hill's recent actions within the company. Sources close to the investigation reveal that he had recently undertaken significant restructuring efforts, resulting in the termination of all employees and leaving thousands without employment. While the precise connection between these actions and the collapse remains speculative, it is a thread that investigators are diligently pursuing.

The sudden loss of Mr. Hill has sent shockwaves through the business community, with many expressing condolences and grappling with the uncertainties surrounding the incident. "Reggie was a visionary leader, and his passing leaves a void that will be deeply felt," remarked a former colleague who wished to remain anonymous.

As the investigation presses forward, the community remains on edge, grappling with the enigma of a building collapse that claimed only one life yet holds within it a multitude of unanswered questions. Authorities urge anyone with information pertaining to the incident to come forward as they strive to bring closure to this perplexing chapter in London's history.

[Atharim monitoring the events and cleaning up any loose ends]

[[ Prompt:  In a story I'm writing I need to have a newspaper article written about a building collapse.  It was mysteriously brought down, with only one death and no injuries or other property damage in London England.  Authorities don't know what happened, an investigation is on going.  The only death was one Reggie Hill a prominent business who had just purchased the building and the company.  He had just recently fired all the employees putting thousands out of work. ]]

[[ re: London Reality ]]

[[ if anyone wants to write an NPC feel free at any point in this thread.  It is not pre-written I'm killing some time for some other threads to wrap. ]]

The hungers were fueled by the dark pleasures of taking a life.  Nox hated the monster he was becoming -- or rather re-becoming.  Memories he'd thought long forgotten resurfaced.  His first time killing a god with Jacob.  It wasn't pleasure but it was satisfaction of a job well done -- the praise that followed.  What he would have done to hear those words from his father.

The whole idea of pleasing his father turned his stomach.  But the horde latched on to the feelings and pushed his own memories at him -- feeding their lusts and desires.  They wanted more and self pleasuring in the shower after a hearty steak dinner wasn't going to suffice tonight.

Nox learned from his father -- he hated the facts.  But it was what it was.  He knew how to find what he needed.  He truly missed Oriena in that moment.  A quick call -- and he'd have exactly what he horde needed the violence and the sex rolled into one.  It would sate the beast inside.

Even in the middle of a place he'd never been Nox knew the signs of brothels and whore houses.  Or even the woman walking the street who desired money for sex.  But his feet carried him into a different place -- a different world.  No the horde wanted violence -- Nox wanted to punish himself for the thoughts and feelings he was reliving.  And a women no matter how good at her job wasn't going to cut it.

Nox left his gear and only took the credit chit and identification with him.  He thought about leaving his wallet behind, but he'd probably need that to translate.  He didn't know any Chinese. 

He found himself in a rough and tumble bar filled with Chinese gangsters.  They all stared at him when he walked in, but he didn't let it stop him as he made his way to the bar and ordered whatever was on tap with a little help from the translator on his Wallet.

The bartender didn't bring his drink, instead several men surrounded his bar stool and a big man growled in Chinese at him.  Nox held up a finger and turned the translator back on.  "Sorry, man, didn't understand that."

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?"  The translator replied after he spoke in his words again angrily.

"Having a drink and looking to be fucked." Nox said, however the Nox was pretty sure that wasn't what the translator said.  Or maybe it was and the implication that any of them might be gay resulted in the punch to his gut followed by another fist to his side until Nox was ready to curl up on the ground to protect his more vital organs.  And then the feet started.

The horde reviled him, but the pain and the blood coursing through his body, the violence enticed them.  Thrilled them even.  But even Nox had a line.  A few of them started kicking their feet at his head and neck and that was more than enough for Nox. Nox reached in through the slime slicked light of the power and he wove a blast of air that flung the attackers from him with ease.

Several of the men were pinned to the nearest wall, others had toppled over tables as Nox got up off the ground dabbing his thumb at the busted lip and grunting just a little as he sat down on the bar stool he'd vacated.  "I'll have that beer now."

He let the power go and waited for whatever they wanted to throw at him.

Ezvin hadn’t visited the church in a while. He’d been busy, but he was always busy, and for some reason, this evening he had to urge to go wandering. He assumed it was because he had a lot on his mind, and when in this mood, it was to music that he turned. He was at home, strumming away at an acoustic guitar, tweaking out melodies and humming along with a half-formed tune, when something on his social media sparked an idea. As a result, he decided moping at home wasn’t going to get him anywhere useful. He packed up his guitar and came here.

The refugee church was an old, familiar site. As a kid, Ezvin’s mother used to take him there to volunteer, and when he heard that it was a place for refugees, he wandered back one day to see if he could help somehow. He’d come back once or twice, the second time with his guitar and did nothing but play and lift a few spirits. 

There were some questionable rumors hovering around the place, but Ezvin saw the best in people, and such reputations didn’t bother him. He entered the church through the front doors. Nobody paid him much attention. He wore a nice leather jacket over a henley with form-fitting jeans, but he didn't particularly stand out other than carrying a guitar case.

Most of the last leg of the the 8 day trip Nox spent in his seat practicing various weaves backwards.  He never had one explosion.  It wasn't hard work until he tried to do it twisted as well.  So he kept working on weave after weave backwards until it was almost rote. 

A text did arrive at one point with the names of the plants he'd sent to Raffe.  He thanked Raffe and promised a home cooked meal.

  I owe you.  Make you your favorite meal when I get back.  As a thank you. 

Nox started working on a little planter, an earthen ware pot he created from an earth weave.  Filled it with dirt and made a small rectangular terrarium to grow his new little plants in.  Well at least when he got them.  The fresh scents from the live plants always worked better, and in the mean time he'd pick up essential oils as well and mix and match until the horde was completely pliable. 

It wasn't a fix-all but it was a better solution than sex and fighting all the time.  The horde was scratching at his walls more and more the further he got from London and Hayden.  And ultimately Raffe, but Nox was doing his best not to think about any of that.

Now all he had to do was plant the plants -- that should be fun.  But for now he'd continue with the little bag he had, it worked for now.

The storm raged outside and Sierra and the pups hunkered down in the bathroom.  The only place she was sure the pups would not escape since the door still hung off the hinge from Tristan's brusk nature.  Sierra hushed the pups.  "Sleep now.  Let's find Tristan."  She projected the image to Never and he settled but poor Bre didn't have that, Sierra held her close and calmed her with her fingers through her fur as she closed her eyes and drifted into the dream.

If Tristan were hurt maybe he's drift there too.  Maybe...