Someone tell me if I'm crazy. (hold your tongue, Nox!)

I have a memory of the Forsaken (or LTT?) revealing that wolfkin were unknown in the age of legends, or that wolfkin were more like legends to them. Implying that wolfkin weren't around in the age of legends, but rather, were something far older. 

Am I making that up? 

Aka, were there wolfkin in the Age of Legends?

From The Scroll, a collective of online and social media worlds

A trending new rally cry has swept the internet. 


#OneWorld
#OneGlobe
#OneGlobalResponse

The author of this article is unclear where exactly the trend originated, however the trend has carried a lot of weight the past three days. Hashtags connect the idea to video bloggers, influencers, articles, and even peer reviewed editorials from reputable publications. In all of them, the idea remains consistent: that we can no longer ignore corners of the world without addressing the whole. We are all interconnected and the health of our planet relies on a unified global response. 

The working theory is that the hashtag originated out of Indonesia, where upon incorporation into the CCD, a massive relief effort was begun in response to the recent earthquake and tsunami. 

From São Paulo to Buenos Aires to Bógota, the South American response to the inclusion of Dominance VIII has been staggeringly supported by the general public. 

Champions of the one world movement cite the leadership of Nikolai Brandon in the unification of continents from the past several decades. The trend is only moderate so far in the United States, but only time will tell if additional public support for Custody incorporation will gain traction.

Post a link here when you have added something new to the wiki

I like reading things!

[[Continued from the events in The Height of Rumour]]

It was late, of course, by the time business concluded and Zhenya returned home. The apartment should have been shrouded in shadow, but a faint light still burned in the sitting room. She deposited her purse onto a sideboard, slipping down from the lofty height of her heels. It might mean Halima was still awake, though it seemed unlikely. Possibly the woman had fallen asleep in front of a screen, but more probably it meant they had had a bad night. Zhenya’s lips pursed, for no messages had pinged her wallet the whole duration of the evening, and Halima knew the order of Zhenya’s priorities. She would have answered.

Her head canted around the door, quiet lest she disturb the occupants. Though it proved an unnecessary consideration.

“Mama?” a small voice mumbled.

Auri’s bare feet padded quickly across the distance, and Zhenya knelt and allowed the small child to sweep into her arms, smoothing the dark strands from around her cheeks where they stuck clammy with sweat. Auri nuzzled away from the ministrations, pushing closer, her face burying into the soft fall of Zhenya’s hair and her arms wrapping about her neck.

“You should be sleeping, precious one,” Zhenya said, rubbing a hand up and down her back. She was warm as a furnace, fresh from the heat of blankets. Halima hovered, having risen from the sofa where the two had clearly been snuggled. A nest of bedcovers half hung from the cushions behind her, fortressed with a platoon of small stuffed toys. The woman’s face was weary, her eyes smudged with sleep captured and lost too quickly. Zhenya slowly prised her daughter free, adjusting her silky hair, smoothing her small arms. Bright amber eyes stared out of a pale face. The shadowy crescents cupped beneath her eyes were too dark for one so small. She wished it were so easy as to sweep them away with her thumb.

“Bad dreams?”

A reluctant nod.

“And did Yulian check the closet, and under the bed?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was mushy with the cadence of sleep fought valiantly off. A balled fist pushed against her eye, her face scrunched up around it.

“Then you are in the safest home in all of Moscow,” she assured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Get yourself to bed, Halima,” she added softly, clasping Auri’s hand as she stood.

“There was something else,” the woman said, a touch of guardedness to her tone. Enough to pull Zhenya’s gaze up. “A call. I did not answer. It was late.”

“Lorcán?” She was not quite sure whether the question held hope or concern, though either way the sentiment was only fleetingly felt, for she could tell by the flatness of Halima’s expression that such was not the case. She nodded, smoothing away the other possibilities. A thought for tomorrow.

She tucked Auri up in the castle of her own bed, knowing they would both sleep better without the battle of insisting the girl back to her own room. Amongst the silk and mountainous pillows her dark-haired head was almost lost peeking above the blankets. A meandering lullaby played from the music box set on the nightstand, plucked with an expert twist of seidr. Light glittered like a thousand stars gleamed upon the ceiling, dancing lethargically on the air much like they had on the Apex Lounge’s dancefloor. Zhenya sat at her dresser, seeing to her nightly rituals.

“Will you tell me the story?”

“Which one is “the” story?” Her eyes found her daughter’s in the mirror, head tilted a little with the indulgence. The peep of that voice was sleepy though, already floating and quiet. Even as she spoke, Auri’s eyes fluttered shut.

“My favourite one, mama. The one about the Prince,” she yawned. “And his Kingdom of Ashes.”

Seven entered a shop at random. Well, if he was to be honest, he was walking random streets in the neighborhood he chose for himself to habituate for the foreseeable future. Upon one such block, artwork displayed in a window caught his eye. 

The jingle of a bell tolled his entrance. A young man arranging some pieces on a shelf peered his direction. He wore a collared shirt and slacks of someone who might work there, or else he was OCD enough of a customer to straighten pens into orderly fashioned while he shopped. Seven nodded, tucked his hands behind his back, and strolled about. However, it was to the window that he soon found himself studying.

The painting was a landscape, but it was unlike any terrain he had ever seen in person. The style was distinct, too. There was a name along the side. The artist was unknown to him.

Movement caught the reflection of himself in the window pane, but the motion originated from behind his shoulder. Seven didn't turn, though he was prepared for someone to come closer. Perhaps in attempt to sell the piece. His new living arrangements was disturbingly plain.  He was currently dressed in a trendy white jacket and expensive leather shoes. Acid-wash jeans cut a flattering angle to his hips. He wore a delicate timepiece at the wrist worth more than most cars. He enjoyed such things, but there was nothing haughty about presence. He was who he was, but he definitely looked like he had money.

A swipe through the air paused the video in order for Nik to rise. The holo screen was a life-size projection of a recently received transmission. The call was quick. He did not desire to speak long in current company. In fact, if he could have avoided the update personally, he would have delegated the task elsewhere and watched from the shadows. However, these matters were delicate. Whispers were already out there, suppressed for now, and completely capable of utter denial, but the potential for betrayal was always on his mind.

As he rounded the desk, a thoughtful emptiness set the lock of his jaw as it did when he absorbed other tragic news. Deaths, mayhem, tragedy and trauma washed him like oil on water, connected, but not intermingled. As then, so was now.

He paused before the life-sized figure of a dark-haired man about his own age despite the drastic differences in their appearances. The Russian was the stone-flecked cheeks of Scion Marveet, and held aloft before his beady eyes was a sort of necklace.

Nikolai’s fingers signaled his commands, and after some elegant motions, the image of man and surroundings dissolved, leaving only the device. It reminded him somewhat of the Arcus band for its simplicity and symbolism. Though the Arcus band offered nothing practical, this device was of great use, and Scion held the keys to its design in his possession.

He pulled the holographic device away, lifting it as though it was truly present in the room with him. There was no weight, of course, but just comparison, he placed the image around his own collar, superimposed above the suit and tie he usually wore, and studied the shape in a real-world mirror. He tried to imagine what it would look like in person.

After a few moments of contemplation, he reset the paused screen and Scion’s cool face returned to the frame. Behind him sat a somewhat disheveled Zacarias Amengual. If what Scion relayed about the drug lord’s behavior was half as accurate as he claimed, then the plans were going well. Already one loose end was cut away from the conspirators. Two more remained.

Satisfied with the proceedings, Nikolai closed the system down to await the forthcoming news of Amengual’s demise. Hopefully it would be today and they could move ahead with the plans for Butryka detention center.

She was told the nice lady doctor with the pretty hair was gone. Mara internalized the loss stoically, but there was no additional grieving. Instead, she continued about her days as she always did. Mostly she stared blankly, sometimes falling asleep where she sat. However, Mara didn't fight like she used to. Although she held to the name, Mara, rather than Daiyu as they insisted she was. She would tip a shoulder, onyx hair slipping in the movement, and return to Mara like a comfortable sock.

The new doctor was suppose to be different. The others whispered about her during recreation time. She didn't know the name, but at least the change would be something new. 

Mara waited in the therapy room, as always. Her scrubs were clean unlike some of the others. Her slippers were soft. Her hair was loose today, but her eyes sank the longer she wait. She sat so still, hands on her knees, she may have been in the midst of meditation if it wasn't for the drip of drool beginning to pool in the corner of her mouth.

With a jerk, her eyes yanked to the shadowy corners and she smiled as she pat her knee. Her pets would keep her company until the doctor came.

@"Meera Alam"

She climbed from the bus on wobbly footing like a mainlander complaining of sea legs. Her backpack swarmed behind her shoulders, longer nearly than she was tall. The wind caught her body like a sail, shoving her forward two steps despite the weight of her backpack, and she shivered ferociously. As the bus rolled away, a plume of black puffed in the air. Kemala coughed as she labored across the street to the depot.

The town didn’t seem like much. The weather said it was warm, but it obviously lied.

Once out of the wind, she searched for information on an air bnb or someplace to sleep for the night. She only picked this area to stop on the way to Moscow because of what she read about the lake itself. Its waters lapped like a slumbering ocean nearby. Wafts of fog began to mist new fingers landward. If it wasn’t so cold, she would have found the scenery beautiful. It was certainly different than anything she'd ever seen before. A lake this deep and ancient must nest a great Nāga king if she could find him.

Despite clear directions, she found a hostel along the waters’ edge. She paid the minimal fees after some help with a translation app. They may all be Custody citizens, but she barely understood what anyone said.

First thing she did was wash away the stink of travel before sinking to sleep on a bunk.