Talk to me about Persephone. What did you guys all determine did she really do in the previous age and how did it transform into the myth we all know as "the rape of persephone"?

I know it was something about her and Hades were truly in love and married in secret against the wishes of her family. But that's about all I know.

I probably will be too busy tomorrow so I'll say it now. And for some of you it is already Christmas anyway.

Merry Christmas!!

Hope y'all have a great day.

I probably will be too busy tomorrow so I'll say it now. And for some of you it is already Christmas anyway.

Merry Christmas!!

Hope y'all have a great day.

The trip was slow going. Not just because of the injuries. The higher they went, the more uncertainty and fear grew. Their band was large. Most tunnel dwellers, those higher up anyway, stayed in groups only half their size. Large enough to deter scavengers and any others who might be dangerous- man or otherwise. Small enough that a small warren of tunnel junctions and pools and whatever else that had been scavenged could support them sufficiently. A little village.

The Khylsty were a different matter entirely. They had born and lived and died under a ceiling of rock and tunnels that was miles thick. The air felt compressed and warm. A womb, nurturing and gestating them, until it was time for the Khylsty to be born naked and bloody and screaming at the strange world they would find themselves in.

He understood their fear and even their terror as they ascended through the bowels of hell, the ante-chamber, the birth canal leading to a new life Above. Fear and terror could easily lead to violence and death- his, Valeriya's, Matvei. Any and everyone, if they gave into it.

Armande knew immediately that his role needed to change, at least for the time being. He was now midwife to this people. Their father, as they called him. Moses, leading them through the wilderness and into the promised land.

His first job was to help them make the gradual transition. That meant avoiding the more used tunnels. The trip would take longer, but that was not a bad thing. Time was what was needed. And for that he needed freedom. He walked at their head for a time, observing those few who were near him. The "youngest"- if they could be called that, in comparison to Valeriya and her brother- who'd killed the cherufe when they first departed, could be valuable.

Sasha, Evgeni, Inessa, and Lev listened as he walked and explained what to be alert for. They knew creatures better than anyone. But they had never ventured this high. Knowledge made the the unknown less fear inspiring. He showed them what to look for and what to avoid so their trip would continue ever upward without encountering the larger encampments. It would mean turning back occasionally, but it would be better.

Confident they could lead for a time, Armande turned his attention back to the others. Valeriya was tired. He could see it in her eyes. She was Eye to this people- his Eye- but she was young still. She'd carried this weight for who knew how long. She knew, far more than any of the others, where they were going. He'd seen her scratchings on the walls. She'd engineered their exodus. But now it was her turn to have some respite, if only for a moment. And reassurance.

"You will do well," he told her with confidence, a hand on her shoulder, before nodding to Illarion with respect. She was strong. All the Khylsty were. But they were human too. He walked from person to person, inquiring about their welfare. Many were stoic and silent, while only a handful voiced complaints. He used the last of his first aid equipment to help those whose injuries were most painful. Water was low and so was food. They would only last a few days with rationing. They would not have time to hunt or forage, which meant they needed to get supplies another way. The thought did not please him, but it had to be done.

At times he could only guess as 'night' they took breaks, himself and a few of the others standing guard for watch periods. In the quiet, he could hear the whispered speaking of the people, their concerns. On one of the earliest nights, Valeriya's screams woke him from a daze. He hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep. He was tired too. Before he could go to her, though, Illarion was by her side. He watched them silently through the dark shadows for a moment, before taking the watch from Lev.

And then, during the day, they trudged along. He had a job to do. Back and forth, through the people to the head, back to the vanguard he had appointed Matvei and a few others to bring up, he walked. "The world has changed, it is true. The world you know is gone. But the Khylsty were kept safe down here for a reason. God has seen to it that you were vouchsafed and made hard. Be proud!"

At first, his words were just words. But he repeated them in variations, recounting to them the pride he felt in them, the strength he sensed in them, the power of their Eye. He told them they were the chosen people, a holy race. He also explained to them some of the things they would see. It was fanciful, of course. They had no frame of reference. But he hoped the repetition and explanations helped them get a hold on their emotions.

After three or four days, the need for supplies became critical. He took the four Khylsty he'd begun to train that first day on scouting missions. There were very few people this far down but hopefully they had ascended high enough. Fate was with them. A small group, no more than ten or fifteen. Thankfully, not the vile Naga or any other creatures. They looked worn out- far more than normal tunnel people. As if they had been running. Worn out, fearful and bloody. Their attention had been on the warren of tunnels off in one direction. Their surprise was not satisfying- it was never going to be, not in a case like this- but it did make things easier. No one killed but enough injured that they could take what they needed without any further resistance. It wasn't a lot, but it would get them through the next few days. Those people could always head back up and get more supplies from the relief organizations that frequented the tunnels.

Between that and his regular attempts at morale boosting, things started to change. Gradually, people began to latch on to his words. As he expected. Faced with fear, staring into the darkness, standing before the unknowable, the need for purpose became as important as food. His words took on a rhythmic cadence, insistent. A heartbeat. A never ending heartbeat. The change was palpable, that powerful sense of purpose that he now sensed as they walked. Temporary, of course. The old rivalries were still there. Fear would return as well. But the common enemy was before them- survival- and the promise of the future- their hope- in front of them. it united them.

The buzzing in his pack grabbed his attention. His wallet had come to life. Evidently, they had ascended high enough for signal to make it down here. Or perhaps some tunnel dwellers had set up a series of signal repeaters for their own use. At least in this one spot. In any case, he pulled it out and used what information he could to get an idea of where they were. It was easy to lose any sense of location without a frame of reference. The compass in his pack had been very necessary.

It was enough, though. They were moving east. On the surface, it appeared to be toward the red light district. His mouth turned down. Not an auspicious introduction of the surface to these people. This group used sex as a binder, a shared frenzy that tied them closer together. From what he had been able to gather, though, outside of that, they appeared very reserved. Seeing the surface there would shock them. But perhaps that was a good thing. Another tool that would knit them all the more closer, the alienness of it all. It would increase their dependency on him. And very likely, it would cement their belief that they had been chosen and kept safe to save the an unclean world.

This could work. In his mind, he ran through Atharim resources available. There were a few places there he could choose. One was big and isolated enough, just on the edge right where it came up against the industrial district of Moscow. An abandoned office with an underground warehouse. It would fit the Khylsty. It would give them some place familiar to acclimate too. Likely, the safehouse was empty, though he couldn't be completely sure, after the fire. And they'd need weapons. He'd have to see about contacting his Archangels to find out what was going on. Quietly. The killing of Apollyon had likely set the city- indeed the empire- ablaze. That would make things easier. Still, caution was second nature to him.

"We are nearing the end of our journey," he told them. "Only a day or two more and we will reach the surface." A few faces showed hope. A few showed fear. And many more were blank. He stifled irritation. Patience. He would have to be patient with them.

He looked to Valeriya expectantly. She had had her respite. Hopefully, she was ready now to begin shouldering the load again. There was much to do for the both of them.


Edited by Regus, Dec 1 2017, 03:57 PM.

He met Annalise at the market at ten o'clock. The open air spectacle operated twenty-four hours a day, especially during tourist season. With the influx of tourists to see the Ascendancy's archway, the market capitalized on the flood of people. Dane was standing in front of a booth that sold nesting dolls when Annalise found him. Neither of them were from Moscow, and he thought it would be a rather enticing date to walk around the market together. They spent the next half hour examining the goods for sale. At a booth that sold women's accessories, Dane paused, pulled a purple scarf from a hook and snaked it around her neck. He smiled down at her as he did. "It's a good color on you."
He did up a little knot and sinched it at her throat. She coughed and pulled it looser with a finger. "Too tight?"
She laughed, nodded and fixed it the way she liked it. He happily paid for the scarf and asked if she was ready to eat.

They walked side-by-side away from the bustle of the market. It was a good six blocks to the restaurant he chose. At the pace they strolled, it was after eleven by the time they arrived. The restaurant kept a minimal kitchen offering after ten, but neither of them cared. A dark bar took up the entirety of the shotgun style restaurant. There were only eight tables in total lining the opposite wall. With most people huddled around the bar top, they had their choice of tables. Dane chose the one closest to the front door and guided her to a seat.

Annalise ordered a cocktail, and he copied her selection, complimenting her on the choice. Their conversation was much the same as it had been in the library, although it was no longer tempered by hushed voices of the former atmosphere. He offered a toast to new friends when their drinks arrived, but while she sampled the libation, he only put the rim of the glass to his lips. Then he joined her in complimenting the drink.

When she asked where he grew up, he went into great detail about the place he called home. "My great grandfather was a Duke. Although the CCD abolished the peerage, our titles exist only in tradition. My grandfather holds the esteemed title of Duke. My father that of mere courtesy titles and with the recent passing of my brother, I have inherited the right to the title of Baron."
She seemed to have no clue what he was trying to say. His voice sharpened suddenly, "It means I should be addressed as Lord Gregory."


Of course, the bite with which he substantiated his explanation was quickly retracted. "Please, I am sorry. With my brother's sudden demise, a terrible, terrible accident, I know that I will inherit only the shame of former glory. It is a melancholy title that I do not lightly use."


When Annalise softened, she put her hand on his and while he restrained himself from recoiling at the sudden touch, he forced his fingers to close around hers, knowing that victory was at hand.

"I'm so sorry, Dane. My heart goes out to you. You have a kind and loving heart. I see now why you were in the library."


He rimmed the glass with a finger, avoiding her gaze like the vulnerability was too painful.

She shifted in her seat to switch from sitting across from him to sitting alongside him. While she slid the seat near, his gaze flicked to the other inhabitants in the room, in case anyone was watching, but smiled softly when she met his eyes.

A touch on his arm, a hand laid across his shoulder. He stopped himself from recoiling every time. She finished her cocktail while his seemed untouched. After ordering a second, she excused herself to use the restroom. Dane shifted in his seat, meanwhile, and padded the pocket of his sportscoat, ensuring that the vial within remained hidden.

Until a waiter delivered her new drink. He stared at it, glistening there, a pool of pale blue cupped atop a slender stem. His heart began to race as he slipped the vial into his palm.

Concealed, he picked up his own drink, took a small sip, then dropped it as he set it down. He sprung up to contain the mess of liquid from pouring into his lap. The noise of the drop summoned a waiter, but he retrieved her glass from the ensuing flood of sticky liquid. Just before placing it on a nearby table, he turned, obscuring the cup with the form of his body, and poured the vial's contents into her drink.

He smiled to himself and made himself comfortable at the next table while the wait staff cleared the mess.


Edited by Dane Gregory, Nov 23 2017, 10:36 PM.

I know I’ve been in and out for awhile, but I wanted to say Happy Thanksgiving to all of you. I’m thankful for the opportunity to be able to write and be friends with all of you!

By eleven-thirty, Kallisti was busy. Word was out on the quiet little Burlesque house, which on one hand made the exclusivity less impressive, but on the other, meant there were more people around to have a little fun. Jaxen's vehicle was one of three Lamborghini Centenarios in line for valet, but he didn't care when he tossed the key-code to the employee at the podium.

He guided Lawrence along the steps and into the front of the House. They recognized him by now, greeting him by name and offering to take his coat. He hesitated at the last moment before slipping it off, having almost forgotten about the need for a high collar obscuring the neck wound. In the dim light of the club it was likely to go unnoticed, but he didn't want to take any chances. Nor did he want to invite questions.

Music welcomed them into the club interior. Table service was full, already, which meant they were guided to a place in front of the stage. He could have bribed the host, but he wasn't exactly a bottomless bucket of money these days. Mom helped him out where dad cut him off, but even she would frown at the bill from a Burlesque House if he dropped enough to get noticed. Not that he was cheap, but he needed a few days to get his own house in order again. The supercomputer in his pocket was going to go a long way to doing just that.

"I promised you real vodka.
He grinned and ordered the premium spirit, on ice, with lime.

The last time he was on the campus grounds was the day the MSU museum of natural history was bombed. It had been a long time since he had designed one of his little special bombs, not since Mexico City. Mockingbird seemed farther and farther from who he once was. Perhaps Damien had had indeed erased the identity from him after all. Something else changed in Mexico City, too. A new thrill replaced the old. Aria had more to do with that than Damien, but regardless, Dane was fundamentally changed.

He shared tea with two young ladies recently and he'd come to an epiphany. Nobody was going to replace Aria. She was his elixir, his drug. Their hands entwined, working together, wet and warmth meeting the chill of lifelessness. He'd never felt more alive in his life than he had in Aria's arms. Maybe it was love, he couldn't be sure. Thus why he had open on a screen in front of him a book of classic sonnets. Love poems written by great authors. He studied the penmanship, the cadence of the words, and the flow of the style.

Dane attended boarding school across the English Channel in the south of France, amid warmth and ugly flatlands. There, he was forced to study the classics in literature, but he did not enjoy it. Poetry was worse. Oh he memorized the lines of Keats, Shelley and Poe, but only because it was expected. In the library here at MSU, he read their lines again, searching for meaning against what he knew of Aria. Nothing came close. It was all a giant disappointment.

He was about to close up the screen when someone joined him at the table. The badge of a student hung around her neck, granting her access to buildings and levels off-limits to Dane or any public visitor. Many of the individuals in the library were not students, but many were. Dane paid little attention to either group. Until this young woman of perhaps twenty-three joined him. She had brown hair that fell in curls to her shoulders, round eyebrows and a smile on her face. Dane straightened in his seat and greeted her with a quiet, "Hello,"
and let his accent clearly define his origin.

She was looking him in the eye, smiling in a polite, yet confident sort of way in which a woman accustomed to asking men out on a date would lead. Her response back was thickened by her own sort of accent, Eastern European, but not Russian. "Hello, I couldn't help but notice that you seem frustrated. I'm Annalise."


"A pleasure to meet you Annalise. My name is Dane Gregory."
She hadn't offered a surname, and he inwardly chastised himself for doing differently. He'd stopped introducing himself as a Lord for some time, refining his technique by bringing it up later in conversation. He could allow his posture, clothing and accent to speak for themselves, should someone recognize any of it. Annalise seemed to. "So what are you working on?"


Dane's eyes shifted toward the screen he was about to close. "I'm reading poetry. Suppose one could say I am searching for a definition."


Annalise tilted her head in a way that let her hair fall in front of her shoulder and graze her chin. Dane blinked, surprised to find her suddenly attractive. "Really? I'm doing my MFA on Poetic studies. Perhaps I could be of help. What are you seeking to define?"


Dane's answer was dispassionate. "Love."


And with that, she was hooked.

They spent the next thirty minutes discussing the merits of sonnets, love poems and pieces. She opened his eyes to words that once seemed cloyingly sweet and made them palatable. Perhaps most surprising was the revelation by Andrew Marvell, whose perspective on love was seduction in verse-form. When Dane read a passage to Annalise in his own dulcet, tenor voice, her mesmerization was complete.

"....then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity.
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust;
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace."


Before he parted, he asked if he could take her to dinner that night. Perhaps she could enlighten him more on the topic of love.

They agreed to meet at ten o'clock.

Who here would support that we give Kallisti it's own board?

I'm considering renaming Manifesto board to Kallisti and leaving the threads in it as-is.

But we could also just make a whole new Kallisti board. I can transfer all old kallisti-located posts into the new board so they are collected in the same space for continuity.

What do you guys suggest?

Congratulations everyone! We finally crossed the 10k mark! It's been a long time coming, but still a massive achievement. The stories you create and characters you craft have filled all our imaginations with entertainment, creativity, and fun. I appreciate each and every one of you! Those who are still with us and those who have come and gone for various reasons. You have been the best group ever!

-A