The First Age

To leave the Atharim.

She had never considered it a prospect; it was unthinkable, an unravelling of her very soul. But the Ascendancy's announcement had shifted the alignment of the world, and its consequences for her - the more she dwelt on them - she began to realise were untenable. Now that her kind had recieved public acknowledgement, the shadow of her safe anonymity had been cast in stark light. How long before the CCD discovered ways to identify those who convened with the spirits? Tehya already knew that she could naturally recognise the ability in other women. Before long, she would be hunted. As soon as the Atharim had the means, they would purge their ranks.

She could await the day, snuffed like a flame between two fingers. Or she could prepare.

But leave? Leave to what? She had no life, no identity beyond the tattoo nestled on her forearm. Legally, she did not exist.

She could seek asylum with the CCD, but recoiled at the thought of laying herself before the Apollyon's mercy. She had no trust for his promised protection.

She could abscond, return home to her family and the easy, unquestioning companionship she longed for, but that sat uneasily as well. Her responsibilities were here, and duty did not end because her place within the Atharim was finally in question. Moscow teemed with the sorts of nightmares the Atharim vowed to fight. Though her own future was uncertain, that - or her dedication to it - was unchanged.

It was only her moral compass that spun, confused.

Before now Tehya had always been able to choose. True to her Dustu's spirit, she had never killed an innocent. There were many creatures from old ages who coexisted peaceably and unseen, even if the Atharim taught otherwise, and Tehya had always respected those peoples. Protection was her only mandate, and innocent did not always mean human. The recent convocation had tested her loyalty - to the Regus himself, if not the society. She had reconciled herself to the difference, and forged on.

Now she was utterly lost.

From the Atharim HQ she had drifted, and ultimately found herself amongst the growing crowds of people in the Red Square. Tehya slipped through the throngs for a view, frowning. Her concerns rooted her, arms folded, dark eyes considering, until Nikolai Brandon showed himself. She watched the display impassively, shoulder to shoulder with a thousand others. A bud of discomfort bloomed to full disgust; deep sadness, and then new conviction.

If she'd even slightly convinced herself to go home, the option was utterly forbidden to her now. This was where she was needed. And where she would stay.

The man fashioned himself a God. She saw with new eyes the depth of promise she had made to her people, to fight tooth and nail to stop the future they feared, and now took one solid step into reality. Because the Ascendancy in this moment of flagrant power truly did epitomise the vision of Apollyon. No man should have such power unrivalled, unchecked, uncontrolled. No man should be worshipped, nor feed off it so rapturously as she witnessed now.

But murder was not the way.

She stood for a moment longer after Ascendancy disappeared, to convince herself that no trouble would present itself, then turned and shouldered her way out of the Red Square.

Damien craned his head to view all of the banners and such the Ascendancy had laid out for his welcome. Pretty things, they were, but nothing more. It showed little more than the man's poor taste in decoration.

Too dark, too stuffy. It might inspire fear, but fear was the hardest of all to maintain. Loyalty earned through love and devotion was far deeper and abiding.

Damien shrugged. It was not him who held an empire. Yet, at least. He had won Mexico in a fraction of the time that it took the Ascendancy to build his empire, but what use was comparing such things?

He looked around at his entourage with a small frown. Eight of the small ones, and the ninth... Well, best not dwell on that one. Still, too many for him alone. He doubted the Ascendancy would be foolish enough to do anything untoward, but he didn't like leaving any loose ends.

What is done cannot be undone, he reminded himself. So be it. He wouldn't be much of a hero if he lost now, would he?

The image made him smile as he turned to find somewhere to sit. "Ahh,"
he groaned, pleased at finding a sleek leather couch. "Watching miracles is tiring work,"
he addressed the ninth one as he took a seat. "Were you dutifully impressed by your master's work?"

Elias held his head cocked, listening. As though he heard a whisper carried upon the winds, but elusive, it dissipated before he grasped he words. The memory echoed, and he turned in a slow circle. Something, but he didn't know what. It reminded him of the day they found the ijiraq. When he saw that misty form, there had been a familiarity pulling at him, tugging upon the hairs on the back of his neck. A similar sensation brushed at his soul, but seeing no explanation, he dismissed the notion and refocused upon Asha.

What had she asked?

The horses. He craned his neck, studying the stallions. But only shrugged. It wasn't like Elias had strong opinions about horses.

"Probably time to go,"
he said, realizing he still held Asha's hand. By then he had released the Power, and assumed he was once more the anchor to which she clung. He didn't mind. In fact, he almost smiled.

Almost.

Coldness radiated off Giovanni in waves. Everyone must have their own reaction to the miracle just witnessed. Jensen's lay on the exterior. Giovanni's was likely bottled inside.

"Sure. I'd like that. Where were you going?"



((Ooc-if you want to start a new thread I'll follow along.))

Michael's reaction to Oakland was not what he expected. A part of him smiled, inside. First him, now Vellas. The man was irritating. Of course, so was Vellas.

Dismissing the flip observation, instead he was fascinated to watch the man, recognition in his words, filling with the Force to a level a bit higher than he could hold, though still less than Ascendancy had held earlier. This time, Marcus did not react, nor did he seize any more of the Force than what he held. He was not worried. Oakland was not a threat, not with himself, Vellas and the other trainees there.

At Damien's words, he gave him a cool smile. "You do seem to elicit the best reaction in people."
Humor, to defuse whatever was going on here. The tension in the crowd was tamped down. No sense in setting it off again.

As they made their way into the palace, Marcus received a message indicating the Ascendancy wanted to see him. It was expected. Those had been his orders.

He broke off the escort with just a word- "The Ascendancy has asked for me"
- and it wasn't long before he had rejoined the man. He held himself erect but his Force-enhanced vision caught the traces of weariness around his eyes. It was expected, after that demonstration. He would recover, though how long it would take, he didn't know.

In any case, he had been asked to report. "There were a number of Ascendants out there. A few were in groups, which would logically indicate that they are associating together. There were a few whose strength was was not negligible. That further suggests that some of the more advanced might be teaching others."


He paused and then continued. "I did discover someone hiding in the crowd. He was using a particularly ingenious weave to keep himself from being recognized."
Marcus used a small amount of Force to remake it exactly over his face. Of course, he could not see the effect himself, but he was sure it was the same. "I was suspicious of someone concealing themselves in such a volatile situation, so I cut through the threads to reveal who it was."
He let the weaves fall and then released the Force. "It was Damien Oakland. I am not sure how he came into the country. He claims he was there simply as an observer. But stoking a crowd to set off a coup is something he has done in the past."


He smiled slightly as he continued. "Vellas and his men joined me in escorting the man- peacefully and without any issue- here. He is in one of the waiting rooms with them. He also claims he is here as the Ambassador of Mexico."
A de facto head of state, in hiding and there under false pretenses was grounds for concern.


Edited by Marcus DuBois, Aug 9 2016, 03:14 PM.

White horses. The hilarity of it swelled. As if colour was a choice. As if creating such a huge monument with a flick of the mind was as easy and negligible as baking a cake! Oh, I'd pick white. She was still focused on wrapping her mind around it - as if she could! - when she felt Elias twisting around, and realised suddenly that it was as much his distraction leaking into her as it was her own sentiment.

A part of her longed to get closer to the arch; to touch it and test that it was really real, and not some impossibly clever illusion. Along with about a thousand other people probably. She was more than ready to leave the crowd behind. Elias sheltered her from the brunt of it, but the whole experience had been exhausting. She squeezed his fingers in appreciation. "Yeah."
The throngs of people spread like a sea in every direction; she could barely tell which way was out.

Elias led Asha slowly through the crowd. He contemplated a more forceful bulldozer of power sweeping people from the path, but it would likely make the trek worse in the long run. All of downtown was painfully congested. It was going to take hours to escape. "I'll take you home,"
he told Asha. "Are you still staying at that one girl's?"
He couldn't remember her name, but he recalled the sword. And the crazy.

Asha let him lead, trailing close in his wake, avoiding the brush of arms and hands as best she could. She couldn't see where they were going, just the black-clad leather of his shoulder, but she trusted in the slow path he carved. "Yes,"
she answered, knowing full well even without her abilities just exactly what he'd think about that. "Aria. The place above the bookshop. But she's never there. Last time I saw her was the day after that night. She lets me stay for free. In return I digitise some old journals."


It was an easy trade on Asha's part. The journals themselves were captivating, and she'd poured over them even when she wasn't working on them. There was another manual she used too, the one that had been left out on the coffee table, to help identity some of the words and the beasts and creatures that filled them. Sometimes she even went through her old writings, and like a jigsaw with no cover picture, began to piece together the holes in her own upbringing. It was both fascinating and frightening to realise how close she had lived to this supernatural world her entire life.

Though the first time she'd read of one of her own kind being killed, it had not been pleasant.

Uneasy dreams had followed that revelation - even armed with the knowledge that she was considered little more than a creature in the eyes of the Atharim had not prepared her for the brutality of it. And yet her uncle - and she was quite sure now of her suspicions - had raised her like his own child. It lingered in her thoughts more and more these days. She needed to speak to Nox about it.

Jensen was still upset, not that there was a reason why he shouldn't be upset. Giovanni hadn't really done anything to change that. It was Jensen's question though that had made Giovanni wonder. He had no idea where he was going.

"I don't know,"
he admitted with a shrug. "Wherever fate takes me."

She was stupid to stay in that apartment. Those people were psychopaths, or something. He remembered giving her money for a hotel. Guess she didn't use it. And he remembered walking away thinking it was her funeral for staying. At least that girl, Aria, hadn't been back. Of the others, Elias didn't care either way. At least they seemed like a tolerable level of crazy, fitting in with a mad world. But something about that girl was off. More than this talent she shared with Asha. Asha was kind and thoughtful. She didn't judge or pity when she looked at him. Asha was innocent. A million dollars and he'd bet Aria was anything but innocent.

His directions weren't perfect, going off memory for the location. Asha nudged their coarse once in a while, but for the most part she remained introspective. Elias understood the impulse. Likewise, he was quiet, until the bookshop came into view.