After take off Nox offered an ear bud to Sae and let her choose the music and he listened.  Thankfully she liked the same things he did and it was all working out well.  He pulled down the terrarium the moment he could stand and set to pruning some smaller branches to start from scratch.  He wasn't sure when he had made up his mind, but he had and now was going to gift the pot to Raffe.  He'd made it, raised the plants himself.  That was an accomplishment in and of itself.  But Raffe liked plants.

"What are these for?"

"Help me stay calm.  Gives me something to do when I'm anxious -- like right now."

Nox trimmed a spring off each plant and wrapped them in a wet paper towel from the restroom.  Perfect for starting a new plant.  "Valerian, sage, sweet orange and bergomet. Helps with the nightmares too."

Nox busied himself with texting Sage asking about a home.  He didn't want to go Kallisti to spend even one night -- he might never leave.  But he would go back.  He wondered if his job was still there.  He never asked.  Though did he want to be a bouncer or a dancer?  Or did he want to do something different -- hunting was not a favored option.

Well that was a lie -- he had some hunting to do before he called it done.  The horde would forever be his problem to fix.  He didn't start it, but he was damn well inclined to end it all.

There was so much to do when he got back.  Hopefully one of those things was not find a place to stay.

By the time they landed, with no incidents other than a few bumps here and there, Nox was ready to be on solid land.  Sage was happily chattering away at him now that they were once again in the same timezone.  It was still relatively early.  Nox was drained and he was grateful that Sage had finalized everything for the new place -- fully furnished.  Nothing big or fancy and just off the Red Light District.  Not too far a walk from Kallisti and had a balacony with good lighting.  All great things.  Just what he wanted.

Hopefully Sage didn't do anything too bad to get him that place.  He would expect Sage to handle everything and tell him anything he needed to know.

Target: Unknown Woman - Tokyo Japan [dossier attached]  [[real name: Ishihara Satomi]]

***

Time was relative.  It all burred together after London.  Trains, busses, ferries, boats, walking, biking, travel and the shit that came with it.  This had been his life for so long that he'd never really understood what it meant to have roots.

And now?  Now, he had roots.  His time in Moscow had changed him in so many ways.  So many... Not all for the better.  Not all bad either.

Nox wanted a home.  Wanted a family.  Wanted to let his world revolve around something other than monsters.  It all started with amnesia -- forgetting everything that made him him.  And then reforging himself in the pits of hell.  It wasn't all hell.  There was Aria.  And Raffe.  Most of all there was Raffe.

Raffe wanted to find himself.  Told Nox to do the same in not as many words.  Their break up though Nox didn't remember it fondly might have solidified one thing -- Nox didn't want to live this life anymore.

Hunting monsters was all he could do.  All he thought he could do.  How was he going to get out from under the Atharim? or even the Ascendancy. They either hunted him, or he hunted for them.  There was no way around it.  Unless there was.  Hayden wasn't Atharim -- yet knew knew enough to be in the game.  Nox suspected he was more in the game than Nox really knew.  He didn't care that he was planted to spy on him.

To be used against him should it be needed.  Nox expected the Atharim to have him followed. If the Ascendancy had him followed he'd never seen them. But they likely employed more people like Sage than the Atharim.

Catching the green eyes watching him became a game Hayden didn't know he was playing.  Wherever Nox went Hayden was always there. But Nox didn't let him in on that secret.  It was better to know your devil than not.  But it was tempting to find the man, seek him out when shit got rough.  But Nox didn't.  He saught other means -- other solutions.  Sex with a stranger.  A rare steak.  A call to Thalia.  A text to Raffe with a picture of whatever scene he saw.  Letting the other man know he was still alive if only so he didn't worry.  The lingering message still a plague on his mind.

Sage kept him company.  And in the flurry of weeks he was gone Sage was always there -- maybe not a bird on his shoulder, but Nox could count on him.

Always count on The Wicked Truth. 

  I want to stay in Moscow.  Find me an apartment to buy. 

The conversation went on for several days.  What Nox was looking for, where.  How many bedrooms?  What could he afford.  Sage always told Nox to let him handle the finances.  But Nox delved into his own accounts.  He wasn't going to let Sage do something shady. 

It was an eye opening encounter.  His bank accounts were more than well padded.  He didn't spend money.  At least not anything out of the necessities.  He expected there would be room -- maybe for a down payment of equitable size between his and Aurora's stash.

But there was way more than that.  Sage enlightened Nox to the deals he'd been making -- the bonds he owned.  The companies he had a share in.  All the shit Sage did in his name -- legally of course.  But none of it was legal, Nox had no clue -- it wasn't bad.  He was grateful for Sage and his ambition -- his help -- his love for his sister.

Nox let Sage handle it all.  Let him buy the apartment, renovate and whatever else the hacker felt was necessary.  He was capable of taking care of whatever Nox needed.  Nox trusted in that.  Trusted that the Wicked Truth had his back.

Nox sent his report to the Ascendancy.  Though he wasn't sure what to expect afterwards. 

  Target eliminated 

Matías is the youngest son of the former Nicaraguan cartel leader, André Amengual. As a young child, he had no awareness that his family was different from others. Yet during this time, visions of terrible things plagued his dreams, and while he yearned for his mother, it was his niñera who comforted him during those awful nights. His mother was a good woman as far as he knew, and he loves her to this day. She was not overly involved in the lives of her children, and he mostly remembers her as a formal woman, devout to her faith, and loyal to his father.

His father, on the other hand, was in many ways an evil man. His love for his family was a reflection of himself. Raising his children to be brutal and iron-fisted meant that he was all the more brutal and iron-fisted. As Matías came of age, he became increasingly aware of his family's true nature. This awareness triggered a profound internal conflict, as his moral compass was at odds with his loyalty and love for his family. Unlike the ruthless heirs his father had hoped for, Matías found himself repelled by the violence and corruption that funded their lavish lifestyle. He lived in denial for much of his teenage years, attempting to rationalize or ignore the cruel acts his family committed. Matías found solace in his Catholic faith during this time, which offered a sense of peace and stability amidst the turmoil of his family life, but as a result of his suppression, his visions become more vivid and consequential, forcing him to confront the possible outcomes of his inaction. It pushed Matías to realize that he could not remain passive, even as guilt for the future loomed, but he had yet to change.

At 24, the violent world his family ruled was rocked by a tragedy that would forever change his path. While in Mexico City, news of his father and brother's brutal murders reached him, an event that shattered any illusion of immunity their power might have offered. The murders stripped away the remnants of his denial. Matías was thrust into a period of deep conflicted grief and reflection, questioning the legacy he was a part of and what his family's existence had cost others. 

It was shortly after, outside the US Embassy building in Lomas de Chapultepec, that Matías’ latent power surged forth in a moment of desperate necessity. As an explosion tore through the structure, Matías instinctively extended his soul, and to his astonishment, the debris veered away from the innocent bystanders, including himself. Before the chaos of the moment barely allowed him to comprehend what happened, he delved into the wreckage alone, using his power to lift and clear obstacles, saving those trapped beneath. This was the day he found a sense of purpose, realizing that he could take direct action to undo some of the damage of his bloodline. He wanted to save lives.

After beholding a vision of a free and peaceful world ruled by Damien Oakland, he sought the man out, believing that service to such a soul was his destiny. Upon meeting the man, he saw many strange visions but most bizarre was that serving Damien would lead him to Moscow. He thought nothing of it, as almost nothing he glimpsed came to pass, yet the myriad visions of Damien living myriad lives suggested that he was a good and valiant person. He was welcomed into Damien's safety. During this time, Matías learned to harness his powers, and fervently dedicated himself to Damien's cause.

When Zacarías's reign over the cartel ended in violence, dismantling the Amengual legacy, Matías’ contributions did not go unnoticed. He found himself dispatched to Moscow. His transition, orchestrated by Damien in an ambassadorship exchange with a Custody-based Rod of Dominion, was less than welcome by Matías, who desired to continue making a difference to a place he now called home, but he accepted this fate and resolutely departed.

When Matías arrived in Moscow, he was greeted by a government official and escorted to a secure military base. 

Matías' sacrifice in a previous life earned him status as Hero of the Horn.

The 1st Age – Matías Ángel Amengual
The 3rd Age – Sajir Nareth 
The 5th Age – Gabriel 
The 6th Age – Quetzalcoatl

On a completely different day in which Morven was definitely not in his office, Michael was sifting through the weekly reports on each of the students at the Garden. The records were fairly simple - how much power they could hold, what talents they had and their strengths and weaknesses. Michael tried to attend at least one training session a day even if only for a few minutes but if there was a particularly difficult student he would be there to put out any fires - metaphorically, but indeed sometimes literally. 

At the knock at his door, Michael took control of the Power and opened it for his guest. He found doing mundane tasks with the Power to assist in control and swiftness of technique. "Come in," he said, looking up. 

He smiled at the sight of one Jay Carptenter. The man had proven to be competent from what he read, and Nikolai Brandon was not one for idle praise. "Ah, Mr. Carpenter. Or do you prefer Rod of Dominion? What brings you to the Garden?"

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 ]]