Continued from "Hooked"

When the Auctioneer divulged that Bode could be located at Kallisti, Jaxen's first thought was that she might be Oriena. After all, Oriena had the malice to orchestrate such a scheme. But then again, she was far too indolent to invest this much effort into sabotaging someone, even if that someone was the Emissary. Oriena preferred to either crush her adversaries outright or dismiss them entirely. This level of intricacy suggested a more cunning mind at play. If Jaxen weren't so irked by the wild goose chase, he might have found it intriguing.

He attempted to resume his life, to let this whole fiasco fade into oblivion. Yet, each time he tried, a nagging pressure built at the base of his skull, unbidden memories of Kallisti flooding his thoughts. He hadn't set foot there since meeting Oriena. Sure, Kallisti was entertaining, but it was just one of countless pleasure palaces in Moscow. Lately, the place had garnered a reputation as a bit of a buzzkill. The atmosphere had shifted—more serious, less 'anything goes.' Perhaps it was mere gossip from disgruntled staff or slighted patrons, but Jaxen certainly wasn't avoiding it because of Oriena. Definitely not.

When the night arrived that he could procrastinate no longer, Jaxen dressed for the venue. His pants had a velvety sheen, begging to be pet by expert hands. His shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, revealed the edges of the snake skeleton tattoo winding down his body. A fur coat draped over his shoulders, though it was promptly checked at the door upon his arrival at the Burlesque house. Once divested of the coat, a Hello Kitty sticker adorned his shoulder, brazenly flipping the bird with angry eyes.

At first glance, Kallisti appeared unchanged. The imposing stalinesque façade still commanded attention, its nighttime illumination banishing any lurking shadows. Inside, the lavish interior exuded wicked decadence, a harmonious blend of soft allure and severe elegance that set it apart from seedy strip joints. Not that there was anything wrong with that. The main area, with its extravagant bar and intimate stage, remained a shrine to seduction. Yet, as Jaxen surveyed the room, he noticed unfamiliar faces mingling about.

A hostess guided him to a table, her gloved hand gesturing gracefully. Settling into the plush seat, Jaxen cast his gaze around, the ambient lighting casting playful shadows even as the music lulled him into a state of relaxation. He hoped that 'Bode,' whoever she truly was, would make the next move, but if not, at least he would have some fun.

As soon as Elyse had heard Mae’s response to her declaration of love, Elyse had known it was over. Deep down she had known it. Elyse was sure Mae knew too.  Still she had fought that. Elyse had desired to hang on to the thought she could make this work. It had taken a lot of thought and a talk with Hayden to make her realize what she had to do. Because as much as she loved being with Mae, the thought of the end of their friendship was unbearable, and attempting to hang on to it was nothing but selfishness.

Elyse sat at the counter in the living area. She had to do this, and the sooner she did, the better it would be. She sent Mae a message. 

I’m ready to talk. Can we meet soon?

With the text sent, Elyse felt a sense of peace. She was still sad and upset, but now that action was being taken, she knew this was the right choice. Still she braced herself and thought about what she was going to say. Peace with the decision didn’t mean this wouldn’t hurt.

Tatyana looked at the odd coin in her hand with its strange grinning face. She’s never seen anything like it. The first thought that went through her head was she could sell it. It had to be worth something. Tatyana pulled out her stash, a metal container that held her pills in it. Opening it she could see she was running low. She’d had to ration them until she could find more cash. This coin might be enough to get her more though. 

The more she looked at it, however, the more she didn’t want to sell it. Tatyana wanted to know what it was and why it was here. It had been the clinking sound that drew her to it. Someone had dropped it - or possibly thrown it. Why - she didn’t know. Still she looked around. No one was around or they were hiding. It didn’t matter. The coin was hers now. She put it in her stash with her pills. 

She had originally come here for solitude, but now that her high was wearing down she was more amiable to company. Not that she wanted to talk, but she didn’t want to freeze and the church housed refugees. She wasn’t one, but she doubted they would turn her away because of that.  She went back to the church, passing by the unconscious bodies of the men that had tried to steal her food. She thought about the fight. Tatyana was strong, but not so strong that she should have been able to kick one man across the entire alley. Today was a day for strange occurrences. 

Tatyana arrived back at the church and going to the area were the refugees stayed she found a place to sit alone. She then felt a tear begin to fall, a sign the numbness was going away.

Fuck! she thought. 

She was supposed to ration, but she figured one more wouldn’t hurt today. The high might even ease her into sleep later. She opened her stash and took out the coin and one pill, which she took with a sip of water from her canteen. It would take time for the high to take effect, but the knowledge it was coming kept the demons at bay. She held on to the coin and contemplated it.

[[continued from here]]

After leaving Eddie’s apartment, Nesrin crossed the city to a bank of storage lockers at a metro station. She had several dotted around, mostly with emergency stashes – cards, money, that kind of thing. But this one just had the coffee-stained laptop and the old wallet she’d been using the previous day. Both items were little more than set dressing, things she used to blend in, but the phone was her connection to Wicked. She owed him some information, and Nesrin always kept her word when it mattered to her. She locked the laptop back up, and caught one of the circular trains south.

It was late morning, still too early for lunchtime traffic, so she had the carriage to herself. In Eddie’s shirt no one would glance twice at just another commuter anyway. She sat with her legs crossed, thick hair pulled over one shoulder, still faintly damp from the second shower. When she ducked her head to check the phone for messages, she could still smell the clean scent of him in the fabric. It flickered a smile as she waited for the wallet to boot up.

After a moment the screen blinked with something from Wicked, dated yesterday: If you frequent Manifesto we'll have to make some arrangements.

Arrangements? she shot back.

Despite the significant delay in her reply he answered almost immediately, the same as he had in the coffee shop.

Manifesto security is tight. If you want my help inside their walls I need a connection to you

The last they’d spoken he’d asked about the garment bag and she’d responded with a coy tease, sure he’d follow out of curiosity. So of course his knowledge of her movements wasn’t a surprise – it was exactly what she’d charmed him for. Yet the proof of it still made her feel momentary uneasiness. She lived like a ghost – no one knew where she was day to day, not even the Asquiths. It was the word connection which twisted her stomach cold though, sparking an unwelcome memory of Zigzag’s explanation of the Emissary.

I did okay. I have some info on the Key, she sent, followed a moment later by: Okay I'll bite. What do you mean connection?

Do tell *drool icon*

You didn't have your wallet with you.

Most of my friends have an app connected just to me

The train rumbled around her as she let that sink in. Okay. That was a relief. An app she could deal with; far more tolerable than the threat of playing host to fuck only knew what. Though “friends” was written in such a cutesy font it was beginning to become clear that Wicked’s amenability perhaps had less to do with the threads of power she’d spun into his head, and more to do with an obsession of his own. Which made a lot of sense in context, actually: it always seemed to work better when it pushed on an existing desire.

Thank fuck for that. One word about “hosts” or “gods” and, well… I like you Wicked but I’m just not that kind of girl.

She forwarded the things Zigzag had told her about gods and creepy as fuck ethereal connections, then added: The Key. Two words: organic matter. Which… let’s avoid the obvious jokes. I got a Reading by the Archivist. He said it contains knowledge.

Btw, way to make a girl feel special. Friends? I’m shocked, truly. I'm still your favourite though right?

*giggle emoji* Do you think you are the only one who seeks The Wicked Truth's help? My favorites allow unfetted access to their lives.

Not sure you want me that close. But I like you. I need to know more.

As far as the Key goes. We need a more secure communication method. This piece of junk you got right now won't do.

I'm sending you a package. It'll be at Kallisti when you get there under Ness. That is the name you used?

Frankly she’d been fishing for a compliment before she agreed to anything she might regret. She didn't care how many “friends” Wicked had but she did care where she was ordered in the priority list. Most of her trust in him still stemmed from the stunt she’d pulled the night of the house party and not on his charity, even though he did ask for something in return.

Nothing bad had actually happened at the club, but she still had no idea who’d tried to spike her drink – something she accepted had happened now because, well, Eddie didn’t appear to have a duplicitous bone in his body (and what a lovely body it was). It wasn’t like Wicked even could protect her in the flesh. He just needed to keep her presence shielded from m’Antinomian, which he appeared to already be doing. Nesrin trusted her own skills for the rest – she knew how to keep herself ahead of the curve.

How close did she really want him? She was beginning to suspect the information he’d asked for was not the information she had assumed he wanted. But that was a thought she’d puzzle over later.

For now, she actually did have better tech, but no inclination to tell him that. This particular wallet was a piece of junk on purpose, but despite a flutter of caution inside, her interest piqued at the idea of a gift. It was an idea she liked.

You’re already in my back door, Wicked. Talk later.

We let the prior obvious comment go. *snickers* I don't know if I can let such an easy one go this time.

She grinned to herself, sent a cute winking emoji blowing a kiss, and pocketed the phone.

Tatyana Gorodetsky


Age: 20


Origin: Moscow


Occupation: Beggar, Petty Thief, Fighter


Psychological Description: Usually calm due to drug addiction, fierce personality when sober, very defensive and untrusting, has a territorial streak and reacts harshly if someone takes her things


Physical Description: 5’7” with brown eyes and dark hair, usually held up in a pony tail. Generally muscularly built, currently somewhat malnourished from homelessness


Supernatural Powers: Channeler


Current Strength: 8


Potential Strength: 28


Experience: New


Block: Must be under the influence of drugs to channel


Biography:


Tatyana, born in 2026, is the daughter of Makari and Nadia Gorodetsky.  Nadia died when Tatyana was two, and her father raised her from then on.  Makari worked for The Vasiliv family as head of Security at Nebesa’s Gate Casino earning his protecting the Vasiliev family, their business interests, and putting pressure on high end clients and those who renege on their gambling debts.  His hard work even earned him the friendship of the Vasiliev Patriarch, Konstantin.  


From a young age, Makari began to train his daughter in martial arts and self defense.  The Vasiliev’s, a rather sexist family, did not see this as appropriate, but Konstantin turned a blind eye to this.  After all, Tatyana was not his child, and it did not interfere with Makari’s duties to the organization. Tatyana, thrilled to spend time with her father, learned these lessons and eventually would spend her free time in dojos learning tai kwan do, boxing, wrestling, muay thai, and aikido. When her father could spare time, they would have individual sessions where she would learn how to combine these styles together. Tatyana always expressed interest in following in her father’s footsteps and working security at the casino.  It was a desire she was told constantly would never come to fruition. 


Growing up at the Casino, Tatyana would often come into contact with the Vasiliev family - particularly the children. Not really a member of the Vasiliev family, they viewed Tatyana generally with indifference.  The two outliers being Grisha, who was generally kind to her, making sure to say hello or smile when they passed each other, and Sofia, who viewed her with animosity.  This came to a head during the Nebesa’s Gate Christmas Party of 2044.  Sofia, 24, was trying to gain the favor of a young man, who would later ask Tatyana, 18, for a dance. Sofia, jealous, would remember this.


Shortly after the party, Makari would pass away in a tragic car accident.  As a result of her father’s service to the family, Konstantin expressed his condolences to Tatyana, and offered her a position within the Casino restaurant as well as an apartment to live in.  Disappointed, Tatyana would ask if she could join the security team. She offered a demonstration of her skills to prove herself. Konstantin, his eyes cold, refused and reminded Tatyana that that he was looking after her because of her father, that work was not suitable for her, and she should be grateful.  Cowed, Tatyana began her mundane work for the family, but would often sneak around the club, sticking her nose in business she didn’t belong in.  Sofia began to sow seeds of discord against Tatyana, and it began to ripple slowly through the family that Tatyana was both violent and ungrateful.


Something broke within Tatyana after that.  She fell into a deep depression.  Sensing her grief, Grisha would give her a first dose of a drug to calm her down.  She began to medicate frequently, using the drug to deal with the loss of her father and disappointment in her work. . Sofia added untrustworthy junkie to her rumors. As words began to circulate, the people around her, Vasilievs and employees alike, would notice her grumbles a little more, contributing not only to Sofia’s rumors, but that Tatyana also harbored a grudge against Konstantin.


What she saw as an act of kindness, would cause her to develop feelings for Grisha.  Sofia would notice this, and decided that now was the time to get rid of the young woman.  The rumors she planted were circulating, which meant her father had been hearing them, all she needed was something that would show Tatyana was a lost cause.


When a knife disappeared from the armory, there was enough to suspect that Tatyana may have stolen it.  When she was searched, the knife was found. Konstantin had had enough.  She was dismissed from her job, and thrown out on the street with the words “You are a disgrace to your father’s name,” ringing in her ears. 


Tatyana had nowhere to go and no one to go to.  All she had to her name was the clothes on her back and the pills that Grisha had given her.  Filled with grief from the loss of both her father and the only life she had ever known, Tatyana began to take the pills more often.  Her first night out, she would find another beggar.  He had a coat, blankets and food.  High, she would try to steal them, the beggar fought back, but he had no training.  Even drug addled, Tatyana’s instincts would have been enough to overpower him, but she hadn’t needed to fight.  As she moved to fight, the beggar was sent back by an unseen force. Tatyana didn’t check on his crumpled body, just found another place to partake of the spoils.


The next morning, Tatyana would wake up, having no memory of the incident.  She became violently ill, and was taken in by some red cross workers who nursed her back to health.  When she was able to leave, she did, making sure they had not taken her pills.  She wanted nothing of their kindness.  


The next couple of years, Tatyana would learn how to live on the streets.  It was a cutthroat world.  Her fighting skills would be used to protect herself and to get what she needed.  She would beg and steal, and she had no issues with stealing from the other homeless.  Now fully addicted, money was used to buy drugs, if she lacked food, she’d steal it. She would soon become aware that Three Trinities Haven Church would offer food, clothing, and blankets. She became a frequent visitor there.


Her life would begin to take a different turn on a day she decided to take her food from the church to the nearby streets.  She longed for solitude.  She was followed by three men, who decided what she had belonged to them.  A fight broke out, and they were unskilled, but Tatyana was high, and her reactions, even though instinctual, were slower. Two of the men grabbed her and acting on instinct, she moved back, trying to get to the wall.  The third approached, she lifted her legs to kick him in the chest.  She channeled for the second time and the last was thrown against the wall of the building opposite.  The two men holding her loosened their grip, and she took advantage.  Her elbow took one of them in the jaw, and she hit the other with a uppercut to the chin. She left the three men, unconscious and no longer a threat, and found a place to eat in silence.  As she finished, her high beginning to wear off, her attention was drawn to a small clinking sound down the alley.  Curious, she went to investigate and found on the ground a strange coin with a grinning face on it.

Rebirths:

3rd Age: Nima, the Damane

In a devastating and unprecedented attack, President Fredrick James Dawson and Vice President Col. Track Palin were assassinated today in separate but coordinated incidents. The tragic events unfolded simultaneously at two distinct locations, leaving the nation in shock and mourning.

The President was attending a community event at a local school, engaging with students as part of a literacy initiative. The Vice President, meanwhile, was on official business near the White House. At precisely 12:34 PM, two gunshots echoed at the respective locations, marking the culmination of what authorities are describing as a meticulously planned operation.

Emergency services rushed to both scenes, but despite their efforts, both leaders were pronounced dead shortly after the attacks. Details about the perpetrators remain scarce as federal agencies, including the FBI and Secret Service, launch a full-scale investigation. Early reports indicate the attacks were carried out by skilled individuals who had been planning the operation for months.

President Dawson, known for his visionary leadership and focus on unity, had served as a beacon of hope for millions. Vice President Palin, a decorated military officer, was respected for his dedication and service to the nation. Their sudden loss leaves a void that will be felt deeply across the country and beyond.

In a statement, the acting government has called for calm and assured the public that those responsible will be brought to justice. Security measures have been heightened nationwide as officials work to ensure the safety of the nation's leaders and citizens.

Flags across the country have been ordered to fly at half-staff as the nation begins to process this profound loss. Further updates will follow as more information becomes available.

It had been the middle of the night when Nox sent Hayden a text.

Need you to talk to someone soon as you can make the time. Gotta former Atharim. Her father found out she's wolfkin and now he's hunting her. Got an email said was having ideations of the unaliving/harm type.

Nox's text had come in short strings of text and Hayden interrupted. 

Say no more. Got it. What's her name?

Nox quickly replied

Elyse.  Thanks man.

Hayden knew Nox struggled with similar problems, though they'd only touched on it. He wondered how many other Atharim struggled with the guilt and same issues and never told anyone.  He could probably make a real business out talking to just Atharim. But they were a special breed of people. And why his father had him doing what he was doing. Though he'd have preferred Hayden take up arms with the inquisitors and find the traitors.  Instead of listening to their woes.

Hayden made his way around the corner to Nox's house.  He opened the door and knocked on the door.  

Sky answered. "Can I help you?"

Hayden chuckled. "I'm hoping I can talk to Elyse, Nox sent me. I know she'll be leaving for work soon, just wanted to touch base."

Sky buzzed the door open "You can make yourself at home in the living space, Hayden. I will call Elyse"

Hayden climbed the stairs two at a time thinking about all the times he'd climbed the Harbour's stairs to see Nox when he'd come back from his job.  This was different.  Though he'd been her a few times to talk to some of the older kids, he'd wait till Nox got back to speak to the little ones. Last thing he needed was someone calling protective services on him (or even Nox for that matter).  

Hayden did as Sky said and made himself at home by opening the fridge and starting to make some breakfast. Normally he'd be doing the whole serving beer thing, this was different. He still wanted the casual feel of just talking to a friend.

Name: Zholdin Gregorovich 
Age: 23
Birthplace: Moscow  
Affiliation: Russian Mafia
Role: Enforcer and manager of entertainment operations 
Nickname: Zholka Gregorovich

Zholdin Gregorovich is the heir of Gregor Petrovich, the Russian vodka kingpin. Zholdin’s childhood was a relentless lesson in control, calculation, and cruelty. In his father’s world, loyalty was earned through affection but forged in blood—an expectation Zholdin learned early and learned well.

When Zholdin was just eight, Gregor led him into the basement where a man sat bound to a chair, trembling under a single swinging bulb. The air reeked of fear and sweat, the damp chill biting into young Zholdin’s skin. Gregor’s lesson that night was twofold: a demonstration of retribution and an education in control. Torture, Gregor said, should be efficient, precise, and always serve a purpose. His voice was calm, almost detached, as he explained each cut, each deliberate act. Zholdin listened, his wide eyes absorbing the scene with unsettling composure. When his father handed him the knife, he didn’t hesitate. It was as if cruelty had been waiting patiently in his blood, ready to be called upon.

Power, Gregor believed, came from mastery of one’s environment, and his family reflected that belief. Zholdin’s mother was a elegant but unyielding symbol of Gregor’s dominance, her presence commanding respect, poise, and strength. His sister, sharp and ruthless, mirrored their father’s cunning, her brutality almost rivaling Zholdin’s. But Zholdin was the chosen heir, the one Gregor molded into his successor. While his sister schemed, Zholdin grew into his father’s shadow, his skills honed alongside his body as strength and intelligence coalesced into a terrifying weapon. The empire Gregor built would one day be his, sprawling and untouchable—provided Zholdin could prove himself worthy of it. And Gregor had ensured that worthiness was tested, one brutal lesson at a time.

But Zholdin isn’t a carbon copy of his father. Where Gregor’s dominance is cold and calculated, Zholdin’s approach is unpredictable and theatrical. His presence is arrogance, his charm intoxicating, and his laughter sharp as a dagger. He carries the confidence of a man who knows how to bend those around him to his will, yet his edges hint at something raw and untamed.

There are rumors, as well. Suggestions that something darker churns beneath the surface. The stories vary—a sadist, a masochist, or a sociopathic monster who thrives on destruction. Regardless, Zholdin himself pays these tales no mind, but he’s not above stoking them for his advantage. After all, fear and mystery are as valuable as loyalty in his world.

His most audacious move—caging wild animals—adds fuel to the fire. It is his symbol of power, a warning to rivals, and a spectacle to those he wishes to impress. The predator kings fill his cages: a Siberian tiger prowling in echo to his heritage, the black panther stalking its prey from the shadows, a wolf circling its cage absent a pack. It’s been said that he once fed those who wronged his father to his menagerie—alive.

As Moscow’s criminal families cling to an uneasy truce, new players—the Japanese Yakuza and the Singaporean Syndicate—hold a fragile balance with their plans for pending Japanese-style clubs. Zholdin is tasked with ensuring the Petrovich vodka empire flows seamlessly into these ventures and maintain their dominance over the city’s alcohol trade. But logistics are only part of his vision. For Zholdin, these clubs are stages for spectacle, places where entertainment and indulgence fuel loyalty and control. His recruitment of Alistair Bishop, an American wrestler and entertainer, as a headline act in the ring is part of a plan. Bishop isn’t just an attraction; he’s a weapon, a display… a dancing monkey to entertain.

Personality

Zholdin thrives in the blurred space between menace and charm, indulgence and command, chaos and dominance. His presence commands attention with a confidence that feels both deliberate and effortless. He arms with a smile, unsettles with a glance, and ends conversations with blood. His charisma, while natural, is sharpened to a fine edge, wielded as much for domination as for seduction.

Indulgence defines much of Zholdin’s life. Fine vodka, exquisite food, and the visceral thrill of nature’s circle of life—they’re statements of control. His appetite for extremes isn’t merely hedonistic; it’s a way of asserting dominance, over himself and those who watch him revel. Yet, behind this façade of excess lies a darker current.

Zholdin’s cruelty is deliberate, his strategies finely tuned to maximize suffering. A quiet humiliation, a carefully timed insult, or a well-placed threat—these are the tools of a man who knows power isn’t about brute force but about manipulation and fear. These are the traits crushed into him since infancy, the only inheritance Gregor Petrovich would allow.

There is a restlessness within Zholdin, a yearning for something he does not know he wants, but assumes more will sate it.

Rebirth

Shuten-dōji

The Myth

Shuten-dōji is the most infamous oni demons from Japanese mythology. He was said to be a monstrous, towering, human-like figure with crimson or dark skin, horns, and wild hair, exuding power and terror. A lover of excess, Shuten-dōji's name translates to "Little Drunken Boy," a nod to his insatiable thirst for sake, which he consumed in lavish quantities alongside human flesh. His lair was on Mount Ōe (or Mount Ibuki, depending on the version), where he ruled over a band of marauding oni, kidnapping noble women from Kyoto to serve as his prisoners and ultimately his victims.

The most famous myth surrounding Shuten-dōji recounts his downfall at the hands of Minamoto no Raikō and his warriors, who infiltrated the oni’s stronghold disguised as monks. Offering enchanted sake laced with a powerful sleeping potion, they subdued the demon and beheaded him, though even decapitated, his severed head attempted to bite Raikō. This tale cements Shuten-dōji as both a fearsome adversary and a symbol of unchecked indulgence and destruction. His connection to sake and revelry, combined with his terrifying presence and control of oni embodies the balance between chaotic power and tragic excess.

Early life

Shuten-dōji is the son of the ferocious Yamata-no-Orochi, who is personified in legend as a great dragon. His mother was the daughter of a wealthy merchant in Toyoma, a coastal prefecture on the Sea of Japan known for its harsh, windy winters.

He was a difficult child to say the least. Meltdowns, screaming, tantrums and violence. He would thrash on the ground when he didn’t get his way and hurt other children who wronged him. By the time he was five, his own mother declared he was a demon and abandoned him.

By this time, his father had been slain by the god, Susanoo, younger brother to the Sun Goddess Ameratsu. Susanoo had been informed by a farmer than their daughters were being taken by Yamata-no-Orochi, and Susanoo promised to avenge them. He tricked Yamata-no-Orochi and killed him in his sleep. From the treasure, he plundered a divine weapon, the Sword of the Gathering Clouds of Heaven that he returned as offering to Ameratsu, who kept the sword from then on. Eventually, it became one of the three Imperial Regalia of Japan.

With his mother’s abandonment and father’s demise, by the time Shuten-dōji was six, he was expelled by the people of Toyoma and taken to a Buddhist temple at Mt. Heiti in Kyoto to be raised by monks. He became increasingly anti-social, slacking off from his studies and getting into fights yet he was the strongest and most intelligent of the acolytes, and his resentment of the people around him grew. Despite their vows, the monks were forbidden from consuming alcohol, but at fourteen, Shuten-dōji fell into drinking. He could out-drink anyone and everyone who was willing to sit down and drink against him. 

When he was fifteen, he attended a festival completely drunk. He donned a demon mask, hid in the shadows and jumped out at his fellow monks, attempting to frighten them with his dark pranks. When one died of a heart attack, he was scolded and reprimanded by his masters. Shuten-dōji had enough. He ran away from the temple, fleeing higher into the mountains where he could isolate himself from weak and hypocritical humans. He lived outside Kyoto for many years as a bandit, stealing what he needed to survive. Other outcast boys joined him, and by the time he came into his power to channel, he had amassed a loyal gang of followers.

Shuten-dōji grew in power and knowledge. He mastered strange, dark magic, and taught it to his thugs. One of his earliest and most loyal followers was a boy named Ibaraki-dōji, who would become infamous in his own right and later became his chief servant. Over time, the gang prowled the highways, terrorizing the people of Kyoto during drunken rages. They scoured the mountains, capturing oni alive and bringing them back to his lair for unknown purposes. His violence and ferocity grew to the point where he would kidnap noble virgin girls of Kyoto, rape then kill each, drink their blood and eat their organs raw.

Eventually, they settled in the remains of a dark castle on Mount Ōe, where he plotted to conquer the capital and rule as emperor. Now with his army of oni at his back, strangely beholden to his will, dark followers, and fearsome powers, the Emperor declared that Shuten-dōji had to be stopped. Minamoto no Yorimitsu, leading a group of heroic warriors, assaulted the dark castle. Prior to the assault, Minamoto visited Hachiman, the god of war, who armed each warrior with enchanted swords named Bloodsucker, Stone-cutter, Demon Slasher, and the most famous, Dōjigiri, known as one of the Five Best Swords Under Heaven.

They gained entrance by impersonating ascetics dedicated to En no Gyōja, a god previously banished by the Imperial Court for using his magic to bond, manipulate, trick and control others against their will. Knowing that Shuten-dōji was sympathetic toward En no Gyōja, he admitted the disguised warriors. During the night’s revelry, Minamoto and the others poisoned members of Shuten-dōji’s gang and waited for them to fall into slumber, at which point they cut off their heads in their sleep. For Shuten-dōji himself, the warriors held down his arms and legs while Minamoto cut off his head. With Shuten-dōji now dead, the oni army rose up in wild frenzy, and a bloody battle ensured until they were all either dead or disappeared.

The cup and bottle of poison that Minamoto no Yorimitsu used is still kept on site at Nariai-ji temple in Kyoto to this day.

Powers

Zholdin is an unsparked channeler. Once sparked will have a talent for Spirit weaves.

So far, Eddie's move to Moscow had been a rather interesting ride.  The incredibly dull life of a soldier in the current greatest city in the world had caused Eddie to seek other options.  He had not know he had caught the interest of Pervaya Liniya Security.  They had never attempted to contact him, instead they had sent one of their agents to test him.  He was sure that was what had happened with the entire situation with Rhi.  Turned out, the would be poisoner was a great wing-woman.  The rest of the night had been incredible.

Eddie had put the pieces together, determining that they had put her in "danger" to see how he would react to protecting others. To Eddie, it had just seemed instinctual, but apparently, their agent had seen enough to give him the card that he now carried: A Pervaya Liniya card with today's date on it, proclaiming a meeting with a Zhenya Disir.

Eddie entered the building, dressed in a nice suit and tie, not knowing what to expect with this meeting.  He felt that it was a good sign.  He doubted Mrs. Disir would waste her own time to bring him in and tell him he just wasn't a good fit, but he wasn't fool enough to think that he had earned the job yet.  Time would tell.  He had arrived early, not so early as to be annoying, but early enough to show that he took the meeting seriously and had no desire to waste his potential new employer's time.

Eddie approached a desk, a young lady sitting there typing at a computer. She looked up at his approach. "Good morning," he said with a polite smile.  "My name is Edwin Dean, I believe I have a meeting with Mrs. Disir."

Claude had arrived at precisely 9:50.  He was a firm believer that you were on time if you were five minutes early, and late if you were on time. Of course this meant that he left even earlier to prepare for any possible delays in his travel.  At least that is what he had told himself when he left his hotel that morning to come to cafe that Nora had mentioned to him. He was anxious for this meeting.  Nora had said in her text message that she was fine, and it wasn't often he wanted to contradict his sister, but since the fire at Moscow HQ, she had gone almost completely silent.  What communication they got from her was vague.  It was very unlike the Nora he had known before the fire.  Despite her words, Claude knew something was up.

Artskaf was a unique place, nothing seemed to match, and Claude found he liked it.  It seemed to be a place where art was allowed to thrive.  Indeed there were several pieces on the wall for sale.  Claude took a table underneath the only one that wasn't - a portrait of a woman in the neoclassical style.  The golden eyes of the woman made Claude wonder if the model for the painting had been a wolfkin, and if she had been, if she was still around.  Once more, Claude thought about whether or not such people (and people they were) should simply be removed for no other reason than existing.

Claude ordered and Earl Grey tea with honey, deciding against coffee even though he had mentioned it.  His mood was different today, glad to be seeing Nora, and worried that the meeting might not be a happy one.  She had always been protective of him, and he had always returned that feeling.  Still he hoped for the best.  He steeled himself for the conversation.  She would try to convince him to leave Moscow - he was sure of it, but he was here, and had no plans on leaving.