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| Full Circle |
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Posted by: Eidolon - 02-01-2024, 05:27 PM - Forum: Past Lives
- Replies (10)
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![[Image: Malaika-av.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/Malaika-av.jpg)
Malaika Sedai, Brown Ajah
Sat cross-legged on the floor, papers and books piled high and far around, Malaika drummed her fingers lightly across her forehead, eyes half lidded, clearly in the midst of serious thought, when the door to her quarters opened and soft footsteps across the carpet shattered each painfully captured thought to oblivion. Kasmir. He usually knew not to bother her when she was so engrossed in her work, as the strewn-across-the-floor-seats-and-tables mess usually signified. The chaos was structured, but it was still chaos; such visualisation helped Malaika work, and each pile of paper had point, form and meaning in her own mind. Interruptions sent such delicate organisation crashing down, though, and often before she had had the chance to write the connecting thought processes down.
The Aes Sedai sighed, though it was the only sign of irritation she allowed to surface. She had all but given up chastising him for letting himself in, since countless warnings seemed to fade more and more quickly after an initial effort to knock. It was her own fault; if he was such an annoyance, she could easily send him away, or set wards upon her door to prevent such inopportune disturbances, but the truth was she was growing used to his presence, and even enjoyed his visits occasionally. He was not Chakai, but there were times he reminded her so vividly of her brother - the way he had used to be, that is - that the distinction grew blurred and his company became a comfort more than a nuisance.
“Sorry,” he said, dark-as-night eyes travelling over her kingdom of book and paper, then back to her, with an air of apology. And he did actually look apologetic, too, which was strange. She noted that he fingered a letter in his hands, turning it round and round until the edges had softened.
Malaika pulled her hair over one shoulder, briefly massaging her neck while her thoughts shrunk and softened and she recalled that she should probably say something. “It’s okay.” She stood with a practised grace, and extricated herself from her working space, pausing to settle a few pieces of paper that alighted from their piles in the wake of her trailing skirts. “I’ve hit a point at which I’m stuck; I could use a break, I suppose.”
He had not stopped frowning; not a single quip left his lips at the state of her apartments, or her unconventional methods of work. Usually he would grin and tease and call her a sham of an Aes Sedai in such playfully errant ways that she was always unsure whether or not to tell him off for it. Certainly she would not have tolerated such insults from anyone else, whether they were meant in harmless jest or not. I’m too soft. Far, far too soft. The thought made her angry sometimes, until she realised she would rather be soft than humourless. “Did you need something, Kasimir,” she said to the silence, and it was not quite invitation as much as impatience. Thoughts of the Collam Daan, the subject of her research, still swirled around in her mind, distracting, and though she had soothed his interruption with the fact she really did need a short rest, she did not want to be away from her studies for long.
“Here.” Without preamble, he passed a letter sealed with blue wax, and she realised that he had not been holding one document, but two. Puzzled by his apparent mood, but beginning to suspect the cause of his mute tongue, Malaika opened the letter and unfolded it out. She scanned the words. Her eyes flicked up for a brief moment. “It’s from Sharain.” Not Chakai. Still, it was a wonder to receive anything at all, not least because it was addressed to her. She did not anticipate good news…
There was no room to sit, so as she read she leaned against a dresser untouched by parchment. One of the Ajah’s servants had set a great blue vase upon it, a mountain of winter flowers scenting the sitting room with a floral hint. Malaika had not even noticed until now where the wonderful smell had been coming from.
At the conclusion of her read, she held the letter back out to Kasimir, frowning.
“Your… your father wants to see us.”
He nodded grimly. “But we’re not going to go, right? There’s no point.”
“Perhaps Chakai wishes to reconcile with you.” She tilted her head, observing the glower lowering his brows. He had her full attention, now, and he never appeared to like the way her gaze seemed to understand far more than he ever said. “You are his son,” she added gently, although somewhat firmly. Kasimir was a man grown and could make his own decisions, but it was in her interests to heal this rift if she possibly could. It would be something, at least, to make her own situation feel better.
“So you want rid of me?” he snapped with sudden ire, as though her words had loosened a spring he had been holding coiled. “Cart me back to Ebou Dar the first chance you get?”
She didn’t roll her eyes, but she certainly felt like it. Perhaps she coddled him by keeping such sentiments to herself; for tolerating his fiery temper because she understood the brief and intense bursts of flame that compelled his moods. She knew he meant nothing by it; knew that his childishness was rooted, almost always, in thoughts of his father. “Oh for the love of the Creator act your age, Kasimir. If I did not wish you here, I would have sent you away, hmm? Stop filling your head with all that useless pity."
“I’m sorry, Aes Sedai,” he murmured, folding his arms and glaring down at his feet. He missed the amused smile that curved her lips. Such a child! She did understand, at least in part, although she did have to wonder how it was he had not gotten himself into serious trouble with another sister yet. Perhaps it was only Chakai that stoked his juvenile rage; she would be willing to warrant it so, because though he was feisty in temperament, he was not generally of such a foul disposition.
“You should at least think about it. Running away from your problems will not fix them, and I would not like to see you carry regret to your grave.”
Kasimir
Kas hated it when she did that; spoke as though she read his thoughts as easily as she read her books. Aes Sedai really couldn’t read minds, or so everyone here said, but Malaika’s ability to cut to the quick was disturbing. He desperately wanted to shout at her. No, not really at her, just at something - someone, so he could ignore that feeling burrowing within. Guilt? No, surely not. But something uncomfortable, and that something only made worse by Malaika’s words.
He looked up at her, standing so apparently innocent (not that any of the Light-forsaken witches could even be called that), and with that bloody stare, as though he were an insect under glass. He couldn’t even hate her for it, because there was often a softness behind it; an interest that wasn’t clinical, but compassionate, as though she were emotionally invested in his struggles. He supposed she might be - she was his aunt, after all - but he had also seen that stare pressed down on others. She seemed to care a great deal for others, or at the least was of an empathetic nature.
May as well tell her. “He’s sick,” he said, and hoped he kept the bitterness from his tone. Probably not; not to her, at least, since all these Tower-trained women seemed in tune to the slightest nuance. “My sister Jahzara says he doesn’t leave his room, nor even his bed. His leg, I suppose. Else she’s saying it just to guilt me home.” He wasn’t sure he believed that entirely, if he wished it were true. It would be far easier to dismiss, then. What if he dies? Kas had wished that, guiltily and to his shame, but he had never really [/I]meant[/I] it. Could I live with the regret of never seeing him again? All that hatred stagnating without resolution.
Was this what Aes Sedai mind games felt like? She didn’t say another bloody word, and yet it was like she controlled his strings as surely as any puppeteer. I’m not running, he thought fiercely, but if he couldn’t even confront his father face to face, then what else did it look like? He glared down at the letter in his hand, at the blue torm’s head seal, and wanted to crush the wax in his fist; wanted to watch it erode and crumble… but that rise to temper would only show how much he cared and prove the precise nature of her words.
“Fine. We’ll go, if you think it will make any difference. But it’ll be a wasted trip if anyone thinks I’m going back to Ebou Dar.”
“You don’t have to stay there,” she said, and there was a lightness to the corners of her lips, as though she were smiling. “You just have to face your father.”
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| The Familial Mutt |
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Posted by: Eidolon - 02-01-2024, 03:56 PM - Forum: Past Lives
- Replies (6)
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Kasimir Nevaren,
Tar Valon
Kasimir Nevaren spun on his heel, pulse thumping cool anger at his temples. The busy market square built up to a cacophony in his ears, fuelling that fragile temper to a climax.
“WHAT did you say?”
Three months had passed since he’d left Ebou Dar; three long months of hitching rides that had inched him at a frustratingly slow pace towards Tar Valon. His body and blade were all he had to offer in return for those favours; muscle work, mostly, and occasionally as hired protection for those too poor to afford real mercenary help. They say all roads lead to Tar Valon and the White Tower, but it seemed everyone was going every other way but Tar Valon. Now, though - finally - he was here, and though all sensibilities told him to find an inn and bed down for the evening, lack of coin and lack of patience drove him on mercilessly.
Kaz was frustrated and tired, and he didn’t even know if the Tower would hold the answers he sought. The sooner he found the woman, the sooner this whole matter would be resolved and he could… could what? The thought of channelling women so close sent a chill through him; the vice grip of years of teaching. He thought about the invisible bonds that had held his hands rigid by his sides…
… No, don’t think about that.
Oblivious to the scruffy mess of his dark hair, to the stubble weaving across his cheeks and to the staleness of his clothes, Kasimir marched through the streets, single minded and ignorant to those around him. His brows were drawn over black eyes, his fists clenched. One foot followed the other; left, right, left, right.
Until this.
He longed for a bath, for a shave, and for some bloody sleep, and this little twerp of a man had just trodden all over his last fuse. Blood and ashes, could he not just make his way in peace?
“I asked a question. What did you just say to me?”
“I…I said…” The man looked at him quite dumbly for a moment, rubbing his arm, and Kaz was about to turn away and ignore the whole thing. But then… “D...does Tar Valon just let any old riff-raff in nowadays?”
A crowd had gathered, apparently to watch this spectacle of the vagrant and the well-dressed man, and their presence and support appeared to lend the confidence for back-chat. Kaz frowned. Light, did the whole world outside of Altara lack any sort of manners!? You couldn’t get away with saying that to a perfect stranger in Ebou Dar. The young Ebou Dari flipped a dagger into the palm of his hand.
“That,” he said. “Is rude.” A flick of the wrist and the dagger was pointing firmly at the man, who’s face had become very pale. Kasimir was about to offer the challenge, but apparently the sight of the bare blade did not go down so well. The man screamed, loud and high as a woman, and before Kaz could so much as blink at the strange reaction someone had grabbed his arm and twisted it harshly behind his back. He yelled, dagger clattering to the floor, and presently found his face pressed in the dirt.
“He bumped into that man,” someone cried above the sudden ruckus. “No apology, nothing. And then he turned a knife on him!”
Kaz sighed. Or tried to; the knee pressed into his back made that difficult. “Malaika Sedai!” he shouted. “I came to see Malaika Sedai!” And Creator above let that be enough to save him…
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| The Seanchan Spy |
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Posted by: Eidolon - 02-01-2024, 02:07 PM - Forum: Past Lives
- Replies (13)
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[[old thread, when Mal was newly raised; just adding so I can easily reference]]
Eithne and Malaika, Brown Ajah
Plans had gone awry and Malaika's mentor, Eithne Sedai (along with her atha'an miere gaidar, Anura), had replaced Brenna on the impending trip to Arad Doman. Ke'sera Raldiin of the Gray (a Domani herself), her Warder Dolaran and a rather quiet sister of the Blue had also joined the party, and they convened on a grassy bank outside Tar Valon on the morn that they were to Travel.
Ke’sera Sedai smiled brightly and chatted amiably all the way; one would not think she had been summoned to interrogate a suspected spy, but her chiming voice was an easy enough distraction from the tight knot in Malaika’s stomach. She listened, nodding when appropriate, but found her thoughts drifting to what lay ahead. Under Eithne's tutorage, she had spent the previous day perfecting the threads of illusion to disguise her features best she could. Though her hair remained sleek and black and her skin pale, her eyes were no longer tilted, and her face, usually soft and rounded, was angular, her nose straighter and more prominent. There was little she could do for her accent, but years in Tar Valon had dulled the slurring inflections and holding her tongue was certainly something she was accustomed to anyway.
“Sister, if you would.” As a matter of politeness, Eithne, as the oldest and most senior present, directed the proceedings. The older Brown was resplendent today in folds of bright, clashing fabrics and colours. As a former Tinker, she adopted a myriad of different styles, today including the dazzlingly slashed skirts of Ebou Dar. A sash of emerald green nipped in her ample waist, and a garland of dried winter flowers held back her ebony locks.
Beside her, her gaidar was not much subtler in dress. Amidst Anura’s leather armour were flashes of bright silk - among them a royal blue at her breast and a hanging sash of scarlet at her waist, which loosely caressed the sheathed rapier there also. A yellow bandana held back the black hair from her face, revealing a number of gold hoops through her ears. She was a wild looking thing - intimidating, surely, but Malaika had spent enough time with her to see past the stoical Sea Folk exterior.
At Eithne’s word, Ke’sera grew bright with saidar. A silvery slit tore a neat line through the air, widening to a hole enough for two astride should they walk closely. Malaika's heart was in the pits of her stomach as she peered through to the scenery beyond. She had never left Tar Valon - had barely explored the city itself - and now, mere feet ahead of her, lay a country leagues and leagues away, unaware of her very existence and untouched by the everyday dealings of the Tower. She had read up on Arad Doman, of course, but it did little to prepare her.
"Come, Sisters." Eithne's bright tones lifted her from reverie in the effortless way they so often did. She had merry countenance that opened many hearts to her charms, and her easy presence was a welcome relief to the discomfort Malaika usually faced around others; indeed, the vibrant woman had been a very specific choice of mentor for the serious and reserved young Aes Sedai.
Led by the Warders Anura and Dolaran, the four Aes Sedai stepped through the gate…
They arrived in an empty courtyard, by a grand fountain gushing an exquisite and complex flow of sparkling water. The centrepiece was a bronzed statuette, the woman’s curvaceous form flaunted in traditional Domani dress of such craftsmanship that one could swear the mock fabric really did shimmer in the light. In her hands she offered a bowl of fruit, and there was a captivating smile on her full lips.
“Talhia Raldiin, my great, great grandmother,” said the Gray, Ke’sera. She pointed to the bowl. “Legend says she enticed my great, great grandfather with that, and he always swore nothing tasted as sweet. I fear he may not have been talking about the fruit.” She laughed throatily, despite her Warder’s disproving look, and waved them across the square. Malaika glanced once more at that scantily clad statue as they passed, her ears burning beneath the thick velvet of her hair. And such a comment from a Gray as well!
Eithne did nothing but smile in that quaint, merry way of hers, but made no comment, and the Gray presently led them out of the high walls that surrounded the court. They surfaced in a close-knit warren of roads, but soon found their way out to a busy market-place. The sheer amount of people - and the noise! - was enough to take Malaika aback. She paused for a second, until Eithne’s hand pushed gently into the small of her back.
“Off we go, Sister,” she said in hushed, kind tones. Ke’sera had already stepped out, her Warder on her heels, and Malaika swallowed back the sudden, unexpected swell of fear. Afraid of what? she asked herself, and found no answer but the irrational. The Aes Sedai test had been far more than this - she had faced that alone, and here she was among her sisters. Bracing herself, she followed the Gray, and though that first step was an accomplishment all in itself, if for no audience but her own mind, she found that her initial panic was quickly swept up in sheer awe.
The Blue, whom had never parted with her name, left them soon after. She gave little more than a cursorily nod to her sisters, but Malaika was too enthralled to much notice her departure. The young Brown tried to be surreptitious in her wonder, but stare she did at the bustle around her; the swathes of swirling sheer fabric and scent of spice and musky perfume; the tall, copper-skin women with their lustrous black hair, calling out their wares with seductive smiles; the men with their elegantly curled moustaches and bronze rings through their ears. The accents, the bright colours - even the temperature was different. (and certainly the temprement - to her left she could hear the warring tones of a man and woman, if not the cause of the argument).
“Bandar Eban,” she murmured, trailing after the Aes Sedai and Warders. Anura led the way through the market square; she was at ease in this place, the red sash tied through her belt loop swaying with her hips. It was not unusual for the ath’an miere to trade with the Domani, Malaika recalled, and clearly the gaidar had been here before. People stood aside to let them pass, and some stared. Eithne paid none of it any mind, and Malaika emulated her indifference for the most part, but within her heart beat a torrent in her chest.
Such colour, such vibrancy! It was as if the pages of her study books bounded to life around her, and the thrill of it was immeasurable, if so far it felt a little surreal. The pleasure was short-lived, for they did not stay in the market-place long. Soon the rows of bright tents and treasure-laden wagons gave way to quieter streets. Anura led them on to a stone building, its carved doors patrolled by two men in the armour of Domani soldiers. Here Eithne took the lead, her gaidar close to her side. Malaika stood a little behind Ke'sera, curious but composed.
"You are expecting us, I presume," the older Brown said.
“Aes Sedai.” The guard bowed low, a fist to his heart. Malaika was excited to notice the Sword and Hand emblem on his chest - a symbol she had seen so many times copied into books on history and politics. Here, though, picked out in stitches of gold, it seemed to mean something. She managed to control the wide-eyed look that threatened to break the calm exterior of her expression, but a rare smile played on her lips. When the guard looked back up he glanced at her strangely, as though she were some slow child, but did not linger on it (with her young face, he had no reason to believe she even was Aes Sedai). “Of course. It is this way.”
They followed him into the building and down a series of steps. Some of Malaika’s mirth dampened as they descended. She thought of the Tower’s basements - of the secrets and horrors it held - and remembered that they were here for serious business. Seanchan business.
Eventually the guard stopped at a heavy oak door, tapped once then opened it. "He is within, Aes Sedai."
Eithne nodded and led the way, though Anura's frown suggested she was not happy with that particular arrangement. Malaika waited for the Gray and her Warder, but Ke'sera gestured her in first, so she followed her mentor into the dank room. Stale sweat and fear assaulted senses that had earlier been seduced by the delights of the Domani trading grounds. It was empty but for a few chairs, its centremost one occupied by the prisoner in question. He was bound by hands and feet, his dark haired head limp over his chest. Two Domani guard flanked both sides.
Malaika worked to keep her expression neutral against the barrage of emotion she felt within and she found it hard to look upon her countryman; instead her eyes flicked to Eithne, seeking some sort of direction, but the woman did not break her eyes away from the bound man. Though it left her feeling uncertain, Brenna had made it clear she was here in the capacity of a student, so she melted against the shadows and prepared to watch events unfold.
“Four days,” the guard said. “And all he swears is that he is innocent. His armour is in the corner, the blade too.”
“Indeed,” said Eithne absently. She looked up at the guard, her green eyes pleasant. “Thank you, soldier. We will take it from here. And you must give our thanks to King Daryen; the White Tower is much appreciative of his cooperation in this matter.”
The guard, slightly offset by this dismissal, paused before nodding stiffly and signalling the two other men out. “Should you need us, Aes Sedai, you have but to call.”
They closed the bulky door behind them.
Malaika felt Eithne embrace and brighten the light of the room; the torches blared and a small ball of light sparked into being by her head. The older Brown retired to a chair in a corner, pulling a book from the confines of her voluminous skirts, Anura hovering by her side.
“This is your field of expertise, Ke’sera,” she said flipping to a page marked with a bright pink slip of silk. The Gray nodded and Eithne turned to her reading as though tucked away in some comfortable corner of the Brown Halls. Something of her composure bothered Malaika somewhat and she stole a glance at the shackled man, realising that there was a sick, weighty feeling in the pit of her stomach. Eithne’s voice broke through her thoughts. “And Malaika. As our authority on the Seanchan, perhaps you might take a look at the young man’s belongings.”
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| A London Reality [London, England] |
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Posted by: Hayden - 01-28-2024, 07:39 PM - Forum: Rest of the world
- Replies (16)
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The phone in his nightstand buzzed. Hayden looked at his clock on his bed stand and groaned. It was 3 am he'd only been in bed for half an hour. Fucking bullshit!
He rolled over blurry-eyed and tugged the drawer open and found the secret phone at the bottom of the junk inside. It always fell to the bottom no matter what he did. Better that way but still annoying in the middle of the night, and it was the middle of the fucking night.
He didn't bother sitting up as he tabbed through security to get into the phone.
Cuz. Special mark coming your way. Handle with care. [dossier attached]
Hayden sighed. That couldn't wait till morning. Arrival time was a few days away. Hayden didn't bother looking at the attached information beyond arrival time. He had plenty of time to get clean sheets and straighten up the space. Not that anyone had stayed there in a while, most Atharim passing through were just that -- passing through and needed supplies. On to bigger and better things. Hayden didn't much care. That this one was staying was special. But that his cousin several times removed had sent him a personal warning was unique. Meant it mattered to her -- for whatever reason.
Hayden rolled over and closed his eyes. Hopefully sleep came again otherwise he was going to be a fucking mess.
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| I'll be Back |
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Posted by: Nox - 01-28-2024, 03:12 PM - Forum: Red-light district
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Target: Reggie Hill - London, England [dossier attached]
It hadn't been more than a few months since he started working at Kallisti. It hadn't even been a year since he'd been in Moscow. But he'd lived so much since then. Failed so many times. Lost the love of his life and now he was off to kill people like the true weapon that he was. His father would be proud -- except he wouldn't. He should be dead -- Jacob would have disappointed him. But he'd already done that. Jacob was the reason his father hated him. It was a revelation Nox had come to when Jacob popped back into his life. He was more than a grandfather to him. He'd always been family. But his father hated him because he was in love with his father. Noel Durante loved Jacob, and Jacob loved him. It wasn't something Nox had picked up growing up, but he did now. Maybe it was more clear or maybe Jacob didn't care anymore. Times had changed.
Now he was a handler. And nothing more. Jacob tried, but he hated channelers -- hated the godling that he was, no matter what Nox did or said it wouldn't change that.
Nox had been trying to accept what he was since Raffe said those fateful words. "I don't trust you." "Love shouldn't be that hard."
Fighting for what he loved that was worth it. But in the end it wasn't up to him. And he'd been trying to get past it, to fuel the horde. It was all meaningless and the night with Oriena had only cemented it in his mind. She'd changed a lot of things. He owed her, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone.
The sex with random girls had slowed to a dull roar, the horde's desires quelled with nights with Oriena, more fights, and more food. He even danced more at the club, usually just filling in for someone who got sick or whatever, nothing of his own, he didn't feel up to exposing himself to that. Not yet now with the wound gaping around him.
A few new realizations helped. The more blood, the better the horde was quelled. The fights hurt more on all sides. The meat while not up in quantity was rarer than before -- almost to the point Nox worried about blood borne disease -- but science was better than that these days -- he hoped.
The conversation with Carmen had been simple. She gave him the same look she always did. Said the same thing she always did. He was almost certain there was a note of concern in her voice, but Nox reassured her that the club was in capable hands and that his leaving was in the best interest of all parties. He didn't name names. He didn't need to.
It wasn't the only conversation he had before he left. He stopped by the Church to see Zeke. Talk to the twins before he left for god knew how long. Makenzie could care less. Morgan was sad. But Nox promised to bring home something cool. But it did little to endear him to Makenzie. Little would -- except maybe his death. She'd taken to his lessons well. Hated him even more if her attitude and punches were anything to garner it by, but it was fine. She'd learn. Or she'd die trying to kill him one day. He hoped it wasn't the latter.
Nox sent a message to his contact with the Ascendancy. It was simple.
Leaving Moscow on Atharim mission. Will debrief when I return. Plausible Deniability and all that.
Much like Carmen's response it was the expected simple and short answer.
So Received."
Jacob and Sage set up everything Nox needed for his travels. Sage improved his phone -- again. Nox's land warriors were updated with all of Sage's new toys and the software in his laptop updated too. Sage even inquired about the block he'd had on his phone but Nox gave him a cryptic answer. Jacob had a burner phone that was linked to Nox's now, and he'd send assignments along the way. First one was in London and a safe house location was provided -- No Atharim would be there during the mission -- at least that was the plan.
Only thing Nox had left to do was leave. He was stalling. He wanted to see Raffe one last time, but he didn't as well. It was hard enough as it was. He truly loved him, but he needed to get away -- away from him. Away from his life -- return to the man he was born to be. Find himself. That was why they broke up after all.
Nox sat at his desk, the room completely barren of his belongings, everything was either packed in his back pack or he'd moved it to storage. Kallisti was no longer home -- it hadn't been home for a few weeks now. Now it was just becoming official. They were family -- he'd be back. But he'd not live here again -- this was it. A final good-bye.
He stared at the note he'd written in his neat hand. Aurora had always poked fun at him for his girly hand writing. Seemed parts of his brain always said hey I'm gay even when he was actively trying to forget it.
Nox sighed as reread the note:
Quote:My friend, I need to ask another favor of you. I'm going hunting for the Atharim. I don't know when I'll be back, but I will be back. I need you to take care of Lily for me. The road is no place for a water plant.
I'm leaving my favorite hoodie in your care as well -- proof of concept, a promise you'd believe -- Barring death, I will be back for it -- last thing my mother gave me and all.
I want the best for you -- have a great life.
[[A small hesitation of a mark that could be accidental but was the start of the letter L]] Forever & Always, Nox
Nox scratched out a bit as a single tear fell next to his name and he brushed it away, but the x was already bleeding into the tear leaving a darkened stained. "Fuck!"
He could rewrite it, but he had a train to catch. And he still had to walk there. He folded it and picked up the tattered grey hoodie that was neatly folded next to Lily and her water bowl. He put the bowl on top of his hoodie with the note neatly propped against it and knocked on Raffe's door then walked down the stairs.
He didn't look back. Didn't want to see what happened as he rushed out the door -- rushed to get on with his life if he couldn't get over Raffe.
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| Rebellion's Flame |
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Posted by: Zhenya - 01-25-2024, 03:03 PM - Forum: Past Lives
- No Replies
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![[Image: Rikela-4.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/Rikela-4.jpg)
Rikela Sedai, Blue Ajah
Ottar. Corele. Kaydrienne.
The list burned her mind and her eyes both. Rikela stared beyond the cloudy pane of glass, and counted the seconds she could afford to spend before she must move on. The sea was a blurred hint of colour, streaked by the sunrise above, and the sounds of the docks were muffled from the storeroom. She did not immediately turn when the door opened and closed softly behind her. There was no need; she would recognise the delicate tread of her sister’s footfall anywhere, and in any case Modane was the only one who could safely trespass the wards at the threshold – let alone know how to find this spot in their birth city of Mayene. It had always been a contingency between them, should things ever go awry. Rikela’s head was threaded with them. But Light had she wished never to need this one.
Relief closed her aching eyes, but only for a moment. She could not have been sure the Red would slip her Ajah, not with how quickly and neatly Kekura had closed her traitorous jaws. Her own escape from incarceration had been too close for liking, and she had the wounds to prove it, though the worst of that was currently obscured by the hood casting her face in shadow. There had been no time to find a healer yet. Once she was safe, or safe enough at least, the first thing Rikela had done was search the dream for Daryen. That was another contingency; an agreement Kaydrienne would send another in her stead should the need be urgent, to warn or advise. But of him there had been no sign. An entire day was too long to waste on the hope that he was simply an early riser. It was why she could not afford to linger here.
The seals might be stable still, but the Forsaken only grew stronger.
“If you leave now, you will not be able to return to the Tower while she wears the Stole,” was the first thing she said. They were both Aes Sedai, and even the blood shared between them offered no sentimentality in the moment. But the absence of affection did not mean they were not close. Modane suffered for her loyalty, though she was stubborn enough to withstand it over the years. She had to be. The Red had bloody well married an Asha’man after all. Drekar was outside the door even now, she assumed, guarding his Aes Sedai’s back even as she flirted with betraying the White Tower. Though truthfully, they both knew if she stayed, the Ajah would never trust her.
“It’s okay to grieve, sister. Maybe you should this time.”
“Kamion will show you where to go.” She turned but did not lower the hood. Modane would have at least one friend amongst the Blues, despite her affiliation, and the invitation was open to her if she accepted it now. More than that Rikela could not offer, and not all of her Ajah sisters would be pleased she did even that much for her blood-kin. Rikela had led the Ajah’s Eyes and Ears for years, longer than she’d sat in the Hall, and those who remained loyal to Kaydrienne’s memory would already have fled rather than swear their fealty to Kekura. The schism between Red and Blue would only deepen now their Amyrlin had been murdered in a clandestine meeting of the Hall, and Modane would be eyed with caution despite her long-standing history. Perhaps even outright hostility. The loyal Blues would be expecting Rikela’s lead, and her presence alone would help smooth things, but she had no inclination to the politics and there were others who could manage things well enough. It wasn’t why she had sworn her oaths all those years ago, and Kaydrienne’s legacy would not be upheld suturing the wounds of their Ajah. Too much was riding on Arad Doman.
Modane’s sniff indicated the moment she realised Rikela would not be going with them. The tiny Red did not argue though. Knowing her as well as she did, silence now might not be a good thing, but with the hard part done Rikela finally reached to squeeze her sister’s hand. She leaned to press a kiss to her forehead, much as she used to do when the woman was a child who only knew Rikela as a dream. She nodded to Drekar as she passed him outside.
Soon after, once she was alone once more, Rikela made the gate to Bandar Eban.
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| Gideon Marquis |
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Posted by: Gideon - 01-20-2024, 11:02 PM - Forum: Biographies & Backstory
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Wiki page: here
Origins: Born of Henri Marquis, brother to the founder of Zalya Fashion, and Kyra Mavros, a model and award winning fashion designer. With such beautiful parents it was inevitable Gideon would grow up to thrive in front of the camera. His formative years were spent in France, but he started modelling for Zalya Fashions as a child, and is currently the face of his mother’s high end clothes line. He’s well travelled and jets all across the Custody for both work and pleasure. It’s a lifestyle that suits him well, for he finds it difficult to sit still. And when Gideon has to sit still, it usually coincides with a (completely) coincidental amount of trouble.
These days he's a star in the world of high fashion, perfumery, and luxury beauty. As well as the darling of Zalya, he is a regular face for prestige brands such as Gucci, Luis Vuitton, Hermès, Dior and Chanel, both in campaigns and on the runway. He takes particular delight in avant garde couture, and does not shy away from controversy.
Most of his life is flashed in titillating glimpses across various social media platforms.
Several years ago he discovered he had a half-brother in London. After an impromptu trip he decided not to tell Hayden who he was.
Family: - Henri Marquis and Kyra Mavros (parents)
- Genevre Marquis and Ephraim Haart (aunt and uncle)
- Liam Haart Marquis (cousin)
- Hayden Sebastian (half-brother)
Personality: Gideon has perfected the art of smoulder. He is charming, articulate, and naturally good with people, which usually means he is well liked. He has a flair for winning hearts and minds. The devil is a gentleman after all. Socially his reputation is decidedly rakish, yet he is hard to resist despite it, as attested by several high profile affairs. But he has no intention of settling down, usually cheating or revelling in some other drama when he’s done rather than ending things civilly, because ultimately he loves attention as much as he loves women. Despite his antics, he usually manages to retain a friendship with exes.
Aside from his irresistibility (and humble nature, clearly), what Gideon doesn’t know is not worth knowing. He is a font for interesting gossip, and is happy to speculate, though has been known to embellish the information he passes on…
In fact Gideon’s freneticism usually involves him being entirely too involved in other people’s lives. He loves gossip, rumour, and scandal — and has a keen nose for it. When his attention is caught on something, he’ll dig until he finds answers. The persistence sometimes gets him in trouble, especially as Gideon himself doesn’t always take these things seriously, or acknowledges the way it can wreck lives. His friendship circles are similarly intune. His best friend is Saelia Marveet.
He has a wild streak and can easily get carried away, especially when drink or drugs are involved — in fact he can go from life and soul to the eye of a storm very quickly. Occasionally he is prone to bursts of temper or childish tantrum, usually when he is frustrated or feels thwarted. Fortunately, being both a pandered only child and a super rich one at that, it is rarely the case. He’s not actually used to people saying no.
Beyond that, he is naturally curious and enjoys learning new things, but rarely sees them through before he gets bored or distracted. For the time he is engaged, though, he is hyper-focused. Gideon’s interests are varied and sometimes esoteric.
Appearance: Tall, dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Model's physique.
Gifts: He’s a channeler but yet to spark, power level potential 29. Once rediscovered, he will have a marked talent for Travelling.
Previous Lives: - 2nd Age: Ezra Rashka, historian
- 3rd Age: The Forsaken, Belshazzar, later reborn as Jadis Astarte
- 6th Age: Herald of the Greek Gods, Hermes
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| Hayden Sebastian |
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Posted by: Hayden - 01-19-2024, 01:37 PM - Forum: Biographies & Backstory
- Replies (1)
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age: 27
current location: London, England
occupation: owns a bar in London, Atharim contract cleaner and spy, second son of Sebastian family
personality: Hayden is typically a charming, fun loving, sarcastic guy who is always trying to help people despite the fact that part of his job is to deceive and manipulate. Hayden is apathetic to much of his duties to the Atharim.
description: Hayden is 6'3" with broad shoulders and long legs. He has piercing green eyes and a messy mop of blonde hair he keeps styled in that I just woke up look. He sports a 5'o clock shadow most days rarely shaving completely. He likes to wear comfortable clothes but most of them a high dollar brand names. He cleans up real nice enough that his father is not embarrassed by him.
powers: He knows about the Atharim and their clandestine nature. He doesn't know about monsters necessarily he is usually tasked with cleaning up messes and disposing of corpses and bodies. He is routinely used to find traitors and sus out individuals who have a beef with an individual or the cause of the Atharim.
History
Parents: Gabriel and Amelia
Siblings: Ethan (40), Mia and Ivy (38)
Hayden is the second son and youngest of four children of Gabriel and Amelia. He is currently unattached and owns a bar in London that is also an Atharim safe house.
At the age of 8 Hayden found out he was not his parent's child. But the child of his older 'brother' who got a girl pregnant when he was only 13. She was 19 and the scandal was covered up, the girl paid to keep quiet and Gabriel and Amelia quietly adopted Hayden.
Hayden's biological mother, Kyra Mavros, was sent to Milan, Italy on a modeling contract where she made a name for herself. She is now currently designing her own line of fashion. Hayden has never looked for his biological mother.
With Ethan currently unmarried and without any other children Hayden stands to inherit everything when Ethan passes. This is an ongoing conflict with his sisters Mia and Ivy.
By the age of 13 Hayden was helping his father, Gabriel, when dealing with Atharim in their nearest safe houses. Gabriel quickly realized that Hayden had a knack for getting people to talk to him, to understanding their motivations and their body language with little training. Gabriel pushed Hayden into learning more about psychology, micro-expressions, empathy, and even more esoteric things like astrology and numerology, anything that would allow him to hone his ability to get information from a person willingly.
At age 16 Hayden was interrogating traitors for the Atharim trying to garner who they told and where they might be holed up. And shortly there after Hayden killed his first person. It was completely by accident, as he gave the traitor he was talking too much of the serum they were using to garner truth. It was a hard lessoned learned, but Hayden took up learning alchemy and poison creation as a result of the accident.
Hayden was sent to University in London to hone the skills even further.
During his time in University as an undergrad his father asked him to clean up several messes left by Atharim. Some of it was just talking to survivors and readjusting their stories. Other parts were actual body clean ups. Hayden didn't actually dispose of corpses, but he knew people who did thanks to his father's connections, they just needed a little bit of personal touch that Hayden provided. In one case he had to finish a kill an Atharim flubbed on, Hayden choosing to make it look like an accident fashioned a slow acting poison from peanuts -- the mark was deathly allergic. With one sip of a drink the man was dead within two hours.
After undergrad, at 21, Hayden rebelled against his father's wishes and choose a more unorthodox approach to what his father wanted. He bought a bar and practiced his skills behind the counter tending to his patrons. He continued his education getting his Master's degree while working the bar full time.
Hayden's lives above his bar, Harbor House, on the third floor, the second floor after attempts to rent it out failed, was given to his father as an Atharim safe house -- the only condition Hayden had was there would be no weapons stash or other assets. Purely a place to stay safe and hidden not to restock and refuel. He didn't want people coming and going so frequently that he was constantly restocking the place.
Hayden is 2 years away from reaching his PhD in Psychology.
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| The Uninvited Guest [Unknown | Antarctica] |
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Posted by: Thalia - 01-18-2024, 09:34 PM - Forum: Rest of the world
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Consciousness seeped in slowly. Her hands ached, the tips of her fingers stinging sharp and sore when she twitched them, as though she’d been clawing at rock. Around her the darkness was thick and heavy. Thalia shifted her protective curl of limbs, cautious and afraid. She was bone-dry, not soaked through as she remembered. From the fleeting drift of her thoughts, she realised she must have been sleeping – or unconscious. Who knew for how long or how many times she’d roused before now. Which explained the terrible pain in her hands. She pressed her palms against her face, ran them gingerly over the fluffy curls of her wild hair, like it would somehow settle the feeling that she might float away and disperse into nothing.
“Tristan?”
There wasn’t even an echo, let alone an answer. She swallowed, found her mouth dry and parched as sand. Guilt crushed cold in her chest as she folded in on herself in distress. She recalled light so strong it had hurt. Her grip slipping away, though she tried desperately to hold on. Thalia squeezed her eyes shut, and they burned, but no tears seeped their dry edges. For a while she panicked and acclimated. Alone was nothing new. Strange places, impossible places. Just a normal day, right? In the silence she heard a shifting drag of metal. Something heavy slithered a hair’s breadth away, and it feathered a chill that made her want to jump. Instead she made herself peek into the dark.
When she opened her eyes she did not see what made the noise, but a small red light blossomed like unfurling petals in the shadows. As it drew closer, the Nemesyne’s big eyes stared up at her through its low luminescence. It blinked. Sat.
And hacked a barking cough.
Arms folded around her knees, and feeling quite miserable, Thalia watched as objects pinged against the floor, just outlines and shadows in the red glow. A shard of metal that tickled a memory, a ring, and various other indistinguishable things, one of which bounced right off her bare foot and skittered beyond sight into the dark. She stared back at Neme in confusion, but it only shook itself all the way to a wiggle of its forked tail, and then folded its ears down.
After a moment Thalia shifted to get a better look at what it had dropped, poking first with a sore finger to make sure none of the things were coated in anything gross, and then running a curious examination over the rest. It had stolen the shard the guardian had laid reverently at the side of the pool, she realised (though where it had been keeping it she really had no idea). So filled up with the wonder of what they had witnessed and accomplished in reuniting mother and child, she had not given it a second thought at the time.
My duty is yours, the guardian had said. The last thing she said, before she disappeared with her kin.
“-- NEVER listen to the Nemesyne, big stupid humans. And now we here! Mother will be mad. The Nemesyne is mad!--”
“Where are we now? What happened?” Thalia interrupted, glancing up from the ring she currently twisted between her fingers when she realised, with somewhere between excitement and concern for her own sanity, that words which weren’t really words at all were bouncing around in her skull. Maybe her mind just cracked a little further open. No point imagining a crazy-looking cat if you couldn’t communicate with it when you needed to.
“Home,” it said immediately. Then, “You smell different, sister. You hear different. And you–”
It wasn’t any kind of answer, but it unfurled in Thalia an amazing relief; just that one simple connection, like a touchstone of normal in the void. Or her version of normal at least. The rest of Neme’s words spiralled away unheeded while she processed. Tristan had to be here somewhere, and this had to be just another room in the labyrinth of them. Though when she glanced up with the thought, no stars glittered overhead. There was nothing at all, just the press of the dark. Though her heart was shuddering on the edge of fear, she’d be lying if she didn’t admit it also felt familiar.
“I’m sorry I called you ugly,” she added into the creature’s monologue. The ring in her palm was all swirly, but there was a gem buried within which glistened a matching hue to the winking ruby above the Nemesyne’s eyes. She slipped it on a finger without thinking.
“Knew it was somewhere,” it said in satisfaction. “Just all look the same to the Nemesyne.” It stretched and began pouncing across the shadows, and where it landed it fizzed a little. The objects disappeared, shard included, and Neme licked its lips when it was done. Meanwhile (no point trying to understand what she saw), Thalia took a breath, settled herself, and after a time the gentle glow of power finally came to her call. The last time she’d threaded it into a ball of light had not exactly gone well, but she could barely see her own hand let alone anything else around her. As the fresh light cast, she looked around immediately. The black walls were coiled close, moving gently, and for once Thalia was reticent to touch. Mostly because she didn’t want to lose the hand. Not so far away, a giant eyeball stared back at her unblinking, with one great slit for a pupil almost as tall as she was standing. She could see her own horrified expression in the reflection.
“Give it,” Neme demanded, perhaps repeated a couple of times before Thalia found the sense to respond. It took her a moment to realise it meant the ball of light, and longer to consider that she could literally tie a little knot and actually pass it to the creature. Neme snatched it easily into the curve of its tail and began to trot forward. Since it seemed so unconcerned she decided to follow suit, though as she clumsily pushed to her feet she wondered where it was even going.
“Do you know where Tristan is?”
“She will forgive you, Lethe. But Mother does NOT like uninvited guests.”
Thalia ignored the things she did not understand, including the name not her own. It seemed she was collecting them. “Is that a yes or a no?” She plodded a little after, but couldn’t take her eyes off the enormous coiled body looped all around them. Curiosity soon got the better of her, and she pressed a tentative hand out to touch. A single scale was bigger than her entire hand, and it was warm like heated metal. It flickered half a smile to her lips. She could feel the rise and fall of its breath, slow and steady. The creature made a noise, like a great contented sigh.
“Bad blood,” Neme said. “Punished. Forget the Tristan, done now.”
“Bad blood?”
That captured her attention. She looked over at the cat and its bobbing light, and whatever sense of wonder she’d manage to unearth in their terrifying surroundings drained away. My fate will be worse than the trolls, he’d told her. They’d spoken about blood and prisons; it felt an uncomfortable prescience now, and she thought about how Neme had reacted to Tristan slicing open his palm in that chaotic moment before the study had begun to shake and groan. She hadn’t even understood why he’d done it.
She moved without thinking, filled with a cold sort of urgency. The scaled body around them began to roll and twist, and Thalia ducked under the arch it made with a pat of thanks.
“Hey! No!” the Nemesyne protested. There was a literal yowl as it hopped after her.
“The gods are wrong, Neme,” was all she said. Beyond the giant creature’s embrace, the walls just seemed simple rock. She could feel it uneven underneath her toes, and scraping against her shoulder as she walked. She called Tristan’s names out into the darkness ahead; all of the ones she knew.
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| Experiments [Paragon] |
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Posted by: Visha - 01-18-2024, 02:36 PM - Forum: Hospitals & Research Centers
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[[Continued from Lyaeus]]
She’d been in her bedroom for days.
Her skin was buzzing, and it made her unsafe. Even Ephraim wouldn’t see her when she was like this. Visha lay curled up on her bed, the little owl of the bracelet Seven had given her pressed tight in the hollow of her fist. She ran that wonderful night over and over in her mind, re-lived it a thousand times. She’d promised to see him again, though she had no wallet contact to give him. But even Catch wouldn’t spring her loose when security was locked down this tight.
Her arm still throbbed from all the blood draws. They’d needed that to fix what she’d broken, she knew, but she hated it every time; fought like a desperate animal, and pleaded, and screamed, and begged. To no avail.
Time began to lose all meaning. She didn’t even watch her favourite shows, feeling it a cruel and mocking reminder of how much she wanted to return to the glamour and mystery of Kallisti.
When Ephraim was finally ready to see her, she didn’t know how long it had been. Visha sat up. She was covered from toes to throat, but she folded her limbs tighter around herself. In contrition or sulkiness, it was hard to say. Her alien eyes peeped over the top of her knees, silent. But the news wasn’t good. He explained she was going to be visiting a doctor, and her heart sank to her ankles at the prospect. She didn’t argue, though. Especially when Ephraim used the C word.
Cure.
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![[Image: kas.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/02/kas.jpg)
![[Image: Eithne.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/Eithne.jpg)
![[Image: Malaika-Sedai.webp]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/02/Malaika-Sedai.webp)
