<big>Viktor Lih
</big>
Age: 26
Current residence: Moscow

Occupation: Viktor, or "Vitya" as is his love-name from his parents, is a regular cop, just your run-of-the-mill inspector from CCDPD. He spends his days at the station mostly intercepting transmissions via the micro-bead woven into his uniform, smoking cigarettes, and making that sweet CCD cash.

Vitya doesn't know it yet, but he's joining the domovoi off the books due to an incident in 2046 with monsters that got him noticed. See character history.

Psychological description:

Quiet, modest, restraint. Cool headed under pressure. Admires those who blazed with confidence, power and drive due to his own awkwardness around others. Enjoys a good smoke.

Proud of his work, his place in society; loyal to the CCD. He's interested in, but not quite believes in, strange creatures and loves to read stories.

Physical description:

Hair: white blonde all over, even his eyebrows and eyelashes are so pale they look barely there

Vitya's feline blue gaze is bright, striking even-- but his eyesight is poor in strong light. He often wears sunglasses inside to shield his eyes from the fluorescent lights, much to the consternation of his senior CCDPD officers.

Vitya is pale skinned, lithe and extraordinarily graceful thanks to his years of ballet training. If he didn't join the police force, he could have forged a career as a celebrated dancer.

His refined features are inherited from his Japanese immigrant father. His slenderness and height are from his mother, who worked as an in house fit model for a designer couture house.

Year 2018

Viktor “Vitya” Lih was born to a small, interracial family in the heart of a major port known to the outside world as Sevastopol. Interracial couplings were not uncommon in Lih’s hometown. Consider for a moment, the accessibility and location of the city’s harbors. Its robust economy boosted by foreign trade on the back of the CCD cash. It was a peaceful place, filled with warm summers. Tourists came and spent their credits, often at an unfavorable exchange for CCD credit, at their famed seaside resorts.

Vitya’s father was a trader on a Japanese oil boat who toured all over asia and europe until he settled down here with Vitya's mother, a Russian model turned dancer. It was a summer love which resolved into pregnancy and an unexpectedly happy marriage. They did not have a lot in common except their shared interest in studying archaic lore, texts and histories. When Vitya was young, both his parents would read him bedtime stories of folk legends and mythos from their respective countries.

He was a “half”, mixed genetically and perhaps it was due to this odd recessive gene somewhere Vitya was an albino, colorless except his blue bright eyes and red lips. It was partially due to his unusual looks he was bullied during school. The main reason he’d been bullied was because of his taking ballet at his mother’s insistence.

However, Vitya did not wish to become a dancer.

He moved to Moscow and tested for the CCDPD as soon as he reached the age requirement. It was the only way he knew how to live, to find her.

He remembered when his dream first occurred, then re-occurred from time to time of a Furia. Always the same dream.

Unlike his parents’ stories she was beautiful, not the ugly hag of retribution he'd heard about.

Surrounded by a golden light. It hurt his light-sensitive eyes.

The Furia wore a suit of intricately-worked armor so fine and form-fitting it was dazzling. Beneath the golden plate, she wore a tightly-wound body suit. Her head was covered by a white battle helm. Eyes an impossible green, so fierce and bright Vitya had to look away. She was terrible to look at, her body under its golden armor and clawed gloves incomprehensible to him.

She smiled, looking down at Vitya.

What a terrible smile to behold.

“Let us seek justice and clean this land."

“Yes,” was all he could say. Resentment and vengeance simmered inside him...

When he woke he realized he was weeping, but he didn’t care. Devotion to her kept him true to his sworn duty.

But one day Vitya hoped to find her. He kept looking for signs of her existence. She'd know him.


2046 current day

Vitya rested for five minutes in front of the station, and sat on his own in a doorway, hunched up, hands twitching, smoking a cigarette. There was a taste of bile in his mouth that would not go away, and his eyes kept watering. He was looking for signs of their existence. The monsters. For all the sickness and fear he felt, now more than ever he knew his dream --the only one that mattered-- was right. He just had to be brave enough to look.

“Wha-” Vitya muttered as he got up and crushed the stub underfoot. His unit’s dispatch officer ran up smartly.

“There’s been a disturbance called in at this abandoned nightclub. It’s on your beat, can you go there now?”

Vitya checked his charts. Soric Street was close to the tunnels.

“Clear. Heading for the nightclub on Soric Street, sir.”

The communications officer nodded, and walked back into the station as started speaking quickly into his earpiece as he adjusted the tuning dial. But by then, Vitya was already thumping away down the street toward the underground.

Quick, long strides took Vitya past the city center, through the warrens of its habitats, and into its periphery full of warehouses and seedy clubs. His job was to follow orders and make a good job of it, too. That was a cop’s job. In simple terms. In black and white. That was the duty. And Vitya was nothing if not a slave to duty.

In the dim light of the club, Vitya tripped and fell flat on his face. His pistol bounced away into the shadows. He cursed his stupid self and looked back at what he’d fallen over.

He froze.

He’d tripped over a woman. She was dead, exploded, ripped apart in the club around. Vitya slowly perceived the other bodies in the darkness. Two others, all dead. All women. Dressed as night butterflies, for hire.

“Oh sh-,” he mumbled and reached for his tech wallet. Then he froze again. Above the smell of soot and blood, he could suddenly detect a stink like rancid milk.

He glanced up and saw them slithering toward the bled-out bodies. Though two, they moved sinuously as one. Their eyes no longer human as they sank their human teeth into the female body farthest from him. Feeding on the meat, flesh. Warped.

For a moment, Vitya almost let his camo jacket drop so they could see him. He could kill them while hidden in the shadows. But he knew they would smell him before long. His fear, it was there to keep him on his toes, forcing his stomach to twist. He took a deep breath—the fear deep in his bowels, his gut, his throat.

He’d never believed Rougarou existed. Heard stories, bragging from the other men as they cleaned their kits, but never saw the cannibals for himself. The pair were smartly dressed, and looked like normal people of the functioning society, except the two men were feasting on the dead woman they killed, blood and guts smearing their suits. It was a genuinely terrifying display of speed, hunger and aggression.

Vitya reached for his fallen pistol, but it was too far away. Rolling, he wrenched out his back-up, a long-nose standard issue railgun.

He fired it...
Edited by Lih, Jul 27 2018, 10:32 PM.

All:

It seems that zetaboards and their parent company zathayus, have been acquired by Tapatalk. There will be a migration process to take place soon for our First Age forums. The following are some informational emails I have received about this process for those interested in the nitty gritty of the techy details.

In summary, here are some benefits to the migration to tapatalk:

Some of the benefits of the new platform include:

• <li style="display:none">
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• Revenue Sharing of advertising revenue
  
  
  
• Full mobile support including native iOS/Android App, a
  
• responsive mobile theme as well as AMP support out of the box.
  
  
  
• The option to accept donations for your forum
  
  
  
• The option to Premium memberships to access designated forums
  
  
  
• Single Sign-on support for multi forums.
  
  
  
• Robust GDPR support for European Union visitors.
  
  
  
• Enhanced spam detection and removal.
  
  
  

MV lives! *pokes at it. Unless it’s a ghost? In which case, someone get the salt.

Good to see you!

Most of you know I like making random things with code. The Story So Far being the last one.

I made one for Dragonmount RP a bit back and redid it a month or so ago which you might find fun:

But I decided to play with chat bots in the IRC channel. At present it doesn't do much.

But it does welcome each person randomly. Jaxen made a request to add to the list, so I decided I'd give you the full list here, and if you wanted to add to it, funny, serious or otherwise (just so long as you aren't insulting) I'd love to add

who + ', welcome back!',
who + ', what\'s new?',
'Howdy, ' + who + '!',
'Oh, no! Not ' + who + 'again.'
'Hey there, ' + who + "!",
'What\'s happenin\', ' + who + "?",
'Hi, '+ who +'!',
'Here\'s ' + who + "!",
'Greetings and salutations, '+ who + '!',
'Oh, no! Not ' + who + 'again.'
'Oh, yoohoo, '+ who + '!',
'Aloha, ' + who + "!",
'Hola, ' + who + '!',
'Que Pasa, ' + who + "?",
'Konnichiwa,' + who + '!',
'Namaste, ' + who + '!',
'Oh, no! Not ' + who + 'again.' more.

I did add Jaxen's request multiple times to get it to pop up more often as it's a random number generated to pull which one.

It should show up at some point though i've not pushed it to the live server yet.

I have some plans for Africa as I’m now the evil Egyptian overlord. If anyone would like to write an npc for my campaign down there you are welcome to. Essentially, as of now his take over is relatively unknown, but he’ll soon be reaching out to other Al Janyar leaders, disenfranchised shaman (who are channelers) and others. There are many directions you can take. If you’re interested, please let me know. Also feel free to ask any questions.

Did ori say she’d go with Jaxen to the ball? I don’t remember. I can’t fathom she’d say no... but thought I’d ask.

Ducati MotoGP Fan Pack Giveaway

In conjunction with Ducati Corse and the start of the 2045 MotoGP season, Awesome Motorcycling is proud to announce the Awesome Ducati Giveaway! We’ll be giving away six, yes, that’s right, six Ducati MotoGP Fan Packs that include Ducati swag, pit access, exclusive seats in the Club Ducati Penthouse and of course, free VIP entry into this weekend’s races at Moscow City Circuit.

Come witness the best riders in the world battle it out on two wheels, cheating death at speeds over 400kph!

All you have to do is make a quick share of #TheDucatiWay on Worldbook or imgM1! to earn a chance to watch Factory Ducati MotoGP riders Alex Castori and Nika Raskov put down laps on one of the CCD’s premier indoor race circuits! All lucky winners will additionally be entered into a bonus GRAND PRIZE drawing for a meet and greet with the Factory Ducati riders themselves!

It was the day of the fundraiser and his grandfather was insistent he go. He had to speak to several people while he was there and he was going to make connections with money to help with Jivana's new research lab in Moscow. His grandfather was going to make Cruz's life miserable with all the phone calls.

"Grandfather, I have to go. I have to get dressed."


"Alright son, remember what I've said, and make sure that ... man behaves himself."

Cruz laughed. "Nox will be on his best behavior. Ascendancy will be there."
He hung up the phone before his grandfather could actually comment on it what he'd said. Nox had met the Ascendancy twice... TWICE!

Nox was in his closet staring at the white tie ensemble he was supposed to wear. "You know this is not me right?"


"Just put it on. Sage wants to see you dressed to the nines before we leave."


Nox sighed. "I really wish the two of you would just let things be."


"He likes you. And has for a long time. You just now noticed."


He growled at Cruz and started pulling off clothes. "I noticed. I was ignoring it."


Cruz laughed as he started doing the same. "And now you can't?"


"Neither of you will let me."
Nox sighed and pulled the tux pants on and looked in the mirror at the fit.

"Just kiss him and get it over with."


Nox turned to glare at Cruz which only made him laugh. "It's not the kissing that bothers you."
Nox dropped his gaze and if Cruz didn't know better he thought there might have been a slight blush to his ears, but it wasn't there long. Nox was not shy, Cruz had learned that quickly. Embarrassed about his feelings. Cruz could understand, but not on the level that he knew where Nox was going. Finding out you had repressed part of who you were to make someone else happy had to be hard. His dad would understand. If he were here to talk to.

But he wasn't. They hadn't heard from him in days. The precinct sent cars by to check on him. They've not seen him either. Whatever happened can't be good. Sage was scouring the darknet. He was in hog heaven. Everything was so fast, he was high on information. He only came up when he saw Nox.

No one knew were Dorian Vega was. He completely vanished into thin air. His mother was frantic, Christian was having to do his best to keep her calm and do the work of a household staff. They were going to have to hire more just to keep things running. But Nox said no every time.

Funny thing, though when Nox said no, he also asked how he could help. In the few days he'd been home, he'd taken over the shopping and cooking from Christian as well as any security details he was running. He was doing that anyway and the work was just doubling up.

Life had to go on. But he missed his dad. It was strange, since things started to fall apart with his life - being one of the channelers, finding out his dad worked for a cultish organization that killed his kind had brought him and his dad closer together. Maybe because his father had finally chosen him over everything else. And now he was gone. What the fuck!

Armande and Valeriya had spent longer than expected exploring Gorky Park. His meeting with Theiss had been fairly brief and, as before, he began to make arrangements to farm out the other Khylsty quickly.

But Armande had seen the hunger in Valeriya's eyes as they had come to the park. Things that didn't even impinge on his mind caught her attention. And while she respected they had a mission in coming here and so curbed her enthusiasm, it was clear it was only just barely.

And so after their discussion about the living arrangements of the other Khylsty- another concession on her part, from the look in her eyes- he decided it was more important to give her time to explore. There was no need to hurry at that moment. Indeed, things had worked out fortuituously. The initial news concerning a new Regus being chosen might provoke anger at first. But at second thought, it provided a far better cover under which to act. He had never needed the glory of men. Just to accomplish his will.

Apollyon had no clue he lived. Indeed, the man seemed to be basking in the adulation and worship of the people after his death stroke had been healed- Ahh John of Patmos. You must have had a script. Or an Eye.

The Eye. Valeriya. And so, uncharacteristically, Armande shed the weight of the world for one afternoon. Time would come soon enough. While he could never shut it off- plans churned deep in the background. A trip to Rome. How to handle the new Regus. New strategies for driving wedges between the gods and men. How to unite the people against the these reborn gods. Ways to shatter Brandon's control, to destroy the hold he had over people. And above all, how to kill the false god. While those plans swirled and coalesced and merged, for this afternoon he could just be a man and a beautiful woman strolling through the park.

It barely scratched the surface of the experience of the above. His time below had been relatively short and yet he too felt a new sense of joy at the openness and brightness and vibrancy, the infinite colors and never ending variation of smell and taste and touch and sound. He smiled more than he meant to as they wandered, he letting her lead the way to what she wanted to see, explaining as best possible whenever she asked a question or five, the greatest joy at being able to experience these things vicariously through her.

It was near dusk when they returned to the safe house, the sky painting itself in darker and darker shades of orange and red and purple and blue and black. It was easy to see why ancient peoples worshipped the dawn and the dusk, the infinitely graduated transition of one clear finite state to another a beautiful but necessary state.

She seemed spent from the experience and so they passed a peaceful and content night in each other's arms. The next day, the mantle would be shouldered.

And it was. Theiss was fast. It would take time to coordinate everything, but he had gotten things started. Valeriya took the lead with the Khlysty, matching groups, going over what was needed, tending to her flock. She knew them better than he could, knew which people could be together and which couldn't. Matvei had been neutralized for the moment, but ambition rarely died.

Armande poured over the news feeds, learning as much as possible about what was going on. Numerous things had happened, and it would take time to determine which would be the most useful.

Of greatest news, aside from Apollyon's healing, was the American delegation. Of course both countries had embassies. But this was meetings with Brandon himself. The man was no fool, Armande knew. He was honest enough to admit that in many ways the man was as skilled and talented as he was.

He had an angle and it involved the Americans. While American politics was only something he followed peripherally, he knew enough to see the country was severely divided. It had been that way since he was a teenager. The fact it hadn't broken off into various countries was something of a mystery. The American Constitution was evidently a powerful adhesive. But nothing lasts forever. The cracks had been there for decades, only getting wider and wider with each administration, each blow to American pride and power as the ASU and then CCD grew.

If he were Brandon, he would be trying to widen them even more. How this delegation fit in, he didn't know, but he would look into the reports of Atharim eyes and ears to find out.

The Consulate on Channeling had concerned him. He recognized the Consul. He had been in the room with Apollyon during the attack, broken and dying. Armande smiled, realizing that very likely a god power had been used on both of them. And true to his guess, it wasn't long before he saw the Patheos event, the footage unmistakable. Not God. Not divine will. Just a trick to fool the masses. More use of the power. That was a useful fact to keep in mind.

This Consulate concerned him though. Normalization of....channeling, they called it, was the wrong course. People needed to fear it. They needed to see the danger it posed. Patheos showed the potential was there. The riots around the square showed it. The numerous cases of people being singled out- kicked out of homes- because they were different, just suspected of the power, was proof. They were out there. He just needed to stoke the fire.

Africa might be useful. There were rumors near Egypt that might be gods. And al Janyar had been growing as well, especially in the Horn of Africa. Rumor, but every bit helped.

Still, it wouldn't be enough. It needed to be at the heart of the Empire. Another Andlain, perhaps. That could work. But he couldn't actually find one and control him. Still, the idea was interesting.

And the Ball. Armande's mouth turned down in disgust. He could think of many crude terms from his youth that would describe what this would be. In polite terms, it was nothing but a love fest for Apollyon. They paid millions of dollars just to be awed by his power, to worship him. The very concept made him want to vomit.

Every person of influence and power would be there. And there Apollyon would be, the god walking among men.

It was he, the Regus, the Vicar of Iscariot, who must do what must be done. Expose him as a fake.

Disgust drove him. A cruel smile appeared on his face. He pulled out the pocked silver scroll that he had carefully stowed in his bags all that time ago, before his descent into Hades, and unrolled it. He had only perused it the first time, paying primary attention to the missive at the beginning.

Now it was time to study more deeply. The key was in there.


Edited by Regus, Apr 14 2018, 07:35 PM.

A twinge of excitement built in his gut. The fuzzy void of the future was coalescing into a sharp focus that all began tonight. Everything was prepared. The Kremlin was a fortress of security. None would enter the grounds that had not yet been pre-screened and approved by Custody Intelligence. Channelers were embedded within those he trusted. The Nine would certainly be in the forefront of those. The most public of their defenses would be scattered among the guests: black slivers of darkness. Michael and Marcus on their own were formidable in their own rights.

Sergeant Detective Ivan Sarkozy was to be present. Although he would be attired as a guest rather than in uniform, as would Chief Inspector Drayson McCullough. Jensen James was required to be present, also as a guest. Yet together, the two channelers would serve as eyes and ears among the guests and form a sort of last defense should the more public channelers be taken by surprise and all other safe-guards fail.

Not that those safe-guards were not mighty barriers on their own. Between the activity in custody intelligence prepping the guest lists, surveying the area repeatedly, and monitoring any hint of suspicious activity with the physical might of Kremlin Police, Danjou's men, and Nik's personal Barrier Preator agents - Agent Ranier being his very last ace in his pocket - the Grand Palace was either going to be the most impenetrable, safest place in the world tonight... or it was going to be the world's most volatile powder-keg.

With Regus dead and gone, the Atharim was little threat and no match against the thinnest of these safety measures. His guests would be safe tonight. They used the Ascendancy to their ends, now it was time he used them for his.

As fitting with the grandeur of such a night, strict codes of attire and propriety were required. He wasn't fond of white tie, preferring a simpler, although elegant, black suit to anything else. But the opulence was a show he tolerated.

He slipped the elegant evening tailcoat on. The cloth lay across his shoulders like a layer of warm air settling on his skin. Nikolai was of average height, but he had the shoulders and waist of a swimmer. The long, sweeping back of the coat only accentuated and elongated his body. The high-waist of black was designed to perfect the male shape into the living image of some statuesque god - a tradition that dated back centuries in the western world.

Last, threads of the power retrieved the newly reformed Arcus Band. He put it to his temple. Headdresses were typically unorthodox for such occasions. Diadems and tiaras were worn by the women, certainly, but he would be the only male. Of course, this was no diadem. It was a crown, in the less literal fashion, but still a crown.

Then the threads transformed into something far more interesting. He discovered this flow months ago, only to have perfected it now. Darkness rose from the floor and the last Nik saw of himself in the mirror was a dark smile.

***

Guests were to be greeted by staff who will take their overcoats or similar items. A brief search was to be conducted of purses, but a simple, yet nearly hidden scanner, would be passed before fully entering the grand palace.

Upon entrance to the ball-proper, a palace of luxury, opulence and wealth rose up to meet them. Everything from the flowers to the glitter of gold was the best the world had to offer. Gold and marble shone like the sun. Even the flowers seemed alive.

The largest of the palace halls was arranged with two long-tables for the dinner service that would begin later in the evening. Name-places were assigned alternating with the men and women. For now, the social hour began in the adjacent ballroom with hors d'ourves, champagne and other drinks circulated by staffers in elegant attire more formal than the normal person's wedding-best.

But all eyes were drawn to the front of the ballroom. Drawn to a billowing black cloud. It churned slowly on the currents of air permeating the room, but did not dissipate. Some brave souls tried to scoop a bit of the seeming-mist into the palms of their hands, only to find the darkness unwilling to be captured so easily. None could explain it, but many an eye was lit with the promise of excitement to come from the night ahead.