<![CDATA[The First Age - Place of Enlightenment]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/ Sat, 02 May 2026 11:08:13 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Dead Weight (Pestovo Country Club)]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1976.html Thu, 16 Apr 2026 02:04:37 +0000 Alistair Bishop]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1976.html
In Columbus, quiet meant something had gone wrong. Quiet was the moment before the door came in, or the bar went dark, or the ref stopped counting. Quiet was something you filled fast, before it filled you.

He'd been given the membership card three weeks ago. Nadya had slid it across the table like it was nothing, "Mr. Petrovich says you work too hard for what you eat," and gone back to her wine. He hadn't used it until now.

The attendant at the front desk said nothing about the bruising along his jaw. Moscow had trained its people not to comment on that kind of thing. She checked his membership card, confirmed his appointment, and pointed him toward the changing rooms.

The changing room smelled like cedar and eucalyptus. His clothes came off in pieces, each article a record of the last seventy-two hours. He peeled back his shirt and dropped it on the bench without looking at it. The mirror on the wall was unavoidable. He gave himself a few seconds the way he always did before a fight, a quick inventory, nothing sentimental. The bruise along his left side had deepened to dark plum, spreading from under his arm toward his hip where the chain had caught him. His knuckles were scabbed, the right hand worse than the left. His jaw carried a yellowish shadow just below the cheekbone, old enough now to be fading. The rest of him looked the way it always looked: the kind of body that had been through too much to carry any softness. His shoulders and chest were thick from years of grappling, his arms ropy with the kind of muscle that came from use rather than a gym mirror. His stomach was flat and hard, every line of him pulled tight, skin sitting close to the muscle beneath it. The bruises and the scars sat on top of all of it like decoration, like proof. It was armor, was what it was. The kind you couldn't take off. He looked like a man nothing could touch. He looked, if you didn't know any better, like a man who had never been afraid of anything in his life.

Still alive. That has to count for something.

The massage room was private, warm, low-lit. Amber. The kind of silence that cost money. He stretched out face-down on the table, naked save for the towel draped low across his hips, forehead in the cradle, arms loose, jaw unclenched. The leather was warm beneath his chest and stomach. He could feel his own heartbeat against it.

She knocked before entering. He noted that. She gave her name and he gave his and that was the end of conversation.

She was young, dark-haired, with the kind of quiet that wasn't shyness. She moved through the room like she owned the square footage, unhurried, setting her oil on the side table and folding the towel down to the small of his back before settling at the foot of the table. Her eyes made one unhurried pass over him before she began. Professional. But not indifferent.]]>
In Columbus, quiet meant something had gone wrong. Quiet was the moment before the door came in, or the bar went dark, or the ref stopped counting. Quiet was something you filled fast, before it filled you.

He'd been given the membership card three weeks ago. Nadya had slid it across the table like it was nothing, "Mr. Petrovich says you work too hard for what you eat," and gone back to her wine. He hadn't used it until now.

The attendant at the front desk said nothing about the bruising along his jaw. Moscow had trained its people not to comment on that kind of thing. She checked his membership card, confirmed his appointment, and pointed him toward the changing rooms.

The changing room smelled like cedar and eucalyptus. His clothes came off in pieces, each article a record of the last seventy-two hours. He peeled back his shirt and dropped it on the bench without looking at it. The mirror on the wall was unavoidable. He gave himself a few seconds the way he always did before a fight, a quick inventory, nothing sentimental. The bruise along his left side had deepened to dark plum, spreading from under his arm toward his hip where the chain had caught him. His knuckles were scabbed, the right hand worse than the left. His jaw carried a yellowish shadow just below the cheekbone, old enough now to be fading. The rest of him looked the way it always looked: the kind of body that had been through too much to carry any softness. His shoulders and chest were thick from years of grappling, his arms ropy with the kind of muscle that came from use rather than a gym mirror. His stomach was flat and hard, every line of him pulled tight, skin sitting close to the muscle beneath it. The bruises and the scars sat on top of all of it like decoration, like proof. It was armor, was what it was. The kind you couldn't take off. He looked like a man nothing could touch. He looked, if you didn't know any better, like a man who had never been afraid of anything in his life.

Still alive. That has to count for something.

The massage room was private, warm, low-lit. Amber. The kind of silence that cost money. He stretched out face-down on the table, naked save for the towel draped low across his hips, forehead in the cradle, arms loose, jaw unclenched. The leather was warm beneath his chest and stomach. He could feel his own heartbeat against it.

She knocked before entering. He noted that. She gave her name and he gave his and that was the end of conversation.

She was young, dark-haired, with the kind of quiet that wasn't shyness. She moved through the room like she owned the square footage, unhurried, setting her oil on the side table and folding the towel down to the small of his back before settling at the foot of the table. Her eyes made one unhurried pass over him before she began. Professional. But not indifferent.]]> <![CDATA[A Late Dinner]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1933.html Sun, 14 Dec 2025 22:42:20 +0000 Claude Saint-Clair]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1933.html text he sent to Nora earlier. She had been working on infiltrating the Brotherhood of the Ascendant Flame. Claude knew she was nervous about it and she could be fairly easy to read. He wanted to check in and make sure she was alright. It was hard to tell from her message if she was being serious, but he would trust her at her word. He really hoped she was okay. It was her first job in the field. 

Claude had to to chuckle a bit at her asking if he was at the safe house that they called home for the time being. He wasn't nearly so adventurous as she was, and it was hard for him to go out when she was out.  He was sure eventually he would relax more. He let her know that he was and asked if she was hungry. It didn't surprise him that she was. She had likely been too focused to eat. He had planned on it and prepared for it. There were chicken breasts marinating in the fridge already and had already chopped some vegetables to saute. 

Claude began to cook as soon as he got her response and let her know to plan on a hot meal when she returned.  Her response made him laugh too. Haha! I figured you didn't eat much today. Good thing you have a little brother that plans ahead Big Grin

The chicken breasts were soaking in a lemon pepper marinade and he had preheated the oven as soon as she had responded. He had a snack to hold himself over and could eat as well. Thankfully the oven had finished it's preheat shortly after he started sauteing the vegetables. It gave the small apartment a great aroma as he worked. Hopefully the travel through the city would slow her down enough for him to finish before she got back. If she got back a little later, she would understand if she had to wait for a little bit, but he'd rather have it ready when she got here, but still hot.

The food finished and he just finished separating the food onto two plates as the door opened and Nora entered. He gave her a smile and placed the two plates on the counter. "Welcome back. Perfect timing," he said with a smile. Claude gestured for her to sit and got the appropriate cutlery which he handed brought to her. "Water, juice, soda, something stronger?" he asked, offering a beverage with her meal.]]> text he sent to Nora earlier. She had been working on infiltrating the Brotherhood of the Ascendant Flame. Claude knew she was nervous about it and she could be fairly easy to read. He wanted to check in and make sure she was alright. It was hard to tell from her message if she was being serious, but he would trust her at her word. He really hoped she was okay. It was her first job in the field. 

Claude had to to chuckle a bit at her asking if he was at the safe house that they called home for the time being. He wasn't nearly so adventurous as she was, and it was hard for him to go out when she was out.  He was sure eventually he would relax more. He let her know that he was and asked if she was hungry. It didn't surprise him that she was. She had likely been too focused to eat. He had planned on it and prepared for it. There were chicken breasts marinating in the fridge already and had already chopped some vegetables to saute. 

Claude began to cook as soon as he got her response and let her know to plan on a hot meal when she returned.  Her response made him laugh too. Haha! I figured you didn't eat much today. Good thing you have a little brother that plans ahead Big Grin

The chicken breasts were soaking in a lemon pepper marinade and he had preheated the oven as soon as she had responded. He had a snack to hold himself over and could eat as well. Thankfully the oven had finished it's preheat shortly after he started sauteing the vegetables. It gave the small apartment a great aroma as he worked. Hopefully the travel through the city would slow her down enough for him to finish before she got back. If she got back a little later, she would understand if she had to wait for a little bit, but he'd rather have it ready when she got here, but still hot.

The food finished and he just finished separating the food onto two plates as the door opened and Nora entered. He gave her a smile and placed the two plates on the counter. "Welcome back. Perfect timing," he said with a smile. Claude gestured for her to sit and got the appropriate cutlery which he handed brought to her. "Water, juice, soda, something stronger?" he asked, offering a beverage with her meal.]]> <![CDATA[Making Plans (Artskaf)]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1901.html Thu, 23 Oct 2025 12:36:45 +0000 Lore]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1901.html
Unperturbed, Lore turned her free time to her own endeavours. In the coming days she had a meeting with Ana Vega, though it was only out of courtesy given she was in the city. She had no desire to interfere with how they would run Second Chances here, but she was eager to hear what wonderful things they had planned – to see the business really spread its wings and thrive. Similarly she had a meeting arranged with Ephraim Haart to discuss the IP she had sold on from Cyberpoint. From the portfolio she had perused, it was an exciting opportunity.

Beyond that she was busy filing and making notes on potential contacts - that was the way her mind truly flourished and started making connections. The Vasiliev’s masquerade had provided some networking openings, though mostly Lore had simply observed the glamour around her. She hadn’t even danced. A table in the cosiest coffee shop on the street alongside the company of her spreadsheets was much more her speed though. She much preferred to be prepared for speaking to people.]]>
Unperturbed, Lore turned her free time to her own endeavours. In the coming days she had a meeting with Ana Vega, though it was only out of courtesy given she was in the city. She had no desire to interfere with how they would run Second Chances here, but she was eager to hear what wonderful things they had planned – to see the business really spread its wings and thrive. Similarly she had a meeting arranged with Ephraim Haart to discuss the IP she had sold on from Cyberpoint. From the portfolio she had perused, it was an exciting opportunity.

Beyond that she was busy filing and making notes on potential contacts - that was the way her mind truly flourished and started making connections. The Vasiliev’s masquerade had provided some networking openings, though mostly Lore had simply observed the glamour around her. She hadn’t even danced. A table in the cosiest coffee shop on the street alongside the company of her spreadsheets was much more her speed though. She much preferred to be prepared for speaking to people.]]> <![CDATA[Finding Durante]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1884.html Thu, 16 Oct 2025 16:13:25 +0000 Claude Saint-Clair]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1884.html
He started at the safe house, looking up Kallisti. Social media posts showed that it was obvious god powers were at work there. Still he’d rather go there than Almaz - but both made him uncomfortable. It wasn’t the violence or sex that did it. Well - maybe the sex did, but violence didn’t bother Claude. Useless violence did. So he made the decision to start there. He doubted going to the club and asking for him would do much good even though it was an option should he find no others. 

So now he looked through their databases, seeing Kallisti come up as well. It was listed as a dangerous location as well. Durante was probably protecting it somehow. He wanted to avoid looking up Nox directly. It was likely to be flagged and he’d rather avoid that, but he was finding nothing. He had to look at his file. That was the only option now. He hated being backed into a corner. He pulled up Durante’s file. The man lived in the Red Light District. Like Kallisti, the district was flagged as dangerous. A couple failed attempts at capture/elimination were listed. He began to scroll to see if anything relevant would pop up. If the file was flagged by fellow Atharim, he could say he was possibly looking in to pursuing him. He’d rather not have that conversation though.

((continued here))]]>
He started at the safe house, looking up Kallisti. Social media posts showed that it was obvious god powers were at work there. Still he’d rather go there than Almaz - but both made him uncomfortable. It wasn’t the violence or sex that did it. Well - maybe the sex did, but violence didn’t bother Claude. Useless violence did. So he made the decision to start there. He doubted going to the club and asking for him would do much good even though it was an option should he find no others. 

So now he looked through their databases, seeing Kallisti come up as well. It was listed as a dangerous location as well. Durante was probably protecting it somehow. He wanted to avoid looking up Nox directly. It was likely to be flagged and he’d rather avoid that, but he was finding nothing. He had to look at his file. That was the only option now. He hated being backed into a corner. He pulled up Durante’s file. The man lived in the Red Light District. Like Kallisti, the district was flagged as dangerous. A couple failed attempts at capture/elimination were listed. He began to scroll to see if anything relevant would pop up. If the file was flagged by fellow Atharim, he could say he was possibly looking in to pursuing him. He’d rather not have that conversation though.

((continued here))]]> <![CDATA[Worries [Artskaf]]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1875.html Sun, 21 Sep 2025 00:45:57 +0000 Cadence]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1875.html
But the energy was coming down.  Cadence knew what this meant. She would crash.  Sometimes it was depression, other times it was anger or just the feeling of not wanting to do anything. What had surprised her though was that she hadn’t wanted to stay in as she usually did.  She didn’t want to hide in her house. She wanted to be out. So she googled places to go and found this cafe with paintings on the wall. Cadence read the name of the artist: Thalia Milton. Cadence wasn’t a visual artist, but she had a great appreciation for it.  Some for for sale - maybe she’d take one home. She ordered her beverage, a cortado, and noticed how the barista gave her a second glance. Cadence just smiled and sat down underneath one of the paintings and began to think. There was a lot on her mind and a lot she was worried about. 

For one there was Nox. She hadn’t gotten a chance to meet him because she had felt a strong need to help the girl Marta, but she already admired him.  What he was doing for those kids was nothing short of amazing. She had finally met with Emily Shale about her orphan project, and Nox was involved there too. Cadence had made a sizable donation, but kept it anonymous. She grew up frugally, but music had made her wealthy. She had way too much so she gave a lot to charity.  She believed in that mission though, but the way he had changed had been on her mind. She hoped he was okay. It seemed like he had a lot of people who cared for him.  

On the other hand there were her parents. Things were very unstable in the United States and she was worried about them. They’d be arriving for Christmas soon. Maybe she could convince them to stay. Cadence just didn’t like them being there with everything going on.

Then there were the normal stressors which at this point was her album. Recording for the new project had been going extremely well though. The momentum had built with Ezvin’s guidance and had just stayed. She had the vision and they were seeing it happen. It had been an amazing experience. 

Her thoughts went to Ezvin and in a way she was surprised he wasn’t among her worries.  She liked him more than she had really liked anyone before. But he had told her early on that he wasn’t good at the long game. Maybe that’s why she was content with where they were currently. She still couldn’t believe she had invited him over. Perhaps she was growing a bit. 

Cadence sipped at her drink and looked around, gauging the other art. It really was a lovely place. Cadence pulled out her wallet and began to look through her contacts. Maybe she could ask someone to come and talk or something.  She didn’t really want to be alone right now, but also didn’t want to bother. Casey would come in a heartbeat. Cadence put her wallet back down and wrapped her hands around the warm cup holding her beverage.  She closed her eyes end breathed in the steam, trying to relax.]]>
But the energy was coming down.  Cadence knew what this meant. She would crash.  Sometimes it was depression, other times it was anger or just the feeling of not wanting to do anything. What had surprised her though was that she hadn’t wanted to stay in as she usually did.  She didn’t want to hide in her house. She wanted to be out. So she googled places to go and found this cafe with paintings on the wall. Cadence read the name of the artist: Thalia Milton. Cadence wasn’t a visual artist, but she had a great appreciation for it.  Some for for sale - maybe she’d take one home. She ordered her beverage, a cortado, and noticed how the barista gave her a second glance. Cadence just smiled and sat down underneath one of the paintings and began to think. There was a lot on her mind and a lot she was worried about. 

For one there was Nox. She hadn’t gotten a chance to meet him because she had felt a strong need to help the girl Marta, but she already admired him.  What he was doing for those kids was nothing short of amazing. She had finally met with Emily Shale about her orphan project, and Nox was involved there too. Cadence had made a sizable donation, but kept it anonymous. She grew up frugally, but music had made her wealthy. She had way too much so she gave a lot to charity.  She believed in that mission though, but the way he had changed had been on her mind. She hoped he was okay. It seemed like he had a lot of people who cared for him.  

On the other hand there were her parents. Things were very unstable in the United States and she was worried about them. They’d be arriving for Christmas soon. Maybe she could convince them to stay. Cadence just didn’t like them being there with everything going on.

Then there were the normal stressors which at this point was her album. Recording for the new project had been going extremely well though. The momentum had built with Ezvin’s guidance and had just stayed. She had the vision and they were seeing it happen. It had been an amazing experience. 

Her thoughts went to Ezvin and in a way she was surprised he wasn’t among her worries.  She liked him more than she had really liked anyone before. But he had told her early on that he wasn’t good at the long game. Maybe that’s why she was content with where they were currently. She still couldn’t believe she had invited him over. Perhaps she was growing a bit. 

Cadence sipped at her drink and looked around, gauging the other art. It really was a lovely place. Cadence pulled out her wallet and began to look through her contacts. Maybe she could ask someone to come and talk or something.  She didn’t really want to be alone right now, but also didn’t want to bother. Casey would come in a heartbeat. Cadence put her wallet back down and wrapped her hands around the warm cup holding her beverage.  She closed her eyes end breathed in the steam, trying to relax.]]> <![CDATA[Digging for answers]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1842.html Sat, 24 May 2025 17:48:23 +0000 Nora Saint-Clair]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1842.html
But she had no other choice. The only way she could do her proper research was directly on the Atharim’s servers, with database access to Vatican digital archives. She brought Claude here a few days after his arrival. Being Saint-Clair’s he had no issue with admittance, and after a short tour of the newly finished Baccarat building, they were buried in the database room, and she was quietly showing him her findings.

She stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, brows drawn together like she was daring the data to contradict her.
“This isn’t some mood-swing death spiral, okay?” she said, her voice firm, practiced, and maybe a little defensive. “I’ve been digging through the Vatican scans, translation records, all the flagged anomalies from the last decade. Everything they don’t publish but still track.”

She clicked something on the laptop and the screen split, showing a dozen digital entries, each tagged with variations of the same phrase: uncontrolled divine surge, fatality suspected. She didn’t look at Claude, but she knew he was there. Close enough to hear, close enough to catch her if her voice cracked. It didn’t.

“They’ve been cataloguing godmarked individuals since before the term even existed. No one talks about it in the open, but the data’s there. Every time one of … ahem… someone appears. Every time a god touches their powers, something follows. Something irreversible.”

She stepped aside, letting him look if he wanted. She didn’t wait to see if he did.

“The powers always escalate. Slowly at first. But no one fades out. No one stays the same. They either go dormant and self-destruct,” she pointed to one case file, “or they snap. Violently.”

She exhaled through her nose and pulled up another tab. A scan of an old illuminated manuscript, faded Latin text with annotations in three languages.

“I did a reverse search on godmarkings, abrupt endings, and cataclysms.. that sort of thing to try and understand whether it’s reversible. Can you prevent a god from … well, becoming what’s inevitable. I found this, and I can’t for the life of me figure it out, but it definitely doesn’t look promising.”[/color]

She enlarged the image. A hand-drawn wheel, stylized like a sunburst, formed the centerpiece. Around it were smaller glyphs—constellations, or possibly seals. At the center: a broken sword embedded in an open eye.

“It showed up in four different texts across three centuries. All referring to the gods. All ending in some kind of cataclysm.” She ran her fingers through her hair, letting her hand linger at the back of her neck where she squeezed the tense muscles. Her voice dropped lower, not quite a whisper but something conspiratorial, wary. She was looking for answers about herself. Can she suppress her power? Can she change herself? Did this mean she should avoid having children? It’s not that she wanted them now, but someday, she figured she would.

“I asked another Atharim scholar for their opinion. He said it’s tied to something called the Unseen Pattern. Supposedly a prophecy, but it’s written in what is called 'preconceptional language’… a kind of thought-form language. There’s no Rosetta Stone for it. Even AI doesn’t have a good interpretation.”

She paused, then glanced at Claude for the first time since she’d started speaking. Her expression wasn’t confident anymore. It was measured. Cautious.

“I’ve read every commentary I can access. None of them agree on what it means. But I swear it feels familiar. Like I’ve seen it before. Maybe in a dream, or…”

She trailed off, then gave a small shrug, forcing the moment back under control. She was no prophet. She next showed him the list of commentaries, some going back two-thousand years of scholars giving their opinions. “Look, I know it’s a long shot, but you’ve always been better with puzzles than I am. This one’s chewing a hole through my brain.”

She crossed back to the laptop and tapped a few keys, bringing the image into sharper resolution.

“I hate these damn prophecies. Do you see anything in it I don’t?”




Link to research information on Nora's wiki: Scroll to Nora's Research section. ]]>
But she had no other choice. The only way she could do her proper research was directly on the Atharim’s servers, with database access to Vatican digital archives. She brought Claude here a few days after his arrival. Being Saint-Clair’s he had no issue with admittance, and after a short tour of the newly finished Baccarat building, they were buried in the database room, and she was quietly showing him her findings.

She stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, brows drawn together like she was daring the data to contradict her.
“This isn’t some mood-swing death spiral, okay?” she said, her voice firm, practiced, and maybe a little defensive. “I’ve been digging through the Vatican scans, translation records, all the flagged anomalies from the last decade. Everything they don’t publish but still track.”

She clicked something on the laptop and the screen split, showing a dozen digital entries, each tagged with variations of the same phrase: uncontrolled divine surge, fatality suspected. She didn’t look at Claude, but she knew he was there. Close enough to hear, close enough to catch her if her voice cracked. It didn’t.

“They’ve been cataloguing godmarked individuals since before the term even existed. No one talks about it in the open, but the data’s there. Every time one of … ahem… someone appears. Every time a god touches their powers, something follows. Something irreversible.”

She stepped aside, letting him look if he wanted. She didn’t wait to see if he did.

“The powers always escalate. Slowly at first. But no one fades out. No one stays the same. They either go dormant and self-destruct,” she pointed to one case file, “or they snap. Violently.”

She exhaled through her nose and pulled up another tab. A scan of an old illuminated manuscript, faded Latin text with annotations in three languages.

“I did a reverse search on godmarkings, abrupt endings, and cataclysms.. that sort of thing to try and understand whether it’s reversible. Can you prevent a god from … well, becoming what’s inevitable. I found this, and I can’t for the life of me figure it out, but it definitely doesn’t look promising.”[/color]

She enlarged the image. A hand-drawn wheel, stylized like a sunburst, formed the centerpiece. Around it were smaller glyphs—constellations, or possibly seals. At the center: a broken sword embedded in an open eye.

“It showed up in four different texts across three centuries. All referring to the gods. All ending in some kind of cataclysm.” She ran her fingers through her hair, letting her hand linger at the back of her neck where she squeezed the tense muscles. Her voice dropped lower, not quite a whisper but something conspiratorial, wary. She was looking for answers about herself. Can she suppress her power? Can she change herself? Did this mean she should avoid having children? It’s not that she wanted them now, but someday, she figured she would.

“I asked another Atharim scholar for their opinion. He said it’s tied to something called the Unseen Pattern. Supposedly a prophecy, but it’s written in what is called 'preconceptional language’… a kind of thought-form language. There’s no Rosetta Stone for it. Even AI doesn’t have a good interpretation.”

She paused, then glanced at Claude for the first time since she’d started speaking. Her expression wasn’t confident anymore. It was measured. Cautious.

“I’ve read every commentary I can access. None of them agree on what it means. But I swear it feels familiar. Like I’ve seen it before. Maybe in a dream, or…”

She trailed off, then gave a small shrug, forcing the moment back under control. She was no prophet. She next showed him the list of commentaries, some going back two-thousand years of scholars giving their opinions. “Look, I know it’s a long shot, but you’ve always been better with puzzles than I am. This one’s chewing a hole through my brain.”

She crossed back to the laptop and tapped a few keys, bringing the image into sharper resolution.

“I hate these damn prophecies. Do you see anything in it I don’t?”




Link to research information on Nora's wiki: Scroll to Nora's Research section. ]]> <![CDATA[The Nest]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1835.html Fri, 25 Apr 2025 00:03:00 +0000 Ezvin Marveet]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1835.html
Ezvin arrived early.

Wrapped in a navy wool coat that flared a little too dramatically when he walked, a knit scarf the color of sea foam, and a pair of well-worn boots with snow-crusted toes, he stood outside the tucked-away address he'd texted Cadence the night before. He kept shifting from heel to toe to keep warm, breath ghosting out in soft white clouds, a paper bag clutched in one hand, and a thermos of something steaming in the other.

Just a small courtyard tucked between buildings, connected by a discreet iron arch with snow and a mosaic tile by the entrance that read Гнездо in chipped cobalt: The Nest.

He held a paper bag in one hand — still warm — and a thermos in the other. Inside the bag: pirozhki, filled with cabbage and mushroom, picked up from a bakery with an old Muscovite menu and the world’s grumpiest cashier. He’d timed it perfectly. The filling would still be hot.

The Nest wasn’t on any curated “Hidden Art Spots of Moscow” list. It wasn’t curated, period. It was an artist’s co-op, gallery, studio, café, and half-functional chaos engine all rolled into one. A living thing.

Inside, it sprawled. A labyrinth of rooms and stairwells, each one painted in a different color scheme by whoever had last claimed it. No two walls matched. One room was filled with floor-to-ceiling zines and old typewriters where visitors wrote confessions or left behind single lines of poetry. Another had a community canvas where strangers added swipes of paint, quotes, or tiny portraits in the margins. There were sculptors working in clay near the back. Musicians sometimes played in the stairwells just for the acoustics. A woman named Alisa ran a coffee counter out of what might have once been a supply closet. There was a sculpture garden in the back. 'Garden' being generous, considering everything was frozen and lightly dusted with snow, but Ezvin liked it anyway. The pieces weren’t for sale or marketable. They were unfinished, sometimes literally: half-chiseled torsos, twisted wire, a few broken limbs from a former installation now resting like sacred ruins in the white drift.

The Nest smelled like old books, varnish, espresso, and fresh snow melting off boots.

Ezvin could’ve taken her anywhere. Jazz bars. Wine tastings. Rooftop restaurants with carefully curated lighting. But that wasn’t what this was. Not with Cadence. She didn’t need the polish. She needed somewhere that was allowed to be unfinished. A work in progress. A future untold.

So when she arrived, he didn’t say much. Just handed her the thermos and the paper bag with a simple “Good morning. I've never been so excited for aimless wandering.” He smiled then he gestured her inside.]]>
Ezvin arrived early.

Wrapped in a navy wool coat that flared a little too dramatically when he walked, a knit scarf the color of sea foam, and a pair of well-worn boots with snow-crusted toes, he stood outside the tucked-away address he'd texted Cadence the night before. He kept shifting from heel to toe to keep warm, breath ghosting out in soft white clouds, a paper bag clutched in one hand, and a thermos of something steaming in the other.

Just a small courtyard tucked between buildings, connected by a discreet iron arch with snow and a mosaic tile by the entrance that read Гнездо in chipped cobalt: The Nest.

He held a paper bag in one hand — still warm — and a thermos in the other. Inside the bag: pirozhki, filled with cabbage and mushroom, picked up from a bakery with an old Muscovite menu and the world’s grumpiest cashier. He’d timed it perfectly. The filling would still be hot.

The Nest wasn’t on any curated “Hidden Art Spots of Moscow” list. It wasn’t curated, period. It was an artist’s co-op, gallery, studio, café, and half-functional chaos engine all rolled into one. A living thing.

Inside, it sprawled. A labyrinth of rooms and stairwells, each one painted in a different color scheme by whoever had last claimed it. No two walls matched. One room was filled with floor-to-ceiling zines and old typewriters where visitors wrote confessions or left behind single lines of poetry. Another had a community canvas where strangers added swipes of paint, quotes, or tiny portraits in the margins. There were sculptors working in clay near the back. Musicians sometimes played in the stairwells just for the acoustics. A woman named Alisa ran a coffee counter out of what might have once been a supply closet. There was a sculpture garden in the back. 'Garden' being generous, considering everything was frozen and lightly dusted with snow, but Ezvin liked it anyway. The pieces weren’t for sale or marketable. They were unfinished, sometimes literally: half-chiseled torsos, twisted wire, a few broken limbs from a former installation now resting like sacred ruins in the white drift.

The Nest smelled like old books, varnish, espresso, and fresh snow melting off boots.

Ezvin could’ve taken her anywhere. Jazz bars. Wine tastings. Rooftop restaurants with carefully curated lighting. But that wasn’t what this was. Not with Cadence. She didn’t need the polish. She needed somewhere that was allowed to be unfinished. A work in progress. A future untold.

So when she arrived, he didn’t say much. Just handed her the thermos and the paper bag with a simple “Good morning. I've never been so excited for aimless wandering.” He smiled then he gestured her inside.]]> <![CDATA[Not Looking For Little Red Riding Hood]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1752.html Wed, 05 Feb 2025 21:48:14 +0000 Legione Sumus]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1752.html [Image: BenMendelsohnToCatchAKiller1-300x300.jpg]
Peter Andersen
Peter wasn't surprised to see the updated security at the mansion.  In fact it was the only time in the last several days that increased security hadn't bothered him.  With the previous issues at Headquarters that necessitated the renovations to the mansion, the increased security had been necessary.  Of course, getting through it wasn't a problem  Peter had all the necessary paperwork and his biometrics were on file.  He wasn't a traitor and was given access. He found a place to stay in the barracks and would check the armory at a later time.  First he needed to figure out where Elyse was hiding.

Peter moved to a common area and got hooked up to the network and began to search through files, looking for anything related to wolfkin.  He hated this part of the job and it was why Elsa had been a good partner.  She hated doing the dirty work, preferring to find things behind a computer screen, and she was good at it.  The fact that the pair had complemented each other had made them a highly efficient team.  It was a pity that Elsa had let her emotions get the better of her.  

Peter closed his laptop and contemplated.  This was a large city with a large population.  He knew there were wolf packs nearby, but he had his doubts Elyse was hiding with them.  It would be too obvious and she always had a weak spot for her friends.  It was sickening that she probably considered the beasts her friends and wouldn't want to put them in danger. Something nagged at the back of his mind though.  Elyse had told Elsa what she was.  Why did that matter? What did that mean?  He smirked.  She didn't want to hide who she was.  If she knew he was coming, Elyse might be taking  more precautions, but she had to be somewhere she felt comfortable being the beast she was.  It didn't give Peter options, but it was surely something to think about.]]> [Image: BenMendelsohnToCatchAKiller1-300x300.jpg]
Peter Andersen
Peter wasn't surprised to see the updated security at the mansion.  In fact it was the only time in the last several days that increased security hadn't bothered him.  With the previous issues at Headquarters that necessitated the renovations to the mansion, the increased security had been necessary.  Of course, getting through it wasn't a problem  Peter had all the necessary paperwork and his biometrics were on file.  He wasn't a traitor and was given access. He found a place to stay in the barracks and would check the armory at a later time.  First he needed to figure out where Elyse was hiding.

Peter moved to a common area and got hooked up to the network and began to search through files, looking for anything related to wolfkin.  He hated this part of the job and it was why Elsa had been a good partner.  She hated doing the dirty work, preferring to find things behind a computer screen, and she was good at it.  The fact that the pair had complemented each other had made them a highly efficient team.  It was a pity that Elsa had let her emotions get the better of her.  

Peter closed his laptop and contemplated.  This was a large city with a large population.  He knew there were wolf packs nearby, but he had his doubts Elyse was hiding with them.  It would be too obvious and she always had a weak spot for her friends.  It was sickening that she probably considered the beasts her friends and wouldn't want to put them in danger. Something nagged at the back of his mind though.  Elyse had told Elsa what she was.  Why did that matter? What did that mean?  He smirked.  She didn't want to hide who she was.  If she knew he was coming, Elyse might be taking  more precautions, but she had to be somewhere she felt comfortable being the beast she was.  It didn't give Peter options, but it was surely something to think about.]]> <![CDATA[Coffee or Tea (Artskaf)]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1732.html Fri, 10 Jan 2025 17:04:10 +0000 Claude Saint-Clair]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1732.html
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.]]>
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.]]> <![CDATA[Daily Introspection]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1713.html Fri, 27 Dec 2024 14:55:13 +0000 Legione Sumus]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1713.html [Image: attachment.php?aid=181]
Eliot Lagueux

Eliot made an appearance at the Almaz to 'woo' his finance in the public of the light. The opera had gone well. Rumors spread like wildfire as was the intent. The gossip rags detailing lude remarks even though they'd been completely discreet. But it was a gossip rag so what did it matter, they had captured an unflattering picture which told the wrong story.

He tossed the article into the bin on his wallet. It didn't matter really. He'd been sitting at the same table for the past few days waiting to see if anyone took him upon his offer. He didn't expect anything immediately, but he waited at the time and place and someone may show up. If not, well he'd seek them out. But for now he was content to sit and sip coffee for a few hours and watch people come and go.]]> [Image: attachment.php?aid=181]
Eliot Lagueux

Eliot made an appearance at the Almaz to 'woo' his finance in the public of the light. The opera had gone well. Rumors spread like wildfire as was the intent. The gossip rags detailing lude remarks even though they'd been completely discreet. But it was a gossip rag so what did it matter, they had captured an unflattering picture which told the wrong story.

He tossed the article into the bin on his wallet. It didn't matter really. He'd been sitting at the same table for the past few days waiting to see if anyone took him upon his offer. He didn't expect anything immediately, but he waited at the time and place and someone may show up. If not, well he'd seek them out. But for now he was content to sit and sip coffee for a few hours and watch people come and go.]]> <![CDATA[Grand Reopening [Baccarrat Mansion]]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1633.html Fri, 23 Aug 2024 13:08:47 +0000 Borovsky]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1633.html [Image: attachment.php?aid=181]
Eliot had been working a long time to get his home back in working order.  His family had spent millions of dollars to rebuild the place.  And Eliot himself had gone to Atharim sources to fund the changes he wanted to incorporate into their new safe haven. With the old Regus dead, and the new one still at the Vatican, Moscow was once again his and his alone.  

The mansion itself was rebuilt from the ground up.  The crystal showcase still available to those who could afford admission, in addition to a fine dining restaurant and a high-class bar to round out the cover for what lay in the depths of the mansion itself.

Where the Atharim had failed before Eliot intended to insure that no outsider breached their walls.  Everything went high tech including the new security system he installed.  Durante Securities was new to the game, but the security offered was better than any other.  Round the clock security by Artificial Intelligence and Human's alike.  It was far more complicated than Eliot understood, but the sales rep had sold him on it within the first ten minutes of their conversation. And he wasn't even pitching the facial recognition software until the end.

But it wasn't just the security system that went modern -- it was the entire system inside the bunker as well.  The libraries were now being digitized from the Vatican.  It had taken a long conversation about how they could lose everything and then some in a fire at the Vatican.  If anyone ever found out the breadth of knowledge stored there.  Not that was the reason for the fire -- the godling who started the fire was still at large.  Not that they really knew since they'd come in with a disguise and left with flames and smoke in their wake.  

It was a time Eliot didn't really want to relive so he made plans and preperations for the new headquarters.

The armory was as high tech as one could get.  The barracks had semi comfortable beds and plenty of space for storage for each bunk.  

The infirmary had the latest and greatest technology available as well as a research lab adjoining it.  He had long since decided that the Atharim needed to do more than just kill.  There might be additional things one could learn from the monsters they hunted.  And Dr. Angelika Woźniak was a key to getting that up and running.  She had specifications he had met and then some.  He hoped that she would like the upgrade and the recognition for what she did.

Eliot had bigger plans than just modernizing the safe house.  He had plans to make Moscow safe for all Atharim too.  But first he had to deal with all the niceties of opening up the Baccarrat Mansion again.  

The cutting of the ribbon ceremony was being held and his father was present to cut the red velvet ribbon strung across their doorway and the world would be allowed to see the rebuilt family history.  There would always be a Baccarrat in Moscow -- for as long as any of the family kept on living.  And they would always back the Atharim.  Even if Eliot had his little secret, the Atharim were their legacy and he was proud to be one even if he could never join the hunt.]]> [Image: attachment.php?aid=181]
Eliot had been working a long time to get his home back in working order.  His family had spent millions of dollars to rebuild the place.  And Eliot himself had gone to Atharim sources to fund the changes he wanted to incorporate into their new safe haven. With the old Regus dead, and the new one still at the Vatican, Moscow was once again his and his alone.  

The mansion itself was rebuilt from the ground up.  The crystal showcase still available to those who could afford admission, in addition to a fine dining restaurant and a high-class bar to round out the cover for what lay in the depths of the mansion itself.

Where the Atharim had failed before Eliot intended to insure that no outsider breached their walls.  Everything went high tech including the new security system he installed.  Durante Securities was new to the game, but the security offered was better than any other.  Round the clock security by Artificial Intelligence and Human's alike.  It was far more complicated than Eliot understood, but the sales rep had sold him on it within the first ten minutes of their conversation. And he wasn't even pitching the facial recognition software until the end.

But it wasn't just the security system that went modern -- it was the entire system inside the bunker as well.  The libraries were now being digitized from the Vatican.  It had taken a long conversation about how they could lose everything and then some in a fire at the Vatican.  If anyone ever found out the breadth of knowledge stored there.  Not that was the reason for the fire -- the godling who started the fire was still at large.  Not that they really knew since they'd come in with a disguise and left with flames and smoke in their wake.  

It was a time Eliot didn't really want to relive so he made plans and preperations for the new headquarters.

The armory was as high tech as one could get.  The barracks had semi comfortable beds and plenty of space for storage for each bunk.  

The infirmary had the latest and greatest technology available as well as a research lab adjoining it.  He had long since decided that the Atharim needed to do more than just kill.  There might be additional things one could learn from the monsters they hunted.  And Dr. Angelika Woźniak was a key to getting that up and running.  She had specifications he had met and then some.  He hoped that she would like the upgrade and the recognition for what she did.

Eliot had bigger plans than just modernizing the safe house.  He had plans to make Moscow safe for all Atharim too.  But first he had to deal with all the niceties of opening up the Baccarrat Mansion again.  

The cutting of the ribbon ceremony was being held and his father was present to cut the red velvet ribbon strung across their doorway and the world would be allowed to see the rebuilt family history.  There would always be a Baccarrat in Moscow -- for as long as any of the family kept on living.  And they would always back the Atharim.  Even if Eliot had his little secret, the Atharim were their legacy and he was proud to be one even if he could never join the hunt.]]> <![CDATA[Unmasking]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1538.html Sun, 10 Sep 2023 23:04:53 +0000 Zixin Kao]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1538.html
But out of all the thrilling high-wire acts he performed, tugging at the strings of the Vasilev family was the ultimate thrill. It was like walking a tightrope suspended over a pit of rabid wolves, but Zixin wouldn't have it any other way. He played his cards just right, leaving wedges so deep that you could practically hear the fiery snaps as he asserted his dominance. He practically pressed his polished shoe on the self-righteous Pavel Vasilev's neck, but he held back from crushing it. Why? Because he could. And Pavel knew it.

Zixin lived for the danger, although not so much that he wanted to experience the full-scale smiting of the Russian retaliation. So, he walked the fine line, keeping his wits sharp at all times. His work in this world was far from finished.

Just then, a message blinked to life on one of his screens.
“He’s here.” It read.

Zixin ordered the man himself to be sent in, and meanwhile went about the process of minimizing all his open screens. There was no way in hell he was going to allow this kid to glimpse a single google search, let alone the myriad profiles and accounts on view.

As the door creaked open, Zixin gave the newcomer a nod of approval. The ‘man’ before him was more like a boy, really.

With a sly grin, Zixin tossed him an envelope filled with cash. "Well done, Haruto."

Caught off guard by the unexpected toss, Haruto quickly regained his composure and checked the envelope's contents.

"Thanks, Mr. Kao," he replied, tucking it into his jacket pocket. He then stood at attention, ready for his next marching orders.

To which Zixin happily obliged.]]>
But out of all the thrilling high-wire acts he performed, tugging at the strings of the Vasilev family was the ultimate thrill. It was like walking a tightrope suspended over a pit of rabid wolves, but Zixin wouldn't have it any other way. He played his cards just right, leaving wedges so deep that you could practically hear the fiery snaps as he asserted his dominance. He practically pressed his polished shoe on the self-righteous Pavel Vasilev's neck, but he held back from crushing it. Why? Because he could. And Pavel knew it.

Zixin lived for the danger, although not so much that he wanted to experience the full-scale smiting of the Russian retaliation. So, he walked the fine line, keeping his wits sharp at all times. His work in this world was far from finished.

Just then, a message blinked to life on one of his screens.
“He’s here.” It read.

Zixin ordered the man himself to be sent in, and meanwhile went about the process of minimizing all his open screens. There was no way in hell he was going to allow this kid to glimpse a single google search, let alone the myriad profiles and accounts on view.

As the door creaked open, Zixin gave the newcomer a nod of approval. The ‘man’ before him was more like a boy, really.

With a sly grin, Zixin tossed him an envelope filled with cash. "Well done, Haruto."

Caught off guard by the unexpected toss, Haruto quickly regained his composure and checked the envelope's contents.

"Thanks, Mr. Kao," he replied, tucking it into his jacket pocket. He then stood at attention, ready for his next marching orders.

To which Zixin happily obliged.]]> <![CDATA[Quarantine]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1519.html Wed, 09 Aug 2023 16:51:52 +0000 Angelika]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1519.html
Though maybe this man would meet his match.  So far no one had been able to lull the boy into the ground.  Attacking him seemed a mistake.  Though he was becoming obvious now.

But this critter was more than enough to keep Angelika busy.  It was unique.  A creature like none other.  Drawing blood drew upon the parasite that gave it it's abilities.  An endless supply of contamination if handled properly.  It was chupacabra like, yet it mutated the victims in a way that was not.  There was rougarou mixed into the DNA.  The protein markers found in the boys blood coursed through the creature feeding and controlling the body of the host.  

Scans indicated the parasites congregated in a specific part of the brain and other areas of the body changing and arranging and providing instructions for the body.  The rougarou DNA pushing for flesh and it didn't seem to be specific to its own kind, more like it didn't care as long as it was raw and bloody and the fresher the better.  Very much like the fictitional zombie, but the creature was very much alive.

There were still so many tests to run.  And there was so little time.  

Angelika awaited her order of lab rats and other creatures.  If she were so lucky she might even get a young human to test upon -- a criminal who deserved far worse.  No need to sentence them to death, they'd suffer enough at her hands.]]>
Though maybe this man would meet his match.  So far no one had been able to lull the boy into the ground.  Attacking him seemed a mistake.  Though he was becoming obvious now.

But this critter was more than enough to keep Angelika busy.  It was unique.  A creature like none other.  Drawing blood drew upon the parasite that gave it it's abilities.  An endless supply of contamination if handled properly.  It was chupacabra like, yet it mutated the victims in a way that was not.  There was rougarou mixed into the DNA.  The protein markers found in the boys blood coursed through the creature feeding and controlling the body of the host.  

Scans indicated the parasites congregated in a specific part of the brain and other areas of the body changing and arranging and providing instructions for the body.  The rougarou DNA pushing for flesh and it didn't seem to be specific to its own kind, more like it didn't care as long as it was raw and bloody and the fresher the better.  Very much like the fictitional zombie, but the creature was very much alive.

There were still so many tests to run.  And there was so little time.  

Angelika awaited her order of lab rats and other creatures.  If she were so lucky she might even get a young human to test upon -- a criminal who deserved far worse.  No need to sentence them to death, they'd suffer enough at her hands.]]> <![CDATA[Threading the Needle]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1510.html Mon, 24 Jul 2023 17:42:10 +0000 Zephyr]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1510.html
And then when she was ready to put in the time and effort to raise a god, she finds a girl who was ready to die.  While Zef commended the woman for her bravery and yet her lack of it to follow through she was grateful for the woman's aid.  And now she had two gods on the line.  Her plan was coming together.

Promises had been made, and now it was time to begin that.  Zef made her way into one of the safe house armories.  It had been the third she'd tried looking for the specifics on Eido's list.  They weren't rare, most Atharim had a close combat weapon of choice, but most preferred to keep the monsters at range.  She certainly did, but close combat was always necessary.  Specially when innocents were involved.

And in each safe house she booted up the connected systems and scanned for any new information on either Jaxen or Eido, but none had been found.  She needed to get that hacker in the system.  But that meant talking to the troublesome god which he may or may not fireball her ass if she came near him again.  He wasn't well responsive the first time -- none of them had.  Though they had been set free.  He thought her dead.  But he'd be surprised.  She had that going for her.  While in the system she also checked on his status.  It was clear he'd been flagged again with the latest videos emerging.  No one liked a god showing off.]]>
And then when she was ready to put in the time and effort to raise a god, she finds a girl who was ready to die.  While Zef commended the woman for her bravery and yet her lack of it to follow through she was grateful for the woman's aid.  And now she had two gods on the line.  Her plan was coming together.

Promises had been made, and now it was time to begin that.  Zef made her way into one of the safe house armories.  It had been the third she'd tried looking for the specifics on Eido's list.  They weren't rare, most Atharim had a close combat weapon of choice, but most preferred to keep the monsters at range.  She certainly did, but close combat was always necessary.  Specially when innocents were involved.

And in each safe house she booted up the connected systems and scanned for any new information on either Jaxen or Eido, but none had been found.  She needed to get that hacker in the system.  But that meant talking to the troublesome god which he may or may not fireball her ass if she came near him again.  He wasn't well responsive the first time -- none of them had.  Though they had been set free.  He thought her dead.  But he'd be surprised.  She had that going for her.  While in the system she also checked on his status.  It was clear he'd been flagged again with the latest videos emerging.  No one liked a god showing off.]]> <![CDATA[Tell Me Now]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1372.html Mon, 17 Jan 2022 14:27:27 +0000 Zephyr]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1372.html
Her goal was not done.  She still had one avenue to persue.  She turned on the inquisitor once they were in the fresh air.  "What the fuck was that?"  She growled pushing the man up against the nearest wall.  "You led us into a trap?  With the fucking Ascendancy."

The inquistor pushed her away from him just as abruptly as she had assulted him. "I didn't know he would be there.  It was just supposed to be Durante."

"Why would he meet with you alone?  Specially after you tried to kill him."]]>
Her goal was not done.  She still had one avenue to persue.  She turned on the inquisitor once they were in the fresh air.  "What the fuck was that?"  She growled pushing the man up against the nearest wall.  "You led us into a trap?  With the fucking Ascendancy."

The inquistor pushed her away from him just as abruptly as she had assulted him. "I didn't know he would be there.  It was just supposed to be Durante."

"Why would he meet with you alone?  Specially after you tried to kill him."]]>