<![CDATA[The First Age - Rest of the world]]>

<![CDATA[The First Age - Rest of the world]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/ Tue, 07 Apr 2026 10:24:13 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Closure [Denmark]]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1915.html Mon, 10 Nov 2025 22:11:27 +0000 Elyse]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1915.html
Elyse had asked Rachel if she wanted to come with. It hadn't surprised or upset Elyse when Rachel had said she wanted to, but didn't think she could handle it. Rachel was doing so much better now that she had been only a short time ago, but she still struggled. Elyse thought she would see this trip as sort of an extended date. Rachel wasn't ready for that, and truth be told, Elyse wasn't either. They both needed to heal more even if they both liked each other. Elyse gave a brief smile as she crossed a street. Thinking of Rachel usually did. She was glad that they both liked each other well enough that Rachel felt comfortable speaking the truth with her and Elyse felt comfortable accepting it.

Elyse wasn't alone though. Anna had accepted her invitation to come. It had been Rachel's suggestion to Elyse to invite Anna. Elyse was glad for that. She didn't want to be here alone. The pair had flew into Copenhagen the night before and this morning had traveled into Helsingør. Elyse was showing Anna around.

"That's Kronborg Castle," she said, pointing at the large building that could be seen over the houses. "Where Hamlet takes place."

Anna gave her a smile. "Can we see it while we're here?"

"Of course! They have tours. Let's do that tomorrow." Elyse said, directing Anna down a side street.

The pair followed the street for several more blocks. The houses were getting farther apart as they got into a more affluent neighborhood. There was a park nearby, and Elyse led them into it. She wiped the snow off of a bench and sat down. Anna sat next to her as Elyse looked across the street. A house sat there, well maintained with a "For Sale" sign in the front. Elyse didn't say anything. Anna knew why she was here, and she knew the importance of the house that kept Elyse's gaze.

Seeing her childhood home with a sign out front hurt. It also brought back memories - most of them happy, but now tainted with the pain of her father's betrayal. Elyse had made the decision to sell the house. Sage had assisted in making that happen and taking care of the rest of her estate. Elyse already had some liquid assets from that. The house was all that was left that (technically) still belonged to her.

Elyse wasn't aware that she had started to cry until she felt Anna's warmth wrap itself around her. Elyse leaned into her, resting her head on her best friend's shoulder. Anna was as perceptive as always said nothing. She was just present in the moment and that was what Elyse needed. The sting of betrayal hurt, but Elyse was glad she had come. There was a peace she was beginning to feel that had been a long time coming. Elyse wiped at tears, stinging in the cold. She would endure for now.]]>
Elyse had asked Rachel if she wanted to come with. It hadn't surprised or upset Elyse when Rachel had said she wanted to, but didn't think she could handle it. Rachel was doing so much better now that she had been only a short time ago, but she still struggled. Elyse thought she would see this trip as sort of an extended date. Rachel wasn't ready for that, and truth be told, Elyse wasn't either. They both needed to heal more even if they both liked each other. Elyse gave a brief smile as she crossed a street. Thinking of Rachel usually did. She was glad that they both liked each other well enough that Rachel felt comfortable speaking the truth with her and Elyse felt comfortable accepting it.

Elyse wasn't alone though. Anna had accepted her invitation to come. It had been Rachel's suggestion to Elyse to invite Anna. Elyse was glad for that. She didn't want to be here alone. The pair had flew into Copenhagen the night before and this morning had traveled into Helsingør. Elyse was showing Anna around.

"That's Kronborg Castle," she said, pointing at the large building that could be seen over the houses. "Where Hamlet takes place."

Anna gave her a smile. "Can we see it while we're here?"

"Of course! They have tours. Let's do that tomorrow." Elyse said, directing Anna down a side street.

The pair followed the street for several more blocks. The houses were getting farther apart as they got into a more affluent neighborhood. There was a park nearby, and Elyse led them into it. She wiped the snow off of a bench and sat down. Anna sat next to her as Elyse looked across the street. A house sat there, well maintained with a "For Sale" sign in the front. Elyse didn't say anything. Anna knew why she was here, and she knew the importance of the house that kept Elyse's gaze.

Seeing her childhood home with a sign out front hurt. It also brought back memories - most of them happy, but now tainted with the pain of her father's betrayal. Elyse had made the decision to sell the house. Sage had assisted in making that happen and taking care of the rest of her estate. Elyse already had some liquid assets from that. The house was all that was left that (technically) still belonged to her.

Elyse wasn't aware that she had started to cry until she felt Anna's warmth wrap itself around her. Elyse leaned into her, resting her head on her best friend's shoulder. Anna was as perceptive as always said nothing. She was just present in the moment and that was what Elyse needed. The sting of betrayal hurt, but Elyse was glad she had come. There was a peace she was beginning to feel that had been a long time coming. Elyse wiped at tears, stinging in the cold. She would endure for now.]]> <![CDATA[The Dollar Game]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1840.html Mon, 12 May 2025 22:22:56 +0000 Carter de Volthström]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1840.html [Image: Timothee-Volthstrom.jpg]

Timothée de Volthström & Tobias de Volthström

The Paris skyline shimmered in glass and gold as the sun dropped beyond La Défense. Through the boardroom’s towering windows, the city was elegant in its indifference. An empire behind glass.

Timothée Volthstrom adjusted his cufflinks with quiet contemplation. His suit was black Hermès, tailored within a micron. A single Montblanc pen lay centered before him on the matte obsidian table. The CEO of Banque Volthstrom Internationale did not need displays or datapads. When Timothée spoke, systems moved.

Tobias entered without announcement, as was his habit. Dark coat, no tie, face sharp and eyes sharper. He paused only to glance at the view.
“You still like watching the sun die,” he said. “You’ve always been a romantic.”

Timothée smiled faintly. “And practical. In finance, when the markets close at dusk, the truth comes out.”

Tobias took the seat across from him, silent for a breath. He had been asked to come to Paris to discuss something too important to do so by distance.

Timothée raised an eyebrow. “They’re going to sign. Both capitals. It’s all but signed, and the Ascendancy will announce integration next week.”

Tobias was surprised, certainly, but allowed a pause long enough to fill with power. Then: “You’ll need to make them solvent.”

“They’re already stable,” Timothée replied. “We injected six billion last quarter through sovereign development loans. No official ties to us, of course.”

“Of course.” Tobias folded his hands.

Timothée continued, “But the Americans are bleeding. New York’s liquidity crisis has metastasized. Twenty-five regional banks are near insolvency. We’ve suspended dollar-swaps through Zurich. They can’t borrow their way out.” Timothée glanced toward the city. “And yet they haven’t collapsed.”

“Not yet,” Tobias agreed. “That’s the art. Texas and Mexico must flourish first. We don’t just want the U.S. to suffer. We want them to envy.”

Timothée looked back at him, eyes cool. “You think it should be spectacle.”

“I want pressure,” Tobias corrected. “When the American citizen sees Texan highways glowing with CCD magrail, when Mexico’s youth are getting CCD education grants and their own banks are denying overdrafts, then they’ll beg for unification.”

Timothée said nothing. His fingers traced the edge of his pen. “You’re proposing we finance both sides of a fracture,” he said at last. “Flood two states with wealth while letting the rest of the continent rot.”

Tobias inclined his head. “Correct.”

There was a pause. The air between them held the weight of centuries. How many Volthstroms had sat in offices of opulence deciding the fate of nations built on their coin. Then Timothée exhaled, clipped and sharp.

“I’ll authorize the increase. But I want a public face. Someone visible in Texas. A Volthstrom.”

Tobias tilted his head. “Carter is already in Moscow. He’s managing the eastern corridor.”

“I’m aware. And Guillaume is in his shadow.” Timothée leaned forward slightly. “But I need more than quiet brilliance. I need presence. Cameras. Diplomacy. Prestige.”

Tobias’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t think Carter’s capable?”

“I think,” Timothée said carefully, “that Carter is hungry. And that hunger can be… redirected. Publicly, if needed.”
The implication hung there. Tobias didn’t rise to it. He never did. “We'll have what we need,” he said. “Stability in the south. Collapse in the north. And by summer, Washington at our doorstep.” Timothée leaned back again, satisfied. “And your other affairs?” he asked. “Your constellation of private holdings… is it all aligned?”

“Perfectly,” Tobias said. “Though there is one small matter in Moscow I’m watching.” Timothée waited for more, but Tobias did not elaborate.]]> <![CDATA[Mycelium Ex Machina (Chernobyl)]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1797.html Sat, 12 Apr 2025 20:40:33 +0000 Kaelan]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1797.html
Radiotrophic fungi, the paper claimed. Black, spore-heavy, and thriving on ionizing radiation. It grew in the husks of things long dead: reactor walls, collapsed turbines, and as this paper described, within the hollowed, bone-white corridors of Chernobyl’s sarcophagus. A fungus that consumed death itself and called it nourishment.

Kaelan leaned forward, fingers twitching over the holographic keyboard. Photos accompanied the study—false-color imaging of a thick, pitch-colored growth pushing out of the reactor chamber like coagulated tar, fibrous and slick, pulsing with a hideous vibrancy. The idea gripped him with talon-like fingers:

What if it could change things?

What if it merged with the local wildlife, rabbits, foxes, wolves, and mutated them, not merely into sickly, broken things, but into creatures enhanced, biologically rewritten by radiation and rot?

He envisioned it then, eyes glassy: a new species born from decay, black-eyed and deathless. A fusion of natural instinct and the mutagenic dark.

And somewhere deep in that treacherous mind of his, a plan began to form.

It took longer than he liked to secure clearance, even with Paragon’s pull, a web of forged credentials, scientific white lies, and whispered promises of published papers in reputable journals. He presented himself as a benign researcher specializing in adaptive mycology and post-nuclear ecology. The oversight committee—tired, bureaucratic, distracted—approved the proposal with a stamp that echoed in his memory like a coffin lid closing.

Still, he could not shake the sensation that excited him, crossing into something the earth had long buried for good reason.

The flight to Kyiv was long, uneventful, and drenched in fog. He spent it staring out the window with a growing anticipation blooming within him.

The next morning, an old military van carried him north through the withered countryside, where entire towns lay in ossified stillness, abandoned decades ago, their windows blind and broken, their doors hanging open like the mouths of dead animals.

Chernobyl emerged not as a place, but as a wound in the land.

They arrived at the edge of the exclusion zone just after dusk. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and a dull, bruised twilight cloaked the trees. Forests here grew too fast, too thick. Some trees had bark split open like infected flesh. Others leaned at strange angles, warped by the invisible hand of radiation. Birds did not sing. The silence was alive, vibrating beneath the skin.

Kaelan stepped from the vehicle, his boots crunching over broken glass and soil that smelled faintly metallic. His breath misted in the cold air, though the weather was unseasonably warm.

A dosimeter hung at his hip, ticking softly like a heartbeat.

He stared at the horizon, where the reactor dome loomed over the trees—ancient, vast, and shrouded in scaffolding. A modern sarcophagus encased the old one, but Kaelan swore the very structure breathed.

A handler, a man in a gray suit with sunken eyes and a voice like paper, escorted him through the outer gates. “You will remain within Zone One,” the man said. “You are not to approach the core or enter restricted tunnels. Do not remove your mask. Do not touch the wildlife. Do not speak to the locals.”

“Locals?” Kaelan asked, surprised.

The man did not answer.

They passed a field where flowers grew too large, their petals black-veined, slick with morning dew even though it was nearly evening. A fox watched him from the edge of the brush, its eyes glassy and wrong.

Kaelan clutched the strap of his pack tighter. Somewhere in it was the sterile container meant for fungal samples.

You came here for samples, he reminded himself, but a twinge of nerves began to creep up his spine.

But Chernobyl had its own voice, and even now it whispered to him from the reactor’s shadow. The black fungus was waiting. It always had been.

And he had come, like a pilgrim to a rotten altar, eager to partake in its communion.

But tomorrow, with the sun, he would explore more. In the meantime, he spent the night in the shack of a shelter.

((This thread is open if anyone is interested.))]]>
Radiotrophic fungi, the paper claimed. Black, spore-heavy, and thriving on ionizing radiation. It grew in the husks of things long dead: reactor walls, collapsed turbines, and as this paper described, within the hollowed, bone-white corridors of Chernobyl’s sarcophagus. A fungus that consumed death itself and called it nourishment.

Kaelan leaned forward, fingers twitching over the holographic keyboard. Photos accompanied the study—false-color imaging of a thick, pitch-colored growth pushing out of the reactor chamber like coagulated tar, fibrous and slick, pulsing with a hideous vibrancy. The idea gripped him with talon-like fingers:

What if it could change things?

What if it merged with the local wildlife, rabbits, foxes, wolves, and mutated them, not merely into sickly, broken things, but into creatures enhanced, biologically rewritten by radiation and rot?

He envisioned it then, eyes glassy: a new species born from decay, black-eyed and deathless. A fusion of natural instinct and the mutagenic dark.

And somewhere deep in that treacherous mind of his, a plan began to form.

It took longer than he liked to secure clearance, even with Paragon’s pull, a web of forged credentials, scientific white lies, and whispered promises of published papers in reputable journals. He presented himself as a benign researcher specializing in adaptive mycology and post-nuclear ecology. The oversight committee—tired, bureaucratic, distracted—approved the proposal with a stamp that echoed in his memory like a coffin lid closing.

Still, he could not shake the sensation that excited him, crossing into something the earth had long buried for good reason.

The flight to Kyiv was long, uneventful, and drenched in fog. He spent it staring out the window with a growing anticipation blooming within him.

The next morning, an old military van carried him north through the withered countryside, where entire towns lay in ossified stillness, abandoned decades ago, their windows blind and broken, their doors hanging open like the mouths of dead animals.

Chernobyl emerged not as a place, but as a wound in the land.

They arrived at the edge of the exclusion zone just after dusk. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and a dull, bruised twilight cloaked the trees. Forests here grew too fast, too thick. Some trees had bark split open like infected flesh. Others leaned at strange angles, warped by the invisible hand of radiation. Birds did not sing. The silence was alive, vibrating beneath the skin.

Kaelan stepped from the vehicle, his boots crunching over broken glass and soil that smelled faintly metallic. His breath misted in the cold air, though the weather was unseasonably warm.

A dosimeter hung at his hip, ticking softly like a heartbeat.

He stared at the horizon, where the reactor dome loomed over the trees—ancient, vast, and shrouded in scaffolding. A modern sarcophagus encased the old one, but Kaelan swore the very structure breathed.

A handler, a man in a gray suit with sunken eyes and a voice like paper, escorted him through the outer gates. “You will remain within Zone One,” the man said. “You are not to approach the core or enter restricted tunnels. Do not remove your mask. Do not touch the wildlife. Do not speak to the locals.”

“Locals?” Kaelan asked, surprised.

The man did not answer.

They passed a field where flowers grew too large, their petals black-veined, slick with morning dew even though it was nearly evening. A fox watched him from the edge of the brush, its eyes glassy and wrong.

Kaelan clutched the strap of his pack tighter. Somewhere in it was the sterile container meant for fungal samples.

You came here for samples, he reminded himself, but a twinge of nerves began to creep up his spine.

But Chernobyl had its own voice, and even now it whispered to him from the reactor’s shadow. The black fungus was waiting. It always had been.

And he had come, like a pilgrim to a rotten altar, eager to partake in its communion.

But tomorrow, with the sun, he would explore more. In the meantime, he spent the night in the shack of a shelter.

((This thread is open if anyone is interested.))]]> <![CDATA[The Kao Orchid (Singapore)]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1743.html Thu, 23 Jan 2025 19:08:31 +0000 Jia Xin Kao]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1743.html
She’d spent the afternoon engaging effortlessly with the crowds which gathered to seek a glimpse of her presence while she was led through her public tour, pausing to pose for photos, and filming the segments that would form her own edits of the occasion. The tropical gardens were ranked amongst Asia’s top tourist attractions, but their links with the Kao family were blooded far deeper than popularity. Cultivation of rubber extraction techniques here in the early twentieth century had led to domination of the global latex trade, and the Kaos were ever the roads upon which such wealth travelled.

Today the orchid house had been as beautiful as always, filled with the rarest specimens and newest experimental hybrids for which they were world renowned. Jia Xin greeted and encouraged with charisma and interest. The expertise here was why Singapore was known as the Garden City, so the Kao’s continued patronage was no surprise. Such was the prestige that diplomacy was often awarded visiting dignitaries or celebrities in the form of a named orchid, and today Jia Xin’s publicised visit had been to accept the newest bloom to be bred and named in honour of the Kao family. It was exquisite, as were its predecessors.

“Moscow?” Liyana repeated. Her cousin was leaning on the restaurant’s railing, looking out into the lush tropics of the surrounding garden. The chimes of a small waterfall sounded distant, and the scent of the flowers was nothing short of heavenly. “You know that’s where they sent Zixin. There’s no way Yeye will let you go there while he’s on business.”

Behind the shade of her sunglasses, Jia Xin’s attention moved over to where she stood. Ice clinked as she sipped her tea, sharp with a suffusion of ginger. The gesture obscured the sly twitch of her smile. Of course, Liy wasn’t wrong. While the Kaos carefully and quietly expanded their territories, the bold and unexpected descent of Singapore's nominal princess would spook all the existing powers into attention with her interest. Jia Xin’s tours were no small things after all; she travelled light in neither people, nor in possessions. If Moscow did not yet understand the invading power, they soon would, with a display like that.

But she had no interest in stepping on her brother’s toes, nor in defying their Yeye – at least in the spirit of his wishes.

Liyana shot a look over her shoulder, then turned fully at whatever she perceived of Jia Xin’s expression. Suspicion clouded her features before she folded her arms, lips pursed together in resignation. All as quick as that. No one ever really argued with Jia Xin, least of all little cousin Liya. Only her father or grandfather might truly rein in her desires, and it rarely happened. Not even her own beloved brother had that power unconditionally, though he might like to think he did. But that was exactly why she had no intention of informing any of them of her plans.

“Just think how hideously cold it will be there, Jiji!” Liy said in disgust. Which, to her credit, having implored whilst surrounded by the beautiful tropics of their home, still decadently warm even in November, was another very good point made. Not that it was a worry Liyana needed to concern herself with, since whatever Jia Xin's normal habits, she wasn’t coming.

“I won’t be gone long enough for anyone to notice, and you’ll help me make sure it stays that way.” Jia Xin stood, setting aside her glass and lifting the sunglasses atop her head. She took her cousin’s shoulders in gentle persuasion. Not that the battle was not already won. Her lips already found themselves plumped in a mischievously triumphant smirk, and the cunning was aglow in her dark eyes.

Liyana only sighed, releasing her arms from their defensive fold across her chest. “You can’t seriously be thinking of going there alone. At least tell me why!”

“Singapore is just so quiet without Zixin,” she said with a smile. “I miss my brother, that’s all.”

It was too dismissive to be the only truth, and they both knew it. In fact she intended to see Zixin not at all, though Liyana didn't need to know that. She'd be back in the Garden City before he ever realised she'd been right under his nose.]]>
She’d spent the afternoon engaging effortlessly with the crowds which gathered to seek a glimpse of her presence while she was led through her public tour, pausing to pose for photos, and filming the segments that would form her own edits of the occasion. The tropical gardens were ranked amongst Asia’s top tourist attractions, but their links with the Kao family were blooded far deeper than popularity. Cultivation of rubber extraction techniques here in the early twentieth century had led to domination of the global latex trade, and the Kaos were ever the roads upon which such wealth travelled.

Today the orchid house had been as beautiful as always, filled with the rarest specimens and newest experimental hybrids for which they were world renowned. Jia Xin greeted and encouraged with charisma and interest. The expertise here was why Singapore was known as the Garden City, so the Kao’s continued patronage was no surprise. Such was the prestige that diplomacy was often awarded visiting dignitaries or celebrities in the form of a named orchid, and today Jia Xin’s publicised visit had been to accept the newest bloom to be bred and named in honour of the Kao family. It was exquisite, as were its predecessors.

“Moscow?” Liyana repeated. Her cousin was leaning on the restaurant’s railing, looking out into the lush tropics of the surrounding garden. The chimes of a small waterfall sounded distant, and the scent of the flowers was nothing short of heavenly. “You know that’s where they sent Zixin. There’s no way Yeye will let you go there while he’s on business.”

Behind the shade of her sunglasses, Jia Xin’s attention moved over to where she stood. Ice clinked as she sipped her tea, sharp with a suffusion of ginger. The gesture obscured the sly twitch of her smile. Of course, Liy wasn’t wrong. While the Kaos carefully and quietly expanded their territories, the bold and unexpected descent of Singapore's nominal princess would spook all the existing powers into attention with her interest. Jia Xin’s tours were no small things after all; she travelled light in neither people, nor in possessions. If Moscow did not yet understand the invading power, they soon would, with a display like that.

But she had no interest in stepping on her brother’s toes, nor in defying their Yeye – at least in the spirit of his wishes.

Liyana shot a look over her shoulder, then turned fully at whatever she perceived of Jia Xin’s expression. Suspicion clouded her features before she folded her arms, lips pursed together in resignation. All as quick as that. No one ever really argued with Jia Xin, least of all little cousin Liya. Only her father or grandfather might truly rein in her desires, and it rarely happened. Not even her own beloved brother had that power unconditionally, though he might like to think he did. But that was exactly why she had no intention of informing any of them of her plans.

“Just think how hideously cold it will be there, Jiji!” Liy said in disgust. Which, to her credit, having implored whilst surrounded by the beautiful tropics of their home, still decadently warm even in November, was another very good point made. Not that it was a worry Liyana needed to concern herself with, since whatever Jia Xin's normal habits, she wasn’t coming.

“I won’t be gone long enough for anyone to notice, and you’ll help me make sure it stays that way.” Jia Xin stood, setting aside her glass and lifting the sunglasses atop her head. She took her cousin’s shoulders in gentle persuasion. Not that the battle was not already won. Her lips already found themselves plumped in a mischievously triumphant smirk, and the cunning was aglow in her dark eyes.

Liyana only sighed, releasing her arms from their defensive fold across her chest. “You can’t seriously be thinking of going there alone. At least tell me why!”

“Singapore is just so quiet without Zixin,” she said with a smile. “I miss my brother, that’s all.”

It was too dismissive to be the only truth, and they both knew it. In fact she intended to see Zixin not at all, though Liyana didn't need to know that. She'd be back in the Garden City before he ever realised she'd been right under his nose.]]> <![CDATA[Turn Coat (Athens, Greece - Later Moscow)]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1690.html Tue, 03 Dec 2024 14:30:40 +0000 Legione Sumus]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1690.html [Image: Eva-Green-New-Three-Musketeers-adds-Mila...-Dumas.jpg]

[Image: Eva-Green-New-Three-Musketeers-adds-Mila...-Dumas.jpg]

Aaliyah Zevros - Prophetess of Al-Janyar

Aaliyah had never been to her “home country.” She had been born here, but had spent most of her life in Cairo. She would never see Cairo again. It was her first time looking at Athens, and she would likely never see that again either. At least she got to look at it once. According to her research, the vineyard in front of her belonged to her uncle.

Aaliyah turned away. She couldn’t ask for his help. It would put him in danger. She had enough for a hotel. Truthfully, she didn’t think Giovanno would follow her. He was too focused on his plan in Moscow. Her own part in that - in preventing the tragedy - would have to wait. If she moved too soon, he’d make new plans. Aaliyah only hoped she wouldn’t be too late.

]]>

Aaliyah Zevros - Prophetess of Al-Janyar

]]> <![CDATA[Did you think there’d be no consequences? (Moscow | London)]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1687.html Sat, 30 Nov 2024 18:55:09 +0000 Natalie Grey]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1687.html DeGarmo wanted to meet; he finally thought he had something for her. Her expression stilled; not displeasure, but certainly something guarded as she swiped the message away and sat back in her chair, hands wrapped around her coffee cup. Contemplation furrowed her brow, and she stared at her work screen, but her thoughts were all inward. She remembered what Jay had said that night by the lake, about the powers he feared were involved. They’d never spoken of it since, and so much had happened in the days afterwards that perhaps his desire for answers had buried itself under the trauma. She wouldn’t blame him for that. But her sense of the shadowy game being played above their heads was too insidious to ignore. Being caught unknowingly in its currents had cost Jay everything, and Natalie couldn’t let it lie. Even if she never admitted to him the dangerous game she was playing.

Her eyes swept suddenly upwards as a figure loomed over her table. For a moment fear tightened her chest at the disturbance, especially given the measure of her thoughts. But the tension fled when she recognised the man who presently slipped himself into the space opposite. Little betrayed her reaction further despite her surprise at seeing him here. A heavy coat draped his shoulders against the Russian cold, a mildly discomforted twist pursing his lips as he cleared the condensation from his glasses with a pocket square. It had been years since she’d last seen him, and though grey pierced his neatly manicured beard and new lines tightened his eyes, he had barely changed. Transported unexpectedly to memories of her distant childhood, Natalie said nothing, only raised her brows in belligerent askance. Oscar Chamberlain was her grandfather’s aide, and he was a long way from home.

“You’ve ignored calls, messages and plane tickets. Are you really surprised to see me, Natalie?”

“It's inconvenient,” she said levelly, as though men who ought to be in London showed up at her table all the time. The unexpectedness of his presence had not dimmed, but she parsed through it quickly in the moment; realised what it must mean if Oscar was here. She knew he’d be alone, that there would likely be a car idling out on the street for them. He was perched on his seat for propriety’s sake, and not because he intended to wait long for her obedience. The only irritation he outwardly displayed was in the lenses of his glasses, but it wasn’t what he was annoyed with.

In truth Natalie had been diligently avoiding this reckoning. She’d understood the moment Brandon had made his oblique threats in exchange for his permission that she’d just passed a threshold to consequence – because she was never going to bring Jay back to the Custody unwillingly. Not that she could have remotely predicted how badly things turned out. Her mother had already made Edward’s Northbrook’s fury at her decisions perfectly clear to her, but she’d convinced herself it would wane if she managed to keep her head down for long enough. This made for an unwelcome complication, and poorly timed.

“It most certainly is,” Oscar agreed, hooking the glasses back on his nose, and gesturing with one gloved hand to the exit. Natalie’s jaw tightened, but she did not argue. Instead she closed her screen and slid her wallet from the table. DeGarmo’s message burned in the back of her mind; the tangibility of answers denied. Oscar stood when she did, but was clearly reluctant to trust her trailing behind him. A smirk revealed the measure of his trust. He recalled the recalcitrant teenager she had been, clearly. She shot her response before she tucked the phone away – |Three days. Send me the location| – and then shouldered out the door.

They did not return to her apartment; Oscar assured her all her travel needs had been dutifully accommodated for. Resigned to the escort, Natalie was keen to get it all over with, and she made no complaint. Now the soft hum of the engines filled her ears. The last time she’d been on a plane had not exactly been a pleasant experience, and the plush luxury of the Northbrook jet did little to offset the cascade of memory. Her thoughts were mired in the past as she stared out of the window. She doubted her grandfather planned an interrogation, and he would certainly know more of what had actually happened than the sanitised version shared with her mother. But the quiet found all the cracks in her defences. It was one of the reasons she kept herself so busy.

Work on the refurbishment would continue easily without her, but some things could not be so easily substituted. She’d shot Emily a quick message before take-off – |I’ve been summoned to London. I might not make it.| Then she'd shut her phone off. Touchdown was still a good few hours away, and she wouldn’t see any reply before then, but neither was she keen for the concealed disappointment of any response. Or worse, the acceptance. Their friendship was tentative, forged from a dry cleaning bill for a bloody backseat and a concerned phone call. Emily had plenty of older and better friends. It still didn't make her keen to miss something so important.

But as clouds sped by the window, it was Jay she was thinking of.]]> DeGarmo wanted to meet; he finally thought he had something for her. Her expression stilled; not displeasure, but certainly something guarded as she swiped the message away and sat back in her chair, hands wrapped around her coffee cup. Contemplation furrowed her brow, and she stared at her work screen, but her thoughts were all inward. She remembered what Jay had said that night by the lake, about the powers he feared were involved. They’d never spoken of it since, and so much had happened in the days afterwards that perhaps his desire for answers had buried itself under the trauma. She wouldn’t blame him for that. But her sense of the shadowy game being played above their heads was too insidious to ignore. Being caught unknowingly in its currents had cost Jay everything, and Natalie couldn’t let it lie. Even if she never admitted to him the dangerous game she was playing.

Her eyes swept suddenly upwards as a figure loomed over her table. For a moment fear tightened her chest at the disturbance, especially given the measure of her thoughts. But the tension fled when she recognised the man who presently slipped himself into the space opposite. Little betrayed her reaction further despite her surprise at seeing him here. A heavy coat draped his shoulders against the Russian cold, a mildly discomforted twist pursing his lips as he cleared the condensation from his glasses with a pocket square. It had been years since she’d last seen him, and though grey pierced his neatly manicured beard and new lines tightened his eyes, he had barely changed. Transported unexpectedly to memories of her distant childhood, Natalie said nothing, only raised her brows in belligerent askance. Oscar Chamberlain was her grandfather’s aide, and he was a long way from home.

“You’ve ignored calls, messages and plane tickets. Are you really surprised to see me, Natalie?”

“It's inconvenient,” she said levelly, as though men who ought to be in London showed up at her table all the time. The unexpectedness of his presence had not dimmed, but she parsed through it quickly in the moment; realised what it must mean if Oscar was here. She knew he’d be alone, that there would likely be a car idling out on the street for them. He was perched on his seat for propriety’s sake, and not because he intended to wait long for her obedience. The only irritation he outwardly displayed was in the lenses of his glasses, but it wasn’t what he was annoyed with.

In truth Natalie had been diligently avoiding this reckoning. She’d understood the moment Brandon had made his oblique threats in exchange for his permission that she’d just passed a threshold to consequence – because she was never going to bring Jay back to the Custody unwillingly. Not that she could have remotely predicted how badly things turned out. Her mother had already made Edward’s Northbrook’s fury at her decisions perfectly clear to her, but she’d convinced herself it would wane if she managed to keep her head down for long enough. This made for an unwelcome complication, and poorly timed.

“It most certainly is,” Oscar agreed, hooking the glasses back on his nose, and gesturing with one gloved hand to the exit. Natalie’s jaw tightened, but she did not argue. Instead she closed her screen and slid her wallet from the table. DeGarmo’s message burned in the back of her mind; the tangibility of answers denied. Oscar stood when she did, but was clearly reluctant to trust her trailing behind him. A smirk revealed the measure of his trust. He recalled the recalcitrant teenager she had been, clearly. She shot her response before she tucked the phone away – |Three days. Send me the location| – and then shouldered out the door.

[Image: BenMendelsohnToCatchAKiller1-300x300.jpg]

Peter Andersen

Entering his home, Peter saw that Elsa was sitting down, a book in hand, reading quietly. He hung up his coat, the winter chill was sweeping over the port town of Helsingor, but his hunt had gone well. He had cleaned up at headquarters, but there was something on his mind. His daughter had remained quiet for sometime, and truth be told, he was beginning to worry.

"Elsa, have you heard from Elyse?" he asked. He was always right to the point.

A moment passed "I have not - still nothing."

Peter paused in thought. It wasn't like Elsa to hesitate - especially where Elyse was concerned. "I called her today - it said her number wasn't a working number anymore."

Peter watched his wife as she responded, looking for anything else that might seem odd. "I've been trying too - I've gotten nothing." She had raised her book as he said this covering more of her mouth, and she hadn't looked at him as she said this.

"You're lying," he said, matter of factly.

"Why would I lie? I'm concerned about her too."

"I don't think you're lying about that. I think you've spoken to her," he approached her, his face grim and pulled the book from her hand. "When and why are you hiding this?"

There was fear in Elsa's eyes. Yes, his wife knew what he was capable of. "She's my little girl..." Her voice was weak and afraid. Peter didn't respond, just waited for more. "She called - I didn't know the number - it was encrypted. She's...

"In hiding? Peter finished. "Is she one of these...godlings" he said the last word with contempt as he closed in, preventing his wife from escaping her chair.

"No," she flinched as his gazed hardened even more. "She's not - I swear...she's...

"Tell me," he spoke softly, but the coldness in his voice scared Elsa more than anything.

"A wolfkin..." she said quietly, hanging her head in shame.[/color]

Fire burned in Peter's eyes. His daughter. An animal. He pushed on his wife's shoulder, holding her to the chair as he came around the back. "Please don't...she's my little girl...please... Elsa begged for her daughter's life.

"For what I must do, I'm sorry," he said as he began to wrap his arms around her neck.

"Elyse, I'm so sorry..." Elyse said and then she felt the restriction on her wind pipe as her husband began to dole out the Atharim's justice.

His wife was a traitor. She couldn't see the big picture beyond her love for her daughter. Peter could understand that a little bit. He loved Elyse too, but true love told him that he had to make sure she didn't succumb to her curse, and there was only one way to do that.

Peter Andersen

"You're lying," he said, matter of factly.

"Why would I lie? I'm concerned about her too."

"I don't think you're lying about that. I think you've spoken to her," he approached her, his face grim and pulled the book from her hand. "When and why are you hiding this?"

"In hiding? Peter finished. "Is she one of these...godlings" he said the last word with contempt as he closed in, preventing his wife from escaping her chair.

"No," she flinched as his gazed hardened even more. "She's not - I swear...she's...

"Tell me," he spoke softly, but the coldness in his voice scared Elsa more than anything.

"A wolfkin..." she said quietly, hanging her head in shame.[/color]

"For what I must do, I'm sorry," he said as he began to wrap his arms around her neck.

"Elyse, I'm so sorry..." Elyse said and then she felt the restriction on her wind pipe as her husband began to dole out the Atharim's justice.

Elsa was buried, and her death, reason of death, and his role in it was reported to the Atharim. His wife had been a traitor, and that was taken care of. Now Peter had another mission. It was his daughter. He would do the deed himself. He would go to Moscow. His daughter was a hunter, and Peter knew she could hide well, but he would find her. ]]> <![CDATA[New Beginnings (Olkhon Island | Baikal Lake, Siberia)]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1629.html Thu, 01 Aug 2024 17:15:01 +0000 Tenzin]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1629.html Wild Heart]]

Tenzin fell easily into the routine of travel, a soothing aid for the confusion still in her aching heart, and a good distraction for her human worries. She had not truly realised how stifling she found the city until she left it. The freedom lifted her lungs with a breath of joy, but it did not remedy the hollow she carried inside now. A reminder of what had been left behind.

A reminder of what might have been irretrievably lost.

Back in Leh they had lived communally in the monastery, but many years of solitary living had passed since then. At heart Tenzin was a nomad, used to her own company and content to run with her brethren when she could. She’d lived on the wild edges, focused by the hunt to which she pledged her life and energies, and enlivened by the companionship of the wolves who called her sister. There had been no discontent in that old life. When she needed it she sought the succour of human company in the rural lands where elders still knew something of the rākṣasa hatyārā’s work, and treated her with distant kindness. These pangs of loneliness were new. It felt strangely like the grief she had lived through after Silver’s death.

The wolves guided, and she followed the trail they left for her. They did not use the human names for places, but Tenzin was accustomed to interpretation of their shared language and how to use it to navigate the journey. The new packs she encountered found it an unusual delight, how fluently she aligned with them without becoming lost to herself, as so many of the kin still did. The excited ripple of Star Dancer comes that went ahead of her, especially amongst the pups, made her smile for the welcome received.

Once in the dream she met an old wolf, older than Silver, with a far more cantankerous tongue. She sat at his paws, hands on her knees, to accept his wisdom and direction. Then, towards the end of her journey she was greeted by a springy, half-grown pup whose excited sendings identified him as one of Chase’s brood. By then her waking body was close to her destination.

Civilisation closed back around her, and though it was not the towering cityscape of Moscow, it took a moment to readjust herself to the throngs of people. Contacts concealed Tenzin’s yellow eyes, but a few still stared at a woman openly draped in so many tattoos. The gazes did not linger over long, though. These people had bigger concerns, evidenced by the signs of recent weather damage battering their harbour and surrounding dwellings. Summer in Siberia was not what it was back home, but it was not the season for storms. Even the ferry to the island had been damaged, only yesterday resuming its crossings. Tenzin’s sharp ears caught murmurings of ill omens as she purchased her ticket.

Ohlkon Island bore similar signs of destruction, and in its isolation far less signs of efficient recuperation. The settlement had no roads to speak of, only dirt tracks lined by wooden houses – something far more akin to the villages Tenzin was used to in India. Supplies were being unloaded from the boat when she alighted on shore. Her brow flickered concern, and she briefly deliberated pausing to offer help, but the pull towards brethren was stronger. One of the kin who had already survived the change likely also knew how to survive the elements, and there were a few wolves here for support, the small resident pack skimming over the ice for good hunting when the lake froze over in the winter months. If the kin had been hurt in the storm, Tenzin was sure she would already know, but she would prefer to see it with her own eyes before delaying to help others.

Beyond the village, great larch and pine trees shadowed the narrow passes, giving way to great swathes of steppe. The long grasses tickled her skin, and beat her heart with the urge to run for the joy of it. Instead she sniffed the air. She did not know exactly where the cabin was, except that it was between the village and the basin of water that curved from a great rock. When the dappled light of the trees once more shaded her shoulders, Tenzin’s mind unfurled and reached out in greeting. The pack who called this place home might not be close, but they would be able to guide her step.]]> Wild Heart]]

Tenzin fell easily into the routine of travel, a soothing aid for the confusion still in her aching heart, and a good distraction for her human worries. She had not truly realised how stifling she found the city until she left it. The freedom lifted her lungs with a breath of joy, but it did not remedy the hollow she carried inside now. A reminder of what had been left behind.

A reminder of what might have been irretrievably lost.

Back in Leh they had lived communally in the monastery, but many years of solitary living had passed since then. At heart Tenzin was a nomad, used to her own company and content to run with her brethren when she could. She’d lived on the wild edges, focused by the hunt to which she pledged her life and energies, and enlivened by the companionship of the wolves who called her sister. There had been no discontent in that old life. When she needed it she sought the succour of human company in the rural lands where elders still knew something of the rākṣasa hatyārā’s work, and treated her with distant kindness. These pangs of loneliness were new. It felt strangely like the grief she had lived through after Silver’s death.

The wolves guided, and she followed the trail they left for her. They did not use the human names for places, but Tenzin was accustomed to interpretation of their shared language and how to use it to navigate the journey. The new packs she encountered found it an unusual delight, how fluently she aligned with them without becoming lost to herself, as so many of the kin still did. The excited ripple of Star Dancer comes that went ahead of her, especially amongst the pups, made her smile for the welcome received.

Once in the dream she met an old wolf, older than Silver, with a far more cantankerous tongue. She sat at his paws, hands on her knees, to accept his wisdom and direction. Then, towards the end of her journey she was greeted by a springy, half-grown pup whose excited sendings identified him as one of Chase’s brood. By then her waking body was close to her destination.

Tromsø, Norway
Continued from: The Great Hunt (Oslo, Norway)
There was no getting around the fact that he was in Norway. There was also no way to hide his trip to Tromsø. The official reason was an extension of his visit in the first place; that he was attempting to build good will between the Catholic church and the Church of Norway. In truth, he had zero interest in the affairs of evangelical lutherans, but it wasn’t unheard of for Popes to visit protestant churches. Only two popes in history had visited a Buddhist temple and only one ever stepped foot in a mosque. Hopefully collecting the other two keys wouldn’t come to that. Philip detested the idea that Patricus I would be remembered in history for making a mark at heretical institutions.

Tromsø was famous for one thing, other than scenic views and aurora tourism, and that was the site known as the Arctic Cathedral. Tromsdalen Church was a parish of the lutheran Church of Norway. The modern concrete and metal structure was built in a shotgun style in 1965. The building looked like a series of white triangles that made up its form, and seating about 600, it was a masterpiece of architecture, and certainly grand enough to host the Pope.

He had to make an appearance as unexpected and unexplained as when he visited Estonia, but it was only for a single day, and the news coverage was kept minimal. In the accompanying message, he spoke of unified charity, public service, and caring for orphans and the poor. It was the same sort of generic blustering that might have been fitting upon crossing any threshold beyond sacred walls of His Church, except, he found himself surprised at the passion with which he spoke of serving, particularly the orphans. He made an impromptu visit to a church-run orphanage afterward where he spent the rest of the day visiting with the children.

Meanwhile, Armande and Valeriya, who had to travel separately from him, went in search of the supposed sacred tree from the vision. Rowan volunteered herself to procure the items they would need to withstand a night under the stars, the longest list of which were Philip’s requirements. He’d never so much as imagined himself camping, and he was more than vocal about his displeasure at having to start now.

But if he was going to do this, he had a long list. First and foremost, his sleeping bag had to be white.]]> <![CDATA[Not This Time [Tokyo, Japan]]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1600.html Wed, 13 Mar 2024 09:29:24 +0000 Nox]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1600.html
***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Always count on The Wicked Truth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Target eliminated ]]>
***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Always count on The Wicked Truth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Target eliminated ]]> <![CDATA[Taming the Beast [China]]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1590.html Fri, 16 Feb 2024 11:17:35 +0000 Nox]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1590.html
The hungers were fueled by the dark pleasures of taking a life. Nox hated the monster he was becoming -- or rather re-becoming. Memories he'd thought long forgotten resurfaced. His first time killing a god with Jacob. It wasn't pleasure but it was satisfaction of a job well done -- the praise that followed. What he would have done to hear those words from his father.

The whole idea of pleasing his father turned his stomach. But the horde latched on to the feelings and pushed his own memories at him -- feeding their lusts and desires. They wanted more and self pleasuring in the shower after a hearty steak dinner wasn't going to suffice tonight.

Nox learned from his father -- he hated the facts. But it was what it was. He knew how to find what he needed. He truly missed Oriena in that moment. A quick call -- and he'd have exactly what he horde needed the violence and the sex rolled into one. It would sate the beast inside.

Even in the middle of a place he'd never been Nox knew the signs of brothels and whore houses. Or even the woman walking the street who desired money for sex. But his feet carried him into a different place -- a different world. No the horde wanted violence -- Nox wanted to punish himself for the thoughts and feelings he was reliving. And a women no matter how good at her job wasn't going to cut it.

Nox left his gear and only took the credit chit and identification with him. He thought about leaving his wallet behind, but he'd probably need that to translate. He didn't know any Chinese.

He found himself in a rough and tumble bar filled with Chinese gangsters. They all stared at him when he walked in, but he didn't let it stop him as he made his way to the bar and ordered whatever was on tap with a little help from the translator on his Wallet.

The bartender didn't bring his drink, instead several men surrounded his bar stool and a big man growled in Chinese at him. Nox held up a finger and turned the translator back on. "Sorry, man, didn't understand that."

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" The translator replied after he spoke in his words again angrily.

"Having a drink and looking to be fucked." Nox said, however the Nox was pretty sure that wasn't what the translator said. Or maybe it was and the implication that any of them might be gay resulted in the punch to his gut followed by another fist to his side until Nox was ready to curl up on the ground to protect his more vital organs. And then the feet started.

The horde reviled him, but the pain and the blood coursing through his body, the violence enticed them. Thrilled them even. But even Nox had a line. A few of them started kicking their feet at his head and neck and that was more than enough for Nox. Nox reached in through the slime slicked light of the power and he wove a blast of air that flung the attackers from him with ease.

Several of the men were pinned to the nearest wall, others had toppled over tables as Nox got up off the ground dabbing his thumb at the busted lip and grunting just a little as he sat down on the bar stool he'd vacated. "I'll have that beer now."

He let the power go and waited for whatever they wanted to throw at him.]]>
The hungers were fueled by the dark pleasures of taking a life. Nox hated the monster he was becoming -- or rather re-becoming. Memories he'd thought long forgotten resurfaced. His first time killing a god with Jacob. It wasn't pleasure but it was satisfaction of a job well done -- the praise that followed. What he would have done to hear those words from his father.

The whole idea of pleasing his father turned his stomach. But the horde latched on to the feelings and pushed his own memories at him -- feeding their lusts and desires. They wanted more and self pleasuring in the shower after a hearty steak dinner wasn't going to suffice tonight.

Nox learned from his father -- he hated the facts. But it was what it was. He knew how to find what he needed. He truly missed Oriena in that moment. A quick call -- and he'd have exactly what he horde needed the violence and the sex rolled into one. It would sate the beast inside.

Even in the middle of a place he'd never been Nox knew the signs of brothels and whore houses. Or even the woman walking the street who desired money for sex. But his feet carried him into a different place -- a different world. No the horde wanted violence -- Nox wanted to punish himself for the thoughts and feelings he was reliving. And a women no matter how good at her job wasn't going to cut it.

Nox left his gear and only took the credit chit and identification with him. He thought about leaving his wallet behind, but he'd probably need that to translate. He didn't know any Chinese.

He found himself in a rough and tumble bar filled with Chinese gangsters. They all stared at him when he walked in, but he didn't let it stop him as he made his way to the bar and ordered whatever was on tap with a little help from the translator on his Wallet.

The bartender didn't bring his drink, instead several men surrounded his bar stool and a big man growled in Chinese at him. Nox held up a finger and turned the translator back on. "Sorry, man, didn't understand that."

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" The translator replied after he spoke in his words again angrily.

"Having a drink and looking to be fucked." Nox said, however the Nox was pretty sure that wasn't what the translator said. Or maybe it was and the implication that any of them might be gay resulted in the punch to his gut followed by another fist to his side until Nox was ready to curl up on the ground to protect his more vital organs. And then the feet started.

The horde reviled him, but the pain and the blood coursing through his body, the violence enticed them. Thrilled them even. But even Nox had a line. A few of them started kicking their feet at his head and neck and that was more than enough for Nox. Nox reached in through the slime slicked light of the power and he wove a blast of air that flung the attackers from him with ease.

Several of the men were pinned to the nearest wall, others had toppled over tables as Nox got up off the ground dabbing his thumb at the busted lip and grunting just a little as he sat down on the bar stool he'd vacated. "I'll have that beer now."

He let the power go and waited for whatever they wanted to throw at him.]]> <![CDATA[Chinese Warlord [Beijing, China]]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1588.html Tue, 13 Feb 2024 11:04:12 +0000 Nox]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1588.html
A text did arrive at one point with the names of the plants he'd sent to Raffe. He thanked Raffe and promised a home cooked meal.

I owe you. Make you your favorite meal when I get back. As a thank you.

Nox started working on a little planter, an earthen ware pot he created from an earth weave. Filled it with dirt and made a small rectangular terrarium to grow his new little plants in. Well at least when he got them. The fresh scents from the live plants always worked better, and in the mean time he'd pick up essential oils as well and mix and match until the horde was completely pliable.

It wasn't a fix-all but it was a better solution than sex and fighting all the time. The horde was scratching at his walls more and more the further he got from London and Hayden. And ultimately Raffe, but Nox was doing his best not to think about any of that.

Now all he had to do was plant the plants -- that should be fun. But for now he'd continue with the little bag he had, it worked for now.]]>
A text did arrive at one point with the names of the plants he'd sent to Raffe. He thanked Raffe and promised a home cooked meal.

I owe you. Make you your favorite meal when I get back. As a thank you.

Nox started working on a little planter, an earthen ware pot he created from an earth weave. Filled it with dirt and made a small rectangular terrarium to grow his new little plants in. Well at least when he got them. The fresh scents from the live plants always worked better, and in the mean time he'd pick up essential oils as well and mix and match until the horde was completely pliable.

It wasn't a fix-all but it was a better solution than sex and fighting all the time. The horde was scratching at his walls more and more the further he got from London and Hayden. And ultimately Raffe, but Nox was doing his best not to think about any of that.

Now all he had to do was plant the plants -- that should be fun. But for now he'd continue with the little bag he had, it worked for now.]]> <![CDATA[Casual Observer]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1585.html Wed, 07 Feb 2024 10:26:43 +0000 Hayden]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1585.html Runaway Train]]

Two dossiers were attached to the assignment for Nox's next marks. He followed at a distance, wondering why he just didn't fly to Paris. But whatever -- there was that plane accident he was in so maybe that had something to do with it. But it really didn't matter, Hayden followed Nox.

The train was unique. He'd never been on one before. Hayden checked in with his assistant manage at Harbour House to make sure things were going well.

He kept in touch with Zef through the burner phone they gave him. Nox seemed on edge whenever he saw him out of the corner of his eyes. But they didn't want him to blow his cover, so Hayden stayed hidden.

Hayden hung out mostly in the diner car, his seat on the train was less than comfortable and Nox walked through regularly grabbing something to eat almost like clockwork.

There was a lot going on, on this train. And a party in an adjoining car was loud and raucous. Hayden wanted to slip in and have some fun, but he was working and it was a distraction. But the noise drew him more and more and eventually he knew he'd give in.]]> Runaway Train]]

Two dossiers were attached to the assignment for Nox's next marks. He followed at a distance, wondering why he just didn't fly to Paris. But whatever -- there was that plane accident he was in so maybe that had something to do with it. But it really didn't matter, Hayden followed Nox.

The train was unique. He'd never been on one before. Hayden checked in with his assistant manage at Harbour House to make sure things were going well.

He kept in touch with Zef through the burner phone they gave him. Nox seemed on edge whenever he saw him out of the corner of his eyes. But they didn't want him to blow his cover, so Hayden stayed hidden.

Hayden hung out mostly in the diner car, his seat on the train was less than comfortable and Nox walked through regularly grabbing something to eat almost like clockwork.

There was a lot going on, on this train. And a party in an adjoining car was loud and raucous. Hayden wanted to slip in and have some fun, but he was working and it was a distraction. But the noise drew him more and more and eventually he knew he'd give in.]]> <![CDATA[Runaway Train]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1584.html Wed, 07 Feb 2024 10:24:19 +0000 Nox]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1584.html [dossier attached] [itinerary attached]

Target 2: Song Fan, Beijing China [dossier attached]

Nox had too much time on his hands. And not enough research to kill his time. His mind kept wandering to the promises he made. One such lapse reminded Nox to pick up something for the girls as he was leaving on the ferry. They may not enjoy the trinket, but what girl didn't like snowglobes. Aurora never did, but she like knives and crossbow bolts so there was that.

Nox shook Big Ben and watched the snow fall around the clock tower. It was cute. Not cool. But cute. He'd have to remember to pick them up something from other stops if he could.

Another lapse had Nox staring at his wallet screen. He'd never gotten Hayden's number, it was Raffe's he stared at. He'd made the promise to a stranger -- so what if he didn't keep it. Soon was relative.

Nox sighed and hit the text messages. The last one he'd sent to Raffe was about closing up when he hooked up with Oriena and set a new life direction even if he hadn't known it at the time. Those moments spearheaded a new thought -- a new way to live. And Nox was just now starting to embrace it all.

Nox still didn't know what to say to Raffe. And the words that he sent were stupid.

How's Lily?

Nox didn't expect an answer. He didn't really know what to say. But he reached out. It was more than he'd done when he left -- though the note had been for him and him alone. Nox couldn't have said good-bye to his face.

Shortly there after a reply buzzed Nox's wallet and in return Raffe had sent a picture of Lily sitting amongst his other plants on the window sill. She looked at home nestled among the other greenery. Almost like it was meant to be. It drew Nox's mood down.

The first night on the train was restless. Nightmares, and research kept him awake. The guy was Atharim -- false prophet spewing words, but Nox didn't really care. He just had to figure out how to take him out without derailing a train.

Somewhere in the dead of night Nox felt a man channeling. He didn't feel anything, he didn't see anything but somewhere on the train another man was channeling.

While he'd been with Hayden he hadn't had time to put any of his theories to the test. He'd been too busy getting his body worked over by the other man to think beyond his dick. Now he was alone -- the nightmares took his body again. He realized it wasn't just Raffe, it was contentment. He fucking needed a warm body to feel safe. He'd always had Aurora to curl up with when shit got bad. That didn't work now that his twin was dead. And no one there to love him.

Depression sank hard in his heart. Even the recent memories of a warm body ravaging his body wasn't enough to keep his nights warm. He had to find something else.

The first stop on the train Nox ironically found that pink bunny sitting in the window of a shop and he picked it up. It didn't last long once he got back to his seat on the train. He tore into it and found the pouch in the head and started sorting out the leaves inside. He had to figure out what each one was.

Another of the long list of projects he had before he hit China where his next mark waited. He still had to handle the current one. But how do you kill a man on a train when you don't want to get caught. Easy enough he wasn't a god so he couldn't see the trick Nox would employ he just had to make sure there were no witnesses.]]> <![CDATA[A London Reality [London, England]]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1576.html Sun, 28 Jan 2024 19:39:13 +0000 Hayden]]> https://thefirstage.org/forums/thread-1576.html
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.]]>
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.]]>