His first thought was about the absence of fatigue. In that very revelation, Philip knew he was dreaming. He had been bone-weary tired when his head found its way to a pillow. That the physical constraint of body and mind resisted translation to his new destination was as dead a giveaway as anything else. Though now that he shielded his eyes from the brightness of a sunless sky, he realized that he was surrounded by nothing but sand. Yellow, endless dunes made a wave of the horizon. For reasons he did not bother to dissect, a vast desert had been the place of his spawning. It was annoying more than anything, foot sinking into the sand as he tried to turn about despite the athletic-cut Ascis. Cliffs made a mountain behind him. In their façade were carved shapes undoubtedly etched by human hand. Wherever he was, he was certain it was about as far away from Catholicism as possible.

The cliffs were looming in what felt like fewer steps than should have been possible. Yet he was so accustomed to the oddity of dreams that gave it no additional thought. Why was he here? Was this the manifestation of his subconscious or was this by sophisticated design? He thrust his hands in the pockets of a La Perla cashmere tracksuit, bright white as his papal robes. The cashmere was smooth as butter, but despite the environment, he wasn’t hot. Though when he ducked into the shade of a doorway, a coolness washed his face.

A tunnel burrowed into the rock. The other worldly light extended into the passage, though it was barely enough to see. Carvings were etched into the walls, and despite the many languages he could read and write, the glyphs were unknown to him. A 5,200 year old tablet of pictographs was the oldest writing on record, but it was a crude form of proto-cuneiform. The ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs dating to the 5th Dynasty would fit in the setting of this dream, but the shapes on the walls were far less pictoral and more script-like. They had the scratching reminiscent of cuneiform of ancient Iraq but more elegant. He didn’t claim to read such worthless nonsense, his knowledge was honed upon the languages that built the church, but he knew enough to recognize that this writing was intelligent, sophisticated, and complex.

They were probably a figment of his imagination, he finally decided and continued onward. The tunnel turned to stairs soon after with just enough light to avoid spraining an ankle. At the bottom there was a fresh scent on the air and for the first time there was a sound. He followed an echo of drips to their source, puzzled.

At some point in the journey, the passageway or ancient temple – whatever it was –  transformed into a more natural cave structure. So much so that he was careful to avoid smearing mud on his suit. A pool of cave water identified the source of the dripping, and Philip was about to carry on until he saw a glint beneath the surface. At first, he thought it was another key, which would explain the absurdity of this dream. He leaned over the incredibly still water, squinting to discern what was submerged when an unexplained ripple disturbed the surface. He could almost see the shape of it when he turned his face slightly, but the light was insufficient. He could get in the water, he thought, and swim down to it.

An unease touched his brow. There was no one here to explain the hesitation, and ultimately his curiosity stole the better of his senses. It was a dream anyway and he typically tried to not fight the pull of dreams.

He slipped into the water. The chill wasn’t unpleasant but nor was it relaxing. His feet could touch the bottom, but after a few steps they lost the shelf. He was about to gasp a lungful of air and submerge when bubbles erupted ahead of him. Likely from the disturbance of silt, he thought, and slipped under the water.

The dark was deeper beneath, but the glint of something vaguely metallic led his way. He reached out to snatch the curious item, wincing when he found it was sharp to the hand. Surely it had cut him, he thought, as he pulled it toward himself and started to push upward.

Something grabbed his foot and a hard jerk pulled down. He gasped a mouthful of water and kicked at it, but the harder he fought, the lower he was dragged.

Nikolai was absconded by military security forces as soon as he reconnected with the surface. Later he would receive a report detailing how far into the undercity they traversed and it would astound him. To think that there was so much subterranean world under the city streets was almost inconceivable. Even more astounding, more existed. Jay and Nox would find out how far the rabbit hole went. The call to go with them pulled at Nik with such ferocity that he seriously considered returning more than once. Ultimately, responsibility and duty carried him to fresh air, but it wasn’t a sweet emergence.

The ride back to the Kremlin wasn’t one of stealth. After the appropriate transfer to a secure vehicle, he was ferried to the fortress in his usual standard. He checked a communications and updates on high priority items, but he refused all personal interactions other than who else was in the car with him.

Marcos and Allan were transferred back to the Kremlin in the same vehicle as the Ascendancy. It had little to do with the desire to debrief what just occurred, and more about the practicality of stealth. His vehicle was impenetrable to scans and hacks. There couldn’t be a hint of their involvement in the undercity.

Except the activity hadn’t gone unnoticed.

It seemed that some undercity denizens had escaped the fire, but not everyone survived. The expulsion of hundreds of homeless into the surface had attracted a lot of media attention. Reports of violence and fires sweeping the homeless camps underground led to panic and worry. It was nothing compared to the chaos that would have erupted had the monsters of below followed, but it wasn’t the kind of PR that Nikolai liked.
Take care of it, he responded, anticipating that this attention be diverted swiftly. Trouble among the homeless was usually easy to dismiss in a city like theirs.

The Kremlin grounds were secured from prying eyes. Not so much as a secretary was allowed to peer out the window while Ascendancy, Marcus and Allan were transferred from the vehicles and into the safety of the building proper. He wanted to clean up as soon as possible, and only distant passerbys even glimpsed that the Ascendancy was back on the grounds. Orders were left with Allan to debrief the rest of the Rods and work out a defense program for future non-human threats.

He left Marcus with instructions too. “I want you to set up an analysis of our channeler intelligence and registries for anyone who could potentially combine channeling with the science of genetic engineering. We need to carefully monitor their activities. I don’t want a rogue channeler accidentally creating an entire new species.”

Some of you may or may not have noticed that I've started telling the story of Lugh. His story will span the 5th and 6th Age; it will largely be contained to the present-day regions of Ireland and Great Britain. If anyone is interested in having a 5th or 6th age incarnation taking an excursion to the Erie Isles and beyond, Lugh would certainly welcome it. Shoot me your ideas via PM or this thread.

If no one is interested, I hope you guys at least enjoy reading this God's history.

(As a side note: Assassin's Creed: Valhalla definitely inspired the course of this storyline.)

The Last Year of the Fifth Age
Late Spring
The Grand City of Gorias in the Northern Isles of Erie

“The human flesh will not feast upon your excellence,” Ebony sent to Siobhan.

“She is correct. I have seen what the North American continent has to say. It is best if you find Aiden,” Ivory sent to Siobhan as he shoved his face into a plater of raw chicken legs.

Siobhan had not seen Aiden since Ebony had tracked him to that Russian cop’s mansion. It had been apparent that Aiden could handle himself and – at the time – Siobhan had no honest need of him. But now?

Something had been tracking Siobhan and her pack – not that they had been hiding – and it had actually succeeded in slaying a few of her packmates. The ‘seven dwarves,’ as Siobhan called the wolves, now totaled four.

Ebony, Ivory, Doxx, and Snappy.

That was all that had remained of the original seven.

The tour had been canceled since the three passings. Siobhan could not perform under such duress that had been caused by the assassinations of her friends. 

Since the killing of Happy, Siobhan and the three pups resolved to lay in wait for the murderer of their kin.

Unfortunately, Siobhan had nothing but her wits and a tenuous agreement with four wolves.

Hey ye scalawags, I'm lonely! someone come say hi! 

For entertainment, here is something funny: 

Hola Mishamigoes,

Nox is wanting a list of WoT lines for FAbot. 

Post your favs/noms here.

Egwene:  "Eff everyone, I'm going to save the world myself."

The Ascendancy assigned Jay to assist him.  At least it wasn't Allan.  Nox wasn't sure about Marcus Dubois, but at least he wasn't showing animosity towards him the whole time.  Nox wondered what happened to him since the last time.  Nox preferred the fawning to the attacks.  Not that the fawning had been desirable either.

Nox didn't care what happened to Allan as he left with the Ascendancy but he sent the HUDs to the three men leaving the fastest way out.  It was unfortunately the same way the Atharim would have fled leaving them in the Red Light District.  But that was for them to deal with.  He rearranged the packs he'd left -- taking the food and extra water and adding it to the packs he and Jay would take deeper into the tunnels.

The quiet drip of water falling in the depts below them was the only sound as Nox quickly rearranged.  Even the scratching was gone.  It was almost peaceful.  Except Nox knew that around the corner the horde pushed deeper into the bowels of the earth.  

Nox hoisted his backpack upon his shoulder and tucked the duffle bag into a better position.  The power at the ready and a unfinished directional shockwave in front of him ready to go if they needed it.  But their fight should be minimal as they trudged deeper into the depts of the underground.  The software would update Nox's map the deeper they went.  And Nox would mark where there had been nests that the horde cleared.  People shouldn't live this far down.  He could only hope.

He handed Jay a pack.  "If everything goes as planned enjoy the vacation."  In the deep dark tunnels below any civilization where the rocks could kill you just as easily as the beast around the next corner.

[[ @"Jay Carpenter" ]]

They left the bowels of the earth with the male gods behind them.  Zef hated fleeing, but there were five of them and only three of them in a crammed space.  It was not tactical to stay against five well trained gods.  

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."

((Continued from))

Nika was and then she wasn’t, simple as that.

Upon activation the tree birthed light that might have been seen from space if you were looking.  ...and the dense canopy didn’t make everything aerial impossible.  The obsidian egg absorbed it all as was its design and gifted it to the being inside.  Purpose served, the encasement’s shell parted into slats starting at the top, which then folded over and over itself until it was again contained within the small pack.  The form within shifted forward and once the egg no longer had walls, poured bonelessly onto the forest floor.

The defib activated and her heart remembered it had a job once.  The pump restarted merrily like a dumb yellow dog locating a ball lost in tall grass.

Doc Freeman and Hatch’s spaz dart saw to it that Nika remained…pacified…until the VR program was ready to run.

Jorge hooked in with her as a guide while Doc and Suggs monitored and manipulated the program and Nika’s vitals externally.  The program itself had been meticulously built using real body and helmet cam footage from the actual mission all those years ago.

"Button."

Nika blinked back with a short hiss of breath through her nose.  Her nearly black eyes took their time fine-tuning focus.  

“Now is not the time to lie on your ass.”  

The voice was one she’d not heard in a long while.  She swallowed around a dry throat and attempted to sit up but failed.

Fire.  Heat like she’d never known raced along her nerve endings.  Her vision briefly eclipsed before white suns alternated separate dawns.  She dared not breathe or make a sound.  In her head she screamed.  The wave passed as quickly as it appeared.  Bizarre.  The sensations left her breathless.

“We must move out of range!”  

The voice was urgent rather than mean.  He was right, she had to listen.  The warlord apparently had suicide drones, which were highly illegal, but then so was assassination.  

A massive weight exerted pressure, it seemed, over her entire form so that she could not localize anything.  Nika moved with great difficulty; every action was purposeful, deliberate and calculated.  Willpower alone forced her body to comply; muscle motor memory saw the movements actually happen.

The shocks came and went without warning.  Nika stumbled almost imperceptibly as the nerves in her knee flared to uselessness and her leg gave way.  The exoskeleton suit kept her from actually falling, taking up the slack when it sensed weakness.  The civilian version was worn by those with spinal afflictions; the military version kept a soldier mobile long after in-action wounds became incapacitating.  

Nika held her sidearm in a double grip both to support her weapon should one hand or the other fail and to give herself something to squeeze for the pain.  She was trying very hard not to crack teeth when the flares came…