With a shudder and a cloud of dust, the last redoubt in Turpentine fell, and red numbers spewed skyward from the wreckage as the defenders died.

But not many. A dozen had held off hundreds for the better course of an hour. Part of that was due to the horrific urban battles and countless ambushes that the resistance had sprung upon the Bharstool Warmers over the last few days. The fighting had gone street-to-street, house-to-house, and every skirmish had served to buy the refugees fleeing westward more time.

And more than that, to darken the name of the Bharstool Warmers. The nigh-invincible guild had gotten a black eye, here. True, they'd won; that part was inevitable. But it had cost them, and word of their sloppiness would travel on ahead, and reach the ears of those that the resistance was courting.

That was the hope, anyway. For now, Rotgoriel folded his wing and turned, swinging around to head west as well. He'd done his job, and gotten another dragon level for his troubles. But to stay longer would draw dragonslayers, both from inside the Warmers and from the random players that either enjoyed hunting him or were acting as mercenaries for strangers who wished him ill.

Of all the dragons in Generica, he was the only one to have a player, and this made him a target for the envious.

He didn't mind that one bit. Dragonslayers usually had good loot on them. But this weekend was about bloodying the Warmers, not hunting his hunters. And so he left them to their own drama, and flew westward over the wastes until a sudden message interrupted his journey.

Ladyvrinn: Pat wants to see you, big guy.

Rutger: Where?

Ladyvrinn: Shield rock.

Rutger: Then he shall see me there shortly.

Ladyvrinn: You are so formal when your bot's running the show.

Rutger: I shall trust your assessment of the matter.

Ladyvrinn: An ass essment? My, so forward. Perhaps over drinks, later? Or a nice dinner in Kai-Tan? I understand they have food orgies there...

When she had first started talking to him this way, Rotgoriel had gone to Rich for answers. The answer he got was that she was probably teasing him, practicing flirting with something she thought was a construct, that she could tease without consequence.

Rotgoriel found it amusing. Particularly so after spending some time in Richard's body, looking up chatbots and other similar entities.

Rutger: I do not know what a food orgies is.

Ladyvrinn: It involves one of your favorite things and one of mine. Guess which is which?

Rutger: I like food. Do you like food?

Ladyvrinn: I could do with a bite. Or a taste, put it that way. How do you taste?

Rutger: With my tongue.

Ladyvrinn: I wouldn't mind a closer look at that tongue of yours.

Rutger: I see with my eyes, not my tongue.

Ladyvrinn: And what do you see? Something you like, or shall I... get comfy and lose a few layers of clothing?

Rutger: I see Shield Rock, so goodbye for now.

Ladyvrinn: Don't keep me waiting, big guy.

Rutger rolled his eyes, and adjusted his flight toward the flat, rounded plateau just off the main trade route. There were a number of carts and wagons pulled up to it, and several of the camels shied and brayed as he passed overhead, searching for Pat. It didn't take much of a search, and after spotting his friend's distinctive miter, he descended into a landing.

Pat was smiling. And the words over his head were slightly different, in a way that made Rotgoriel's chest swell with happiness.

Father Nosebest – Cleric 25

“That is a guild name!” Rotgoriel shouted.

Pat's smile widened. “It is! Turns out managing a major battle for geopolitical interests and agendas gets you Ruler levels. Enough to get to Guildmaster quickly, anyway.”

“They did us a favor.” Rotgoriel closed his eyes in joy. “This almost makes all the deaths worth it.”

“Ah, yeah. I know you've been getting the brunt of it. I'm sorry about that, but you're one of our strongest immortal assets. Here, let me make it up to you. Invite Rotgoriel to guild.”

Father Nosebest has invited you to the Scions of Order!

Do you wish to join the Scions of Order guild at this time? Y/N?

“Yes,” Rotgoriel said without hesitation.

You are now a member of the Scions of Order!

“It has been a long road to reach this point,” Rotgoriel said, savoring the victory of one of their goals down.

“But wait, there's more!” Pat said, throwing his arms wide. “Pick your favorite job.”

“What?”

“I can up the level limit of one of your jobs to fifty.”

“I...” Rotgoriel paused. “I had not known this was possible.”

“It's something I thought was possible, but wasn't sure about. A lot of the unconfirmed skill lists mentioned something like this for level five, and sure enough, they were right. The trick is that I can only extend the limit for one job. If you want to switch it to a different job, you have to either archive the existing chosen job or lose all experience past twenty-five for it. So it's one of those choices you shouldn't make lightly.”

“Or soon,” Rotgoriel said, thinking hard. On the one hand, he was one of very few Clerics of Konol. With his god endangered, the extra levels might provide ways to help out, or increase Konol's chances against the great old one that was crawling through the void to devour him.

On the other hand, the Cultist job had more tools for dealing with great old ones. And untangling the nature of reality.

This was not a choice to make lightly. “I will consult with Rich before I make my choice,” Rotgoriel decided.

“Wise move,” Pat said, catching his eye and nodding. Then he looked around, furtively.

“We are alone up here,” Rotgoriel told him. “It is safe to talk.”

And they were, for the most part. The other members of the resistance left here were down at the bottom of the plateu helping sort out the refugees, and loading up their own supplies for the trek west.

“This is a load off,” Pat said. “My main goal's done. The next step for me is negotiations with Kai-Tan. And thanks to you and everyone else, we're in a strong position. We should be able to get a strong headquarters out of them... maybe even some land of our own. After that, I'll be diving into Project Utopia, headfirst.”

“For all that you have spoken of it, I have little understanding of the project,” Rotgoriel confessed. “I believe that Rich was in charge while you had these discussions.”

“Doesn't he share memories with you?”

“He has not for the past few months,” Rotgoriel confessed.

“Huh. Is everything okay, there?”

“I believe so. He...” Rotgoriel caught himself. He could tell Pat that Rich had felt his personality fraying a bit, felt himself becoming more draconic. But that would be in its way a confession of weakness. Would his brother appreciate having such personal issues raised in his absence? Perhaps not.

“He is ensuring that mirror usage does not have an adverse affect on him,” Rotgoriel finished. Technically it wasn't a lie.

“Okay. God, I hope it doesn't. That's kind of your ace in the hole.”

“It has been in the past. But now we have you, you and the Guild.” Rotgoriel nodded. “This way is better.”

“Yeah. Yeah it is.” Pat offered a wan smile. “So you don't know that much about Project Utopia?”

“Nothing beyond the name and the fact it is one of our later goals.”

“It's an important one. Basically...” Pat turned, to survey the refugee caravan. “Basically it's a moral issue. If this isn't a game, then what we're doing is invading another world, running roughshod over it, and causing a lot of pain and suffering for no reason beyond our amusement.”

“You know not what you do. And eventually you shall pay the price for it, if we do not find a way to break the cycle.” Rotgoriel moved up to stand next to him.

Pat shook his head. “We don't know that, not for certain. It could be all of us, it could be only the players online at a certain time, or it could be everyone who's ever played. All we know is that sooner or later, some or all of us will get turned into something like daemons or djinni or whatever, and trapped here. And that might be a cycle we can break, or it might be an inescapable fate. But either way, Project Utopia is our way of dealing with it. It's... like a diplomatic embassy.”

“What is that?”

“It's an outpost in a foreign realm, where you can talk things over with that realm, and come to an understanding. Except what we have in mind is less of an embassy and more of a town, or a nation of its own. A nation where players don't kill NPCs because they're bored, and everyone is treated equally, regardless of their world of origin.”

“Is such a thing possible?” Rotgoriel arched an eyebrow.

“I don't know. Maybe. We're going to try. I've enlisted a fair amount of help from the guild to develop this. The folks who know the secret, mainly. But I've reached out to our marketing specialists, to our tech types and leaders. We think we can sell it as a heavy RP choice, an attempt to build a lasting civilization here.”

Rotgoriel had become well aware of the human mindset on such efforts. “You will get bored assholes attempting to destroy Project Utopia at every turn for no other reason than its existance.”

“Fuck'em. Those guys are our primary enemies anyway. We'll grief them online and offline if I have to. Enough examples out there and they'll drift on to easier targets.”

“But Pat,” Rotgoriel put on his most somber, wide-eyed expression. “Won't this just prove that you're no better than them? That you are the true villain, and therefore worse than them?”

There was a long pause as Pat stared back, then the two of them erupted in laughter.

“Oh lord, I needed that. Thanks Rotty.”

“You are forgiven for using that name. Also you are welcome.”

“Yeah fuck those guys. I'm trying to achieve my goals, not prove anything. Assholes can call me what they like, but as long as we get results I don't care. See, even if they knew the truth, it wouldn't change what most of the marauders do anyway. Fuck, it'd make some of them worse. They'd double down on the rape and pillage and slaughter, and be happier knowing that they were hurting real people. Truth of the matter is that the world won't miss them. And neither will I when they come for Project Utopia.” He made a gun shape of his finger and thumb, and dropped the hammer.

“Is there any way I can help with this?” Rotgoriel asked.

“Tangentially? Not right now. First I need to talk with Kai-Tan. And you need to pursue your own agendas. What was it, hunting down dragons and seeking a breach to Konol?”

“Yes,” Rotgoriel nodded. “Though I am given to understand that others have been set upon those tasks. So until they are finished, I am at loose ends.”

“Maybe tighter than you think,” Pat smiled, and held up a scroll. “We got word back from Agnez and LivingDeadGrrl. They've found something that you'll really want to check out.”

“What?” Rotgoriel took the scroll as gingerly as he could. “Why did you not tell me about this immediately?”

“Ah, well, it didn't arrive until a little while ago. By that time I was pretty busy.”

But there was a slight quaver in Pat's voice, a momentary hitch when he drew breath. Subtle, very subtle, but to a dragon's ears it was a confession.

“You are stating a falsehood,” Rotgoriel frowned. “Why?”

Pat grimaced. “I knew how important this was to you. But we needed you to finish the job in Turpentine. Which you did, and well, so thank you.”

“I would have even if you had told me the news before now,” Rotgoriel said, his eyes fixed on Pat's. “Do not doubt my devotion to your cause. To you. You are Richard's friend, and therefore mine as well.”

Pat took a deep breath, and rubbed his head, where the mitre met his scalp. “Yeah. Sorry. I've been herding cats through this whole thing. I should have known better.”

“You are forgiven. Do not do that again.” Rotgoriel tried to keep his voice mild. To soften the blow even further, he focused on teasing the scroll open without destroying it, and reading the words within.

After a second he closed it with a snap. “I must go. Now. Do we have any waystones that will get me closer to this location?”

“Yes, but only by a few hours. You're going to have to wing it from there, and if the ladies are right, then you're going to be in some serious danger if you step too far out of line...”