The barrens north of Turpentine were mild and dry. On a clear night, the stars rose wild and glittering above the hideout, with no light to hide them from sight.

Even the lights of Turpentine were far off, the city small enough that it was barely visible to Rich's eyes.

The place was a vital part of the trade along the Milk Road, a place where the gourmet cheeses of the west, aged along the trip were traded for the various goods and delicacies of the East. It wasn't the only trade hub along the way, but it was relatively central, and surrounded by terrain so harsh that most avaricious nations gave it a pass when the urge for conquest rose.

Most was the keyword there. Most was the reason that Rich and his allies had come here. Because his enemies were coming west, and they were coming to conquer, and they wouldn't let a little thing like the geography or the economy of the region stand in the way.

It was why his scaly brother had helped raid an innocent-seeming caravan last night, and retrieved the small golden hoop that he now held up and considered.

Well, small in comparison to his form, anyway.

From muzzle to tail he was fifty feet long, with his wingspan covering about the same distance. His hide was something like organic obsidian, shimmering and black and resistant to fire and most forms of injury. His claws and jaws could and had rent stone asunder, and his breath was death.

Which made the fact that his side was losing all the more aggravating.

Almost a year he'd been fighting against the first guild on Generica Online. Almost a year he'd been fighting, failing, dying, and scrambling to slow their relentless and implacable advance west. He'd fought them in the snowy reaches of the Icy Crown, through the jagged mountains and endless steppes of Upper Derope, ending here, in the sandy wastes of the Eastern Milk Road.

Feet crunched on the sand-crusted stone behind him, and he turned his gaze behind him, fully enjoying the benefits of a long, flexible neck.

He saw the name first: Father Nosebest. The pun made him smile, but the fact that he knew the player behind that character made the smile widen. This was Pat, one of his best friends and the driving force of the caravan raid.

“Hey, are you... you right now?” Pat asked him, walking up to the edge next to Rich and sitting down so he could flop his legs over the edge of the ledge. He was wearing simple desert robes, white and gray to ward off the sun, and a head wrap tied in the local way. Only his pale, pinkish skin and lack of a bushy beard separated him from the local men. He wouldn't have been a remarkable sight in the markets of Turpentine, and that was probably the point.

“It's me,” Rich confirmed. “I came in with this thing in my hands. Did Ramuz verify it?”

“He did. That's the crown of Ram-Se, the holy chef king who rose to power with the blessing of Fuudi. His cuisine jihad toppled three empires before it was done. Dead a long time, same as his god.”

“We're sure of that?” Rich asked. “Dead doesn't always apply when it comes to gods.”

“Nurph is pretty sure,” Pat shrugged. “He won't talk about Konol one way or the other, but he's about ninety-eight percent certain Fuudi won't be coming back.”

“That's not a hundred percent.” The words were out of Rich's mouth before he could stop them.

“Nothing ever is, man. You know this. You sound like Cutter.” Pat shot him a glare.

“Sorry,” Rich said, handing the crown over. “You wanna give this a shot?”

Pat took it, studied the gold crown, saying nothing.

Rich took a second to study him. Pat had basically made his avatar resemble himself, but a bit thinner and older. He'd been trying out a thin mustache recently, and a soul patch. It was strange, seeing Pat with a few years added on. Seeing him looking at the responsibility that Rich had just handed him, and knowing the problems it would bring.

You know, most kids your age are nowhere near that erudite, Mister Alvarez's voice whispered in the back of Rich's mind.

“Well it's a hard world, isn't it?” Rich muttered.

But he forgot that fifty-foot-long dragons had volume issues, because Pat heard him and nodded. “Yeah. This game has been more of a pain in the ass than reality, lately.”

“To be fair it's a reality on its own,” Rich reminded him.

“Now you really sound like Cutter.”

“We've been through this, Pat. You've seen the file. You've seen the footage.”

“Which you got from Cutter.”

“Even more than that, you've fought their masked ones yourself. You've seen what it's doing to them.”

“Ah, forgot it. We've come too far to argue about this now. But we have other problems.”

“Problems?”

Pat shook his head. “We'll need to call a council for those. Let me get the easy thing out of the way first, and then we can go do management bullshit.” And without any more words or particular ceremony, he pulled off his head wrap and placed the crown on his head.

Then he smiled. “Yes.” Rich watched his eyes flicker as Pat read words that only he could see. “Status.”

Rich bit back impatience, and waited until Pat nodded. “It's done. Level one Ruler, right here.”

“The wiki says we need to get you to level five before you can start gathering subjects,” Rich said. “And the skill you need to synch up with that Mercenary trick.”

“I know, I know. Been studying it ever since we decided on this path,” Pat nodded. “Now let's go and get the Council over with, so I can go kill rats in a Ruler-ly fashion. It'll probably take a couple of nights of grinding to hit five.”

They descended into the ancient cut stone, leaving the heat of the setting sun behind. The air cooled as they went, down into the belly of the earth.

One of their more recent recruits, LittlePwny, had found this place during the skirmish on the borders of Yusobad. She'd traded its whereabouts for status and position in the guild, then abruptly left a month later when her mother grounded her for failing out of school.

Which was a pity, she'd been one of the better guerrilla fighters they had. But there was a possibility that LittlePwny might return eventually.

It says a lot that our best soldiers are children.

They moved past piles of crates and barrels, past the well that supplied the water of this underground holdfast, and into the round, empty chamber with the low stone table in the center of it. The table was still charred and gouged from the final battle they'd gone through when they evicted the scorpion-men who had made it their lair, but it was still serviceable and Rich curled himself up next to it, back enough that human-sized folks could sit and rest without having to avoid his bulk.

It didn't take long to get people together. They'd learned long ago that it was best to keep these short. Not everyone in the resistance was as motivated as Rich, and long-ass meetings were just as discouraging in Generica as they were in everyone's home reality.

Well. Not everyone, Rich thought as Agnezsharron entered the council chamber. She was in her human form, wearing green robes and her usual antler headband atop a curly-red head of hair. She sat down at the table nearest him, taking a second to shove golden bracelets further up her arms. Those were new. Something she'd gotten from the caravan? He'd ask later.

Pat sat down opposite the two dragons, and after a moment, Greg walked in behind him. “I can't stay long. I'm practicing.”

“Tryouts aren't until tomorrow,” Rich rumbled.

“Yeah, and I gotta make sure I'm at the top of my game. You know how this goes, man.”

“Consider this pre-emptive payment for my attendance.”

Soft footfalls caught Rich's attention, and he watched a shimmering form sneak into the room. He inhaled, and relaxed. The scent was known. “Cutter, come out.”

The man let his camouflage lapse, revealing a short, gray man in gray clothes, wraps pulled up so only his eyes were visible. “You can't blame me for trying. Free experience is free experience.”

The name above his head read 'Nerguin', and he wasn't supposed to be here. But he knew the truth of Generica Online, and though his circumstances in meatspace were pretty dire, he was still free to move around here.

There was a thrum from below the chamber, deeper in the caves. A few moments later, WorldwarpR walked in from the lower staircase. His avatar was dwarven, with a long braided beard and sturdy leather robes emblazoned with sigils. WorldwarpR had combined the Explorer and Wizard jobs into a Tier II class to which geography and distance were more of a polite suggestion than a problem. He was a Jumper, and a vital part of their escape plan when things went sideways.

Not 'if'. 'When.'

A cold, carrion-scented breeze blew through the chamber, and Greg groaned and covered his nose as a furry, sweating, gaunt form stomped into the room. “I have plans tonight,” LivingDeadGrrl said, showing sharpened teeth in a bloody mouth. “This better be quick.”

“We've got enough to get started, so yeah, we can make it quick,” Rich said. “I'll stick around and brief anyone who actually shows up later. For now, I figure we'll touch on the main goals, and where we are on them. Pat, you want to start us off?”

“The crown worked,” Pat said, flicking a finger against the gold circle on his head. “I'm a Ruler now. I already have the Mercenary levels I need, according to the wiki, so in a few days I'll be a proper Guildmaster and we should be able to push through the glass ceiling.”

That brought some smiles and approving words from the players around the table. Agnez simply crossed her arms and leaned back. She was an NPC. This part of things didn't affect her much.

“All right. Do we have any progress on anomalies, or other possible breaches?” Rich asked, turning to WorldWarpR.

The Jumper cleared his throat. “I've been teeming up with our better Cultists, mainly Blackbinder and Suzy Reign. We think we've got a lead, but it's past Bharstool lines. Somewhere in the Porcelain Kingdoms.”

Rich winced. The place was somewhat analogous to real-life Asian cultures, and not too friendly to outsiders. Digging around there risked drawing attention. “This is going to require a gentle touch. Nerguin, do you think you could help?”

Cutter was Agency-trained. For all his flaws, he knew how to handle legwork and covert ops.

“I can. But you might need me here.” Nerguin leaned against the table. “Someone's been sniffing around the markets, asking after dragons. Specifically black dragons.”

“Not good,” Rich said, quietly. “Any idea who?”

“Strangers. Plural. Beyond that I haven't gotten too close yet.”

“I don't like this,” Pat said. “The timing's too close to be coincidental. We might have to find a different location for Project Utopia.”

“We've put a lot of resources into the area, building influence. Readying for the fight,” Rich said, tilting his head. “I don't know if we can afford to shift the site now. I don't know if we should.”

“There's still Kai-Tan,” Greg said. “You know they're not gonna roll over to the Warmers. You know they'd welcome more allies.”

“Yeah, but then they'd be the ones in charge, LivingDeadGrrl waved a fur-gloved hand. “You think they'd let you claim a domain on their turf, Patsy?”

Rich watched Pat's mouth tighten. It was rare that the two of them got along.

“We can discuss that later, once we've got a better feel for what the strangers want,” Rich told them. “Let's get through the other issues. LivingDeadGrrl, what are the Warmers up to?”

“Still coming west. Still offering land to smaller guilds who back them up. Offering better land to people who show their allegiance and wear the masks. There is a bigger problem, though.” she glanced over at something unseen, probably notes she'd taken earlier. “They've stopped exterminating monsters on the borders. They're driving them out instead, and pushing them west ahead of their forces.”

“Shit,” Greg said. “That explains why we've had more dangerous stuff show up on the borders lately. Nothing we couldn't handle, but the farmers have been anxious. Still, it's been good quests, nice XP.”

“I might have to get in on that,” Pat said. “Okay, this is a problem. Any chance we can broadcast what they're doing?”

“I don't know that too many players would care,” LivingDeadGrrl shrugged. “It's devastating to the local NPCs and minor settlement hubs, yeah, but it's not technically griefing. They're not aiming monsters at anyone or any group. Not yet, anyway.”

“What of dragons?” Agnezsharron rumbled. “Are they driving dragons out as well?”

“I hadn't heard,” LivingDeadGrrl said. “Want me to look into that?”

“Yes,” Rich said. “That could help with the last thing we're doing. If we can get enough of the elders to call a council, we might find the ones we're looking for.”

“Yeah, and then they burn you down for being an abomination,” Pat shook his head. “I still think we need a better plan than finding them and asking what the fuck they thought they were doing.”

“If they burn me down I'll just come back,” Rich said. “But dragons don't kill dragons. Figure we'll open with words, and see how much we have to escalate from there.”

“There has been no progress on this front yet, obviously,” Agnezsharron spoke. “Yes, wendigo, if you can figure out what the Warmers are doing to my people, I will count it a small favor.”

“Love you too, Aggy,” LivingDeadGrrl grinned. “Sure. I could use the excuse to head east anyway. Too warm around here by half.” She lost the smile, glanced back around the table. “Anyone else need me for anything?”

“I think we're good,” Rotgoriel said. “We covered the issues. Nerguin, I'll talk to you about the possible spies in Turpentine. If we can knock that out quickly, you can go help Warp and Blackbinder in the East. Greg, help Pat get in on the border questing. Everyone else, keep doing what they were doing and we'll get word out to the rest of the resistance if we need bigger action. Sound good?”

Nobody had any serious objections, and Rich nodded to the gray man as he came over.

“You're thinking of giving these strangers what they want?” Cutter asked.

“Depends on who they are. But if they're possible allies, then it would be best if I could meet with them.”

“You would have to go into town for that. You know what that means.”

“I do,” Rich said, turning his gaze to Agnezsharron. “I think that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make...”