“We are out of time,” Rotgoriel told the assembled council. “The Warmers are bringing battle to Turpentine. They shall conquer it in a matter of days if nothing changes.”

It was early, just before dawn. The assembled council was limited to the players who were awake, and the NPC's who could be gathered without fuss. Rotgoriel knew that Rich would be sending a general alert in his world, but there was no guarantee that they would get everyone they needed to the table in time.

They would have to make do with whoever was available.

And Rotgoriel was growing more and more frustrated. They had to keep repeating himself every time a new player woke up and rejoined his world. They were wasting time when they should be moving, instead!

Irritated, he ground his teeth, and shot a look at Pat. “Well? You are supposed to be our Guild Master. So, master!”

The room fell silent.

“You're a salty bitch when your dragon's in charge, man,” Pat said, and the room exploded into laughter.

For a second Rotgoriel felt a surge of rage, an urge to bite the head off of Pat. He could, if he wanted. The player would die, go to the death chatroom, and spend tokens to return. There would be no real consequences...

...except that it wouldn't help the situation, and would in fact probably make things worse. It would be the act of a petulant child, and he was a hatchling no more.

Besides, a glance showed him that Agnezsharron wasn't laughing, and that mollified his temper. Her opinion mattered to him. The others, less so. He could live with some laughter at his expense.

And it proved useful, as Pat stood up, and waved until the room quieted. “The salty bitch isn't wrong, though. Okay. So the Bharstool Warmers are coming here way ahead of schedule. We need to get ready to either fight or move, and I don't know if we have the defenses to put up a fight.”

“How do we know that this Legion tool is legit?” asked Longtom. “Could be lying.”

“That's a consideration too. Rutger?” Pat looked over to him.

The name still rankled him. It glowed above his head for every player to see, just like “Father Nosebest” glowed above Pat's.

But it was a minor irritation, one of many, and they had actually gained a little momentum in the meeting and it was better to keep it going so Rotgoriel gathered himself and answered. “Legion wishes favors from us. I know this to be true from past dealings. Giving us an obvious lie would not be help them gain our favor. While it is possible that they may have helped set this assault in motion to give them the opportunity to approach us with something useful, it is only a possibility. We would be dealing with them warily in any case, so setting up such a double-cross would be foolish. That would give us a chance to learn of its perfidy.”

“So either way an assault's coming,” Pat said. “Damn, you've got a twisty mind. Rich. For the record, you're a hell of a programmer. Your bot's learning fast.”

Rotgoriel shared a quick glance with Agnezsharron, and hid his smirk. The players of the resistance were mostly operating under the fallacy that Rotgoriel was some sort of programmed thing, a chatbot or a sophisticated code that let him operate while Rich was offline. It was a useful lie, that let them keep the truth of the matter secret. Too many of their players would consider the reality of things an insanity; it would only drive people from their organization or hinder them when dealing with the other player groups active in the world.

There were exceptions, though. The inner circle knew the truth. Pat knew the truth. His statement here was for the sole benefit of maintaining Rotgoriel's cover.

More players walked in at that point, and for a wonder, someone else handled briefing the new arrivals. Pat walked through the groups, talking to the ones who had the most responsibility and figuring out what they could bring to the situation.

It wasn't long before he got to Rotgoriel. “Well, there's a silver lining here, I got some ruler levels out of this mess. Wanna go up top and discuss?”

Rotgoriel followed him up to the top of the hill, up the ancient stone steps to the dusty bluff that looked out over the wastes. It was a small risk, so he kept low and kept his wings tightly furled. “There are only two real choices open to us,” Rotgoriel rumbled. “Rich detailed them as best he can, and I agree with his assessment.”

“Fight or flight...” Pat looked out over the dunes, brushed his robes off. “I'm gonna have to call in sick over this. Miss a chemistry test.”

“Will Greg be joining us?”

“Not likely. He's got tryouts tonight. Rich is going to those too, so we're stuck with each other through this. Not that I'm insulting you, I'd just feel better if he were here for this.”

“My brother is cunning in ways I cannot match,” Rotgoriel agreed. “I take no offense. Even if I am... how did you put it? 'A salty bitch,' now and again.”

Pat raised his hands. “Sorry, sorry. I had to play the room, you know?”

“I do. So what option shall we take?”

Rotgoriel watched the human pace back and forth, hands behind his back as his brother's friend considered. Eventually, Pat spoke. “We can't hold here. We simply don't have the numbers, or the infrastructure. We'd lose any battle we fought here.”

“Then we must flee this place?” Rotgoriel was saddened, but not surprised. He'd come to much the same conclusion.

“We could. We've spent a good while building up favors and goodwill here, but we haven't committed to making this our base of operations yet. We haven't taken that final step, haven't declared ourselves openly. We could pull out, could pull back west and keep most of our assets intact for the real fight.”

“I know you and Greg have been arguing for Kai-Tan as our shelter. Richard has told me of the endless debate in council.”

“We'd have less control on the big picture, but I think we'd be in a better position in the long run. But I don't think just running there right now is the way to do it.”

“No?” Rotgoriel arched his neck in surprise. “It seems the perfect proof to your past arguments.”

“If we just cut and run there now, we arrive as refugees. Not a good position in that place. We'd get eaten alive. But if we put up a fight here, show that we're badass enough that backstabbing us would be a bad idea...”

Rotgoriel turned the idea over in his mind. “You would have us fight?”

“To a point. We'd be withdrawing our most valuable assets while this was going on, and causing a big fuss to draw their attention away from what we're doing. But there's an opportunity for more than that. If we can put up enough of a fight here, then that will make us look less like refugees, and more like heroic rebels, if you get my drift.”

“So both fighting and fleeing at the same time. A complicated endeavor.”

“It'll give me Ruler levels out the ass if we do it right.” Pat grinned.

“And if we do it wrong, then the loss is greater as well. The difference between refugees and refugees who were openly broken on a battlefield is considerable.”

“Which is why we mainly use players for this. As long as they don't hit our core NPC's, then we lose nothing of value. And as long as it's flashy enough and not a totally one-sided beatdown against us, we can declare victory with some form of truthfulness. It's all about the narrative, Rotgoriel. All about that narrative.”

“I would prefer to win a real victory against the Bharstool Warmers.”

“We might be able to do both. But it has to be flashy and look good, even if it's not a huge victory. We can use it as a recruitment tool if we do it right.”

“Pushing for recruitment again? You know my brother's feelings on that...” Richard was security-minded. He did not want to make the organization too big, fearing that infiltration would become inevitable if they did so.

“I do, and I'll work on him offline. The simple truth of it is that they've got way more people than we do.”

“More players,” Rotgoriel corrected.

“Well yes, but life for life, that's infinitely more than we can bring to bear, isn't it? One life per NPC and a few dozen players against hundreds of players with endless lives?”

“Ours are better trained. More motivated.” Rotgoriel knew he was parroting Richard's main points.

“Yeah, which is why we've been able to hang on, but if we want to win the war, we need to—” Pat stopped, and rubbed his forehead. “Look, we don't have time to argue this stuff, and it's all been said before. Right now we need a united front on what we'll do. Does my idea work for you?”

“It does, though it raises another problem,” Rotgoriel turned his gaze downward, as if he was staring through levels of stone. “There are some assets we may not be able to move.”

“Shit. Has Aggy settled her egg in already?”

“Technically it is her parent's egg. And no, she has not. I speak of Geebo.”

“Oh. Yeah. That.” Pat rubbed his forehead again. “Look, we don't have time to figure out all the little details between us. Can I trust you to do what you have to, to sort this one out?”

“Can I trust you and the rest of the group to give myself and Rich any assistance required?”

“Yes.”

Rotgoriel nodded. “Then I will figure it out. Before the Warmers get here.”

“Okay. I'll hold you to that, man.”

In lieu of a handshake, Rotgoriel balled his hand, and let Pat punch it gently. The size difference was too great to do otherwise, and the sentiment was the same. Pat offered a weary smile. “All right. I'll go downstairs and get shit sorted. Maybe put some coffee on, because goddamn it's early.”

“I have much to sort myself,” Rotgoriel nodded down at the human, and followed him below.

And while Pat moved through the room, passing on the decision and talking with the ones he needed to set the plan in motion, Rotgoriel picked out the few he needed, and drew them aside.

First was LongTom the Sniper, an elf wearing a long coat, and somewhere around his own weight in belt buckles across about a dozen bandoleers. An oversize witch's hat that didn't match the rest of his gear at all sat on top of his scraggly blonde hair.

Next was Vae the Champion, a red-haired human in scarred and battered armor. The sword on her back was about her height and nearly her width, as impractical a thing he'd ever seen. But he knew what she could do with it, and her skills would be vital for what was to come.

The last choice was a a small gnomish Conjuror with big spectacles and her hair coiled up in two brown buns. Her name was BittyBop, and she was new and lower level than the others. But she would suffice to handle the magical situations that he could not, and she had no responsibilities that were required for the crisis of the larger battle.

“I need your help for a small errand, before things get too complicated,” Rotgoriel told them. “I need you to help me retrieve Geebo.”