The world sped past under Rotgoriel, ridges rising up every few dozen miles as the earth stretched closer and closer to the sky.

These were the steppelands, just north of the smooth slope that was the ramplands, and across the way from the relatively small spire that was the elevatorland. Somewhat north and west of the Porcelain Kingdoms, they produced some of the best horseback riders in the world, and quite a lot of goat cheese.

This was the conquered and subjugated kingdom of Upper Derope, and a place that Rotgoriel would not have ventured before this weekend, when the bulk of the Bharstool Warmer's armies had passed through and were occupied in the west, far from their regular stomping grounds.

The enemy guild had taken the land relatively intact. Usually their methods of conquest involved a few utterly destroyed cities and enough destruction to keep their marauders happy. But the layout of upper Derope meant that there were very few cities, and the majority of villages and other settlements followed nomadic traditions. The Warmers had to keep the cities intact to recoup their expenses from the conquest, and even the most malicious marauder got tired of chasing after villages that could be packed up in under an hour and miles away on horseback in minutes.

All this meant that Rotgoriel could risk a long-distance flight, so long as he kept away from highly populated areas. But it was still a risk, and he had to stay high in the sky, so high up that the air grew thin and the cold of the sky above the clouds gnawed at him, slowly sapping his stamina. It was a balance; too high up and his energy would fail him, and he would be forced to descend early and risk being spotted if someone was around. Too low, and he would surely be spotted if he ran across one of those nomadic villages at the wrong time.

It didn't help that this land was known for its falconry traditions, also. But birds of prey weren't usually built to stare upward in the middle of the day at least, so he was probably fine so long as he kept above the threshold of the average hawk.

Rotgoriel had no idea what that threshold might be but if the cold was enough to keep him on the edge of discomfort, then he was sure it would turn some little feathery bastards into plummeting frozen dinners.

The way was difficult. And as he flew north it only got colder, until he was forced to descend to conserve his stamina. But by then he was certain that he was past what they called “settled lands” and into regions that most humans and human-like creatures found inhospitable. Hills began to rise, and he started hunting for landmarks, curving in flight to follow the directions that his two friends had passed on in the scroll.

Fortunately, Agnezsharron had been along for this trip. The directions were easily comprehensible to him, and Rotgoriel was able to follow the route to a crumbled mountain, overlooking a bubbling lake that reeked of sulphur even from miles away.

“Over here,” a voice wailed to him on the wind. “Rotgorieeeeelllllll...”

You have resisted LivingDeadGrrl's Wendigo Wail!

“There is no need for that!” he snapped, as his claws touched stone, and the wind scattered frosted gravel downslope. “You have a Scout along with you.”

“Yes, but I won the coin flip so come to meeeeeee...” was the wailing response.

You have resisted LivingDeadGrrl's Wendigo Wail!

And though he would never admit it, he was glad for the guidance as he followed the direction of the wailing wind. He didn't HAVE to, he'd resisted the effect, but he WANTED to. That made all the difference, he told himself.

The cave that his two friends had found was fairly snug, so he settled for poking his head in and regarding the campfire they'd built near the entrance. A skewered brace of rabbits hung from it, dripping fat into the embers as the two predators in his life that were nearest his own apex devoured the smoking meat, bones and all.

They looked human; they very much weren't. Agnezsharron was one, and she wore her human form with grace and long practice.

LivingDeadGrrl was the other, and her eyes glittered in the darkness, her flesh pale and somehow wrong, as if it was on the verge of sloughing off from frostbite, or some nameless wasting disease. She had barely bothered to cook her share of the meat, and blood sprayed as her sharpened teeth tore into the rabbit's throat.

“Where is the dragon?” Rotgoriel asked.

“Below,” said Agnezsharron. “Lurking in the lake. He probably watched you come in, so we do not have much time.”

“Does he have the job?”

“Inconclusive,” LivingDeadGrrl left off her rabbit, to chime in. “I couldn't get close enough to see his name.”

“You could not use your Scout skill on him?” Rotgoriel glanced back to Agnez.

“It is called Scouter, and no. His full attention was on me. Doing so would have been a gross breach of etiquette... assuming that I could get through his defenses at alll. The risk was too high.”

“I see.” Rotgoriel pondered. “So what are our options?”

“If he is one of the original Godbinders, asking him will probably get us killed,” LivingDeadGrrl said. “I don't care about that and you don't either, but Aggy here is mortal.”

“She could fly back home before we go and ask.”

“No,” Agnezsharron shook her head. “He will expect you to come to him soon, since he watched you enter his domain. I would not be able to get far enough away to escape his wrath, if he is as murderous as you fear.”

“So that is not an option,” Rotgoriel considered. “I could lie to him. Tell him that I have been sent on Council business to help bind Konol, who is breaking free.”

“You would have to tell a lie,” Agnezsharron frowned. “That is a risky proposition at best.”

“He is that perceptive?”

“The only reason I risk speaking of this so close to his domain is that we have bubbling waters and a crackling fire between us. And a cave. He is ancient and he is sharp. He may very well catch a lie.”

Rotgoriel ruminated on that. He had caught Pat's lie easily, not too long ago. If Agnezsharron was speaking truly, then she judged this ancient to be as to him, as he was to a human.

The thought was galling... and humbling. And somewhat encouraging. If he could survive long enough, he would become such a force of nature.

A force of nature that had nonetheless been driven north, fleeing before an onslaught of players. Which opened up another option. “We could discuss a truce or alliance against the Bharstool Warmers. Pat and the others would be happy to have such a force on their side.”

“He is ancient and demanding.” Agnezsharron sighed. “We could try that, but I doubt your negotiation would go smoother than my own.”

“Oldboy wanted to screw her over. Literally.”

“It is not like that!” Agnezsharron waved her hands. “He wished offspring, to replace his lost children. I declined. He told me to go, since I had nothing to offer him— wait, what is wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Rotgoriel said, easing his claws away from the shattered stone, where they had dug into the ground outside the cave. “That... is a request that I am glad you refused.” And he couldn't say why he was so relieved, or why that bothered him.

Almost a year ago he had asked her to mate, and she had refused for three reasons. And since then he had removed his curse of unattractiveness and started a worthy hoard. But the third reason was still outstanding. It was simply that she did not desire to lay an egg until things were more settled, and that was understandable.

He had no claim on her, and even if the world did settle down, then she was free to mate with who she pleased, and he had no right to object or be annoyed by it.

But for some reason, the thought of her with some strange dragon made him angry. And he could not say where it came from, or why that feeling even was to begin with.

“Options,” he muttered, changing the subject. “Negotiation will be hard. Or I can lure him out and you can observe him from afar. Or I can see if he has the job we are looking for.”

“This is an ancient,” Agnezsharron whispered. “If this is the course you choose, you must tread with caution.”

“There is no course here that is treadable by wisdom alone,” Rotgoriel bared his teeth. “There is merely the question of which course has gain that is worth the danger.”

“Wisdom...” Agnez rose and paced before the fire. “That might work. It is a tradition for younger dragons to seek the wisdom of the ancients. But great wisdom demands a great boon. Asking for too much was my mistake. If you started with something smaller...”

“I think I have just the thing,” Rotgoriel said, as an idea popped into his mind. “And while I am doing that, if you have a good moment, try to Scooter him from a safe distance.”

“Scouter!” Agnezsharron said.

“Yeah, see if he's over nine thousand,” LivingDeadGrrl tossed her spear up and caught it. “There a part for me in this plan?”

“Yes, but a potentially painful one. If we offend him, and he attempts to slay us, help me distract him so that Agnezsharron can flee.”

“Cannon fodder. Got it.”

“What?”

“Never mind. I'm down. Let's do this so I can get back to eating people.”

After a few more questions and clarifications, Rotgoriel pulled his head back from the lovely warmth of the fire, and flew down to the edge of the lake.

A great wave lapped over his feet, warm and roiling, the lava far below boiling the water above. To Rotgoriel, it was a pleasant warmth. To a human it would be a scalding death.

To the massive creature lifting from the center of the lake, the creature that had caused the wave and the next few surging in afterwards, it was probably no more than a tepid sensation if it was anything.

The dragon ancient was akin to Agnezsharron, though distantly at best. It was long and coiling and as wide around as a human's house. Full two hundred feet it rose from the lake, before coiling downward, kinking its long, serpentine body until it was only perhaps fifty feet high, and the rest twisted in curving lengths so that eyes the size of doors could regard Rotgoriel over a muzzle wide enough that an elephant could march down its gullet. Its scales were shimmering and greenish, playing with colors like an oilslick on water, and it seemed to have a beard, a patch of fur around its jaw with two long barbel-like whiskers curling pack and poking behind its head. Straight horns jutted out from the back of its skull, and its breath smelled oddly of a cool, bitter scent that contrasted with the reek of the sulphur.

The name above its head did not tell Rotgoriel what he wanted to know, however.

SO DAM LONG

GREEN DRAGON KING 62

Of course.

Players could see the levels of a creature, but they were limited to the highest job that the creature had. This elder might very well have the job that they were searching for, but if it did, those sixty-two levels of Dragon King were hiding it from view.

But Rotgoriel pushed that from his mind, and bowed his head. “Elder,” he said, keeping his voice to a murmur. “I come seeking your wisdom.”

“YOU ARE THE SECOND TO DO SO THIS VERY DAY,” So Dam Long spoke, and the mud around Rotgoriel's feet trembled from the force of it.

“You must have quite a lot of wisdom to give, then.”

“I DO. WHY SHOULD I SHARE IT WITH YOU?”

“I will offer what boon I may, for wisdom of equal value.”

“AND WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO OFFER ME, YOUNG ONE?”

The great wyrm swayed downward, eyes sharpening on Rotgoriel, great retinas focusing. The scrutiny made him tremble, just a bit. There was no shame in fear, here. This ancient could end him in a heartbeat.

“Your enemies are my enemies,” Rotgoriel said, still keeping his voice low. “I have hurt them. I will hurt them more. And if I have my way I shall end them.”

The dragon's eyes narrowed to slits. “AND WHAT CAN YOU DO TO THEM THAT I COULD NOT? DO YOU THINK YOURSELF STRONGER THAN I?”

“No. No, of course not. But I am working with people who are as immortal as they. They are my... minions, and we have dealt them a setback this very day, and the days preceding it. We can deal them more, after I return.”

“YOU CANNOT KILL THAT WHICH WILL NOT STAY DEAD.” The ancient said. “AND SETBACKS IN TIME MAY BE REVERSED. YOU ARE OFFERING TO TEMPORARILY INCONVENIENCE MY ENEMIES AT BEST.”

“Their own success drives the inevitability of their failure. They gain strength by appearing to be unbeatable, by going from victory to victory, drawing lesser players in with their might. With enough setbacks, it will be clear that they are not inevitable. And then they will splinter, and their allies will desert them.”

“WE SHALL SEE. I ADMIT THAT THEIR TEMPORARY INCONVENIENCE HAS WORTH TO ME. THEY CAME TO MY PALACE, DEEP IN THE MYSTIC WATERS. THEY SLEW THE SEVEN MAIDENS THAT WERE MY DAUGHTERS, AND STOLE THE PEARLS THAT WERE THEIR BIRTHRIGHTS. NOW THE WATERS FLOW WITHOUT ORDER OR HARMONY, AND NINE TIMES NINE KINGDOMS WILL WITHER AND FADE TO DUST IN MERE CENTURIES. MY HOUSE IS FALLEN, MY TREASURES IN THE HANDS OF FOOLS WHOSE ONLY VIRTUE IS TENACITY. GO FORTH AND ATTEMPT YOUR PLAN, AND I SHALL GRANT YOU SOME SMALL WISDOM... BUT GREATER WISDOM IF YOU SUCCEED.”

Rotgoriel barely caught the last few words. A whisper had interrupted him, so very faint but containing what he wanted to know.

“It took many tries,” Agnezsharron told him, with words on the wind. “But he is not a Godbinder.”

The ancient's eyes opened wide, studying Rotgoriel's face carefully, and to his horror Rotgoriel realized that he had twitched or reacted to the message, or done something to tip his hand.

He needed to take a risk, to avert a greater risk. But a lie would be out of the question... perhaps a half-truth?

“I have just been told that I need to find a Godbinder elsewhere to truly hinder them,” Rotgoriel spoke. “May I ask where I can find one?”

CHA+1

“GODS HAVE THEIR PLACE. DRAGONS HAVE THEIRS. SEEK WORD OF A GODBINDER FROM A GOD.”

“I have always been told that dragons have no gods.”

“YOU HAVE BEEN INFORMED CORRECTLY. TRUE DRAGONS HAVE NO GODS.”

The water rippled, as the dragon king began to withdraw. Rotgoriel felt both relief and dismay; his ruse had succeeded, at least enough to forestall violence or reprimand. But on the other hand, he was no closer to finding a solution to Konol's freedom. And the elder clearly felt that his time was up.

If not this, then perhaps he may aid with another problem? Rotgoriel mused.

“Ancient. One thing more, I ask. A small thing,”

The ancient paused, and his eyes turned hard. Rotgoriel felt dread pass over him, and he could not say if it was some innate skill of the entity, or merely the force of his charisma. Either way he was shaken, even with his own considerable willpower.

“SPEAK QUICKLY AND WISELY.”

“I... have a servant. A draggit.”

“AH.” The ancient's eyes went soft and the force of his ire abated, thankfully. “THEM. THEY ARE SMALL AND ENTERTAINING. I HAD MANY, ONCE. I SHALL COLLECT MORE AGAIN, ONCE MY FOES ARE DUST.”

“This one became a drakkit. Then he became an egg. I think. How do I hatch him safely?”

The ancient paused, and Rotgoriel could feel his good mood dissipating. Even with the heat and moisture in the air from the lake, it was as if the mist had gone cold, clammy and still around him.

“YOU DO NOT,” The Ancient spoke. “IT IS THE HEIGHT OF FOLLY TO LET A DRAGGIT LIVE FOR SO LONG. CRUSH IT AND BE DONE WITH YOUR MINION.”

“I... he is my...” Rotgoriel stammered.

But the elder paid him no mind, withdrawing below the waters. He had given what wisdom he cared to give, that was clear enough.

Troubled, Rotgoriel took wing back to the cave.

“A dead end,” LivingDeadGrrl said. “Bummer.”

Rotgoriel shook his head. “Not entirely. We know two things from this affair.”

Agnezsharron raised an eyebrow. “Only two?”

“Two things pertinent to our problems,” Rotgoriel nodded. “Firstly, whatever mystery surrounds the draggits, it was an issue for dragons after Konol's betrayal. It is fresher in history than Konol's fall.”

“And the second?”

“We are going to have to find the most ancient of ancients to figure out what they did to Konol. Or records of what they did.”

Agnezsharron looked in the direction of the lake, where the ripples of the ancient's departure still played on the lake's surface. “Dragons only gain strength as they age,” she pointed out. “If something that powerful didn't have the knowledge that we seek, then the lore we are after is held by something with centuries or millenia more than the green dragon king. What hope do we have, to oppose such a thing?”

And to that, Rotgoriel had no answer.