There were as many species of dragon as there were species of all other megafauna combined, with the exception of Tellurians. Tellurians needed to be excluded because their flesh-crafting princes actively produced unique monsters for both war and entertainment, activities which were largely interchangeable down there. Dragon kinds were identified by color and region to a point of specificity where Emerald Jungle and Green Jungle referred to entirely distinct populations. Intelligence varied. Some species achieved above-human cogitation shortly after hatching, while others lived for hundreds of years without ever developing the cognitive capacity of a good horse. The shaggy specimen with its toothy maw half open before me fell somewhere in between those extremes. He would likely learn to speak if he reached the Celestial sphere, but as an adolescent, he was simply a clever beast.

His whine was distinctly canine, and I didn’t know how to interpret it. Was this a hungry whine? A fearful whine? Did he have a splinter in his paw? Shippo had retreated to the temporary safety under the stage. If I followed, the dragon was more than muscular enough to demolish the platform and come after us.

“Okay,” I said in a soothing tone, raising myself on my arms to appear larger than I was. “We’re friends, aren’t we?” Relaxing its chroma, my skin returned to its natural yellow and green pattern, like a tree frog, or an Emerald Jungle Dragon.

The dragon took me in its mouth. It wasn’t a lunge. He moved so smoothly that I didn’t even register what was happening until I felt his tongue under my suckers. But there was no chewing, which I took as a good sign. Instead of eating me, he deposited me near a burning chunk of plaster and curled his long body in a crescent against mine, emitting a kind of satisfied chuffing sound.

I put my hands on either side of his big round head and our gazes met.

“I need to leave here with my friend.”

The dragon stared at me.

>>

(Handle Animal: Failure)

>>

“Just a moment,” I said, slipping into my adytum.

>>

Skills —

Athletics: 5

Concealment: 4

Craft (All): 9

Handle Animal: 9

>>

When I regained consciousness, he was licking my hood above my eyes, so I took his face in my hands.

“Stay,” I said in a firm voice.

>>

(Handle Animal: Success)

>>

Back at the platform, I enticed Shippo to emerge. He wasn’t enthusiastic, but our exits were being claimed by fire as we debated. The dragon raised its head, growling at the sight of the Therian, but I used my new skill to calm him and make introductions. Once it was clear that Shippo was an ally, the dragon shifted his attitude and adopted him.

“Hey.” Shippo went rigid as the dragon began to groom him. “That’s not… that’s not… alright.” He looked at me. “Can you stop it?”

“Certainly.” It occurred to me that the dragon did not have a name. There was no tag, digital or otherwise. Whatever player had brought it to the auction may have done so intending to make a trade or use it as collateral for a bid. It may not have been an official companion at all.

“Falcor,” I said. “Come here.”

The dragon looked at me, then shook its shaggy head, the only part of its body with hair instead of scales, and trotted over.

>>

(You have gained a Companion.)

Beast Tamer — Achievement

You have used your skill with animals to convince a monster to become your companion. Treat him well, and he will accompany you through thick and thin. Betray his trust, and you will wish you had never brought him close.

(You gain 50 XP)

Beast Tamer 2 — 50% Complete

>>

Lawlimi had once said that pet builds were overpowered, and he had a point. But this wasn’t even the most impossible thing to happen so far today. Broadly speaking, player companions could not have companions themselves. To do so would lead to a Russian nesting doll of power gaming, but considering all the rules my existence already violated, this addition was hardly revelatory.

I climbed onto Falcor’s back and told Shippo to come up behind me, and together we rode out of the burning mansion. We received several stares when we reached the lawn, but the Watch wasn’t concerned with escaping animals, no matter how unusual their friendship, so we made it to the wall without being accosted.

“Up,” I said, and the dragon hopped the barrier without difficulty. Shippo said something that sounded like “whee,” but I didn’t acknowledge it. We had a pleasant enough journey back to the tavern, which I was unable to enjoy because of the circumstances. Lawlimi was gone, and Haggitha had been killed. As Haggitha was not a player, she would not revive in Fallow. No doubt on the other ark her father had put some spliced routine in place to ensure that her death would not be permanent, but here she would likely be treated like another NPC companion that died. She would deactivate pending resurrection, which would require a quest on Lawlimi’s part. It wasn’t the worst possible fate, to be inactive, but it terrified me. When I went to “sleep,” I was merely shifting my awareness from one region to another, as I had done when I was bodiless. The idea of just stopping, of becoming inert, even temporarily, filled me with existential unease. Would she be the same Haggitha when she awoke, or a copy, an iteration of Haggitha, with the original irretrievably lost?

And what did Silva want with Lawlimi? She had taken the Annunomicon before picking him up. Did that mean he was an afterthought? A new imperative from Orobos? Had she intended to kidnap him the entire evening? I sent Lawlimi a few inquiring messages on group chat, but there was no response, which was unsurprising if he was unconscious. And though Shippo and I were his companions, we couldn’t enter his adytum from a distance. We had to touch him, as Haggitha had done at the Watch Office.

The dilapidated tavern with words cut into its walls had moved. Its last known location was an empty lot in an otherwise prosperous district, where an old drunk lay passed out in the tussocky grass.

“Where’d it go?” Shippo asked.

“The Unnamed God isn’t allowed to stay in one place very long,” I said. “We’ve got to follow the quest line.”

“I want to find Lawlimi.”

“One quest at a time.”

The drunk opened an eye when the wide mouth of an Emerald Jungle Dragon opened over his face.

“W’ss all this now?”

“We’re looking for the bar that used to be here,” I said.

“M’m drunker than I thought. You an octopus’n?”

“No. Do you have any idea how we can find the bar?”

“S’Dusty Hush not a bar…T’s a tavern.”

“You seem like a man of many fine distinctions. Do you know how to find it?”

“Sure. S’re. You gotta… gotta follow the moths’s. S’easy.”

“Thank you.”

“What was wrong?” Shippo asked when we had moved away. “Was he dying?”

“No,” I said, “he had a minor form of blood poisoning.”

We searched for moths, the first few of which Falcor ate as soon as they moved, but the insects were plentiful. Once disturbed, they tended to flutter in the same general direction.

>>

[Follow the Moths — Mortal Quest Level 6]

The location of the Dusty Hush will be revealed by the animals associated with the domain of the Unnamed God. Listen to owls, ponder beetles, and follow the moths, but be careful of wandering at night.

Reward — 100 Experience — The Tavern’s New Location

>>

I didn’t want to wait until morning. What if Silva discovered she had the wrong book, or Sharkey realized he’d been cheated? At least the streets were clear, apart from watch patrols. With a little vigilance, we could keep out of their path. Being a military city, there was a curfew in place unless you had the proper identification, which we did not. But we would find ourselves in violation even if we stayed still, and the last time we had tried to take refuge in a warehouse it had ended in a less-than-ideal fashion. Shippo had ears as sharp as mine, and together, we were able to keep ahead or to the side of any Watchmen who might have flagged us. Doing so, however, meant that we frequently lost sight of our guiding moths, and had to search the alleys for more winged messengers to disturb.

(Hollen? Is this you?) PamyuPamyu messaged me.

(It is.)

(Great! The dude abides. What’s happening with Lawlimi? Is he asleep? I messaged him as soon as I logged in, but I got tied up at work. Why is the Kurunere mansion on fire?)

I explained the situation.

(Oh bad! Dumb bad! This Silva lady was with you guys on the spaceship?)

(Yes. She is under the sway of the ship’s demon, Orobos.)

(And now she has Lawlimi… but you have the real book? Where are you now?)

I told her.

(Oh. Meet me back in the Dregs. I can help you find the tavern.)

There were no serious patrols in the Dregs, so after a bit more coordination via group chat we were within waving distance of PamyuPamyu.

“Oh my god, so fluffy!”

The Emerald Dragon initially resisted her affections with a show of teeth and a rumble in its throat, but I made sure he wouldn’t attack her, and Falcor soon gave in.

“Where did you find him?” She rubbed behind his ears. “I want one.”

“It was serendipity,” I said. “Do you know where the tavern translocated to?”

“Sort of.” PamyuPamyu produced a tin moth attached to a thin chain, and after she twisted the key it flapped its wings and flew until it bounced against the limits of the chain.

“The first time I found the Dusty Hush it was an accident. I practically walked into it with my eyes closed. But I heard about the moving thing, and when I was on the quest chain to get to Fallow, I picked this up so I would have a way back when I needed it.”

“It does seem more efficient.”

Fortunately, the Unnamed God was not far off. The tavern had settled itself neatly in the space of the demolished building where we had originally found the Thieves Guild’s underground hideout. Inside, we found a number of other players. They were gambling at a corner table, being served ale by Haggitha(2). PamyuPamyu proceeded straight to the bar, and we followed her.

>>

[Quest Completed — Follow the Moths]

(Wa Lim Li gains 100 XP)

(PamyuPamyu gains 100 XP)

(Shippo is too advanced to receive experience for this Challenge.)

(Falcor is too advanced to receive experience for this Challenge.)

>>

“Not the group that left here,” the bartender said mildly.

“No,” I said, “but we completed the quest.”

“Show it to me.”

I placed the Book of Old Names on the counter and PamyuPamyu cooed appreciatively. The bartender glanced at the book, his broad face inscrutable, and we received a quest prompt.

>>

[Quest Update — The Book of Old Names]

You have successfully retrieved the stolen tome, but what will you do with the power it contains? The world is changing, and the potent magics inscribed within have the potential to give the one who speaks them a voice in the shaping of a new Mythopoeia.

(Wa Lim Li gains 500 XP)

(Shippo gains 500 XP)

(PamyuPamyu gains 500 XP)

>>

“Honestly,” I said, “that was easier than I expected.”

“It isn’t finished,” the bartender said, cleaning a glass.

>>

[Quest Update — The Book of Old Names]

While the book contains much lore and other useful knowledge, its greatest ritual requires the rarest of instruments, the fruit of the Vallorn. Seek the fruit, and gain access to the very words of making and unmaking, the secrets known only to gods.

Reward — 3,000 Experience

>>

“I will keep the book,” the bartender said. “You have a journey ahead.”

“Shouldn’t we keep it? We could try the ritual as soon as we have the fruit.”

“It is secure with me. If its hunters discover you possess it, you would be overcome. When the barbarian sees the Annunomicon she has is not the one she sought, she will come for you, among others.”

I didn’t question how he knew what had happened in the mansion. Bartender or not, he was one of the Twelve. “This is going to be a difficult quest,” I said. “Is there any way to restore our Haggitha before we go?”

The giant in an apron shook his head. “Only the hero who brought her here can do that.”

As I had thought, but I had other questions down that line. Haggitha’s status as an NPC was cleanly delineated, mine was not. “Do you know what will happen to me when I die?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause.

“Please explain.”

“Your soul will travel to Fallow, as it would for any other hero. The longer you remain in this ark, the more your spirit corrects itself.”

“That’s excellent news, but is there any way I could not go to Fallow? As the God of the Dead, could you reconfigure my spawn location to this tavern?”

“No.” The Unnamed God was not one for elaboration, but I had already guessed it was a request unlikely to be met with eagerness. Affixing my spawn point would have involved a violation of natural law, technically within his power, except that such a change would be subject to the opinions of the other Twelve. Not all the gods would approve of my existence, or of what he was doing to help us.

“Uh... excuse me,” PamyuPamyu said. “But where exactly are these Vallorn trees, and how do we get their fruit, and what else will we have to do after that before we can use the book to win at life?”

“Would you like the entire story?” I asked.

“Maybe?”

In the beginning, there were nine Primordials, and the first among them was Canorus, the Singer. She helped hatch her siblings, and Mythopoeia was their nursery. Canorus was a creature of music, a music that fed the early world and gave rise to the Fae, who unlike the other races had arisen from nothing but dreams and song, combining with the eight fundamental elements to create life. They had imitated Canorus’ singing and applied it to the growth of green things. The first Vallorn trees had seeded and grown, all long since felled or burned in the squabbling of Primordials and gods. But in those early days, the Vallorn trees had produced light in an echo of the sun and starflowers, glowing silver in the day and golden at night. The fruit they bore had the same luminous qualities, the same life-giving potency of the songs that had caused them to flourish. For that, they were prized above all jewels.

In the aftermath of the loss of the trees, there had been disputes over the ownership of the fruits. One Fae, a Dark Elf, had sought mastery over all the jewels, as well as all the folk who coveted them. There was a war among the lesser singers, and the Dark Elf was driven away, but not without a prize of three gems set upon his crown when all others had gone dim. Because of his radiance, many Fae families had gone with him into exile, traveling from the South to a chain of islands to the east of what would one day be Lower Valanthia. They called that place the Land of the Rising Sun, for wherever the Dark Elf went, his crown was like a dawn.

“We have to go to Yamatoei?” PamyuPamyu said.

“That is where the Dark Elf Kurayami rules, even after thousands of years.”

“Oooooh, man. We’re going to have to take a boat.”

Shippo pricked his ears. “A boat? Like a water boat?”

“Yeah,” PamyuPamyu said, running her hands angrily through her long platinum hair, “as in slooow.”

The bartender opened the Book of Old Names and pushed it toward me.

“You may study it before you go.”

On the counter before me were diagrams describing an addendum to the Soul Trap blueprint by which a body like mine could be modified after its initial possession. As soon as I had read the ritual, it was added to the database in my adytum. While my Nadir affinity abilities had proven a functional workaround to the shortcomings of a squid body, this was much better.

“I am going to need ingredients,” I said.

“Yay!” PamyuPamyu threw up her arms. “Shopping!”

One of the card players stood up and casually approached the bar. He ordered a Valanthian White and eyed our little party. He was outfitted like a soldier, though most of his equipment was hidden under a black cloak.

>>

TheDitchKing — Heroic Level 3

>>

“Hey,” he said. “You guys look familiar. You wouldn’t happen to be friends with a blue sex doll, would you?”

“What?” PamyuPamyu said.

“No,” I said.

“What about a guy with a gun for an arm?”

Shippo yipped excitedly. “You know Lawlimi?’

“Yeah,” TheDitchKing said, “that’s the one.”

Three other heroes rose from the table, forgetting their games. They wore the same black cloaks as TheDitchKing, but they all had different weapons. I saw a wand and weighted monk’s gloves and a matched set of swords.

“You don’t screw with the Hentai Clan. The Hentai Clan screws you.”

“Ew,” PamyuPamyu said.