Going to be a bit slow at first. A bit rusty where this story's concerned. It'll take a bit to find the thread again.

Now that Bunker Core II is out of the way, it's time to return to Generica.

Rotgoriel drifted in a sea of blackness. It was like the ancestral sleep, but silent. No nagging elder dragons to tell him he was a failure or a cheater, no nightmares, nothing bad. Just silence. Sweet, restful, warm silence.

And then things shifted. He didn't know how. Things went from warm and cozy and cold and wet. The voices came back... the ancestors, of course. But they were oddly praising, in a way he hadn't heard since before he'd been born.

It saddened him, in a way he couldn't articulate. It saddened him more when he learned they weren't talking to him. They were speaking to a female, telling her of the clutches she'd have, and he turned aside, trying to shut out the voices...

...and rolled into water.

Cold water.

Warmth fled, sleep ran away laughing, and Rotgoriel struggled up, splashing and growling low in his throat...

...and blinked as he realized he was no longer in a cave. He was on the shore of a black lake or ocean of some sort. High cliffs rose across from the beach, and a carved stone stair wound up to the east, where a square building squatted, outlined in the morning sun.

“Master,” A voice rumbled, and Rotgoriel snarled as a green and black figure skittered away, nervous. “I have slain a deer for you.”

Rotgoriel's instincts told him to kill the thing... then he remembered. This was Geebo now. He was a friend. Still a friend.

Then he smelled blood and flesh, and his eye found the deer carcass. Well, half a carcass. “I suppose you were hungry too,” Rotgoriel said, through a mouthful of venison as he gulped the corpse down.

“He wasn't the only one,” a gravelly voice said, and Rotgoriel turned to see a gray-cloaked human strolling down the steps. His cloak was the same shade as the stone, but the dragon found himself surprised the man had been able to sneak up on him.

I need to get my eye fixed, he thought, and put that notion away for later. “You have some courage to announce yourself and approach me,” he told the human.

“Thank you. I'm Cutter. I'm assuming that you are Richard Royal's dragon.”

Cutter. He remembered that name. Remembered the man who had come to save them, in that burned place where he'd taken a child's eye. Cutter was an ally... but not a fully trusted one, according to the memories

Rotgoriel considered the man. “You know that Rich and I are bound, then?”

“I know that you two... ah... swap bodies when he... enters this world.”

“When he logs into the game, you mean.”

The wind blew shrill and freezing through the cliffs. But the tension that suddenly appeared in the man's posture had nothing to do with the cold. “You think this is a game?” he asked, and his voice was tight.

“I do not,” Rotgoriel said, and watched some of the tension ease, only to return when he continued on to say, “But Rich does.”

“You've talked to him, then?”

“Once. It was an unusual situation.” Rotgoriel had absolutely no plans to tell anyone about the mirror of planar contact without a damned good reason.

“What do you remember of the last day or so?” Cutter pressed on.

“I woke. I fed. I found my allies that had awaited my return. And then I was a human in your world, in a small room, feeling very tired. After looking around I crawled into bed and fell asleep. It was warm and comfortable, quite the opposite of this.”

“And you woke here, when he logged out...” Cutter said. He shook his head. “This is going to have the eggheads shitting themselves.”

“I understood none of that,” Rotgoriel said, feeling a bit cross. “Are you going to ask me basic questions all day long? Why should I answer such things?”

“You shouldn't. We both have more important things to do. But I'm not sure when you're going to... talk... to Mister Royal next, so I felt it best to discuss the operation with you, too.”

“The operation. This has something to do with...” Rotgoriel waved his claw around the cold beach.

“It does. West of here, along that ridgeline about eighty miles, is a small town called Fimble. We want you to make a distraction there. Raid it, steal livestock and kill civilians, whatever it takes to get them to go seeking help. Don't kill anyone trying to leave the place or wipe everyone out, we want them to send people out to get help.”

“You want me to kill humans?”

“Do you remember the players you killed three years ago?”

“I do. Bastards! They're back, are they? They are there? In Fimble?” The old fire rose inside Rotgoriel again. He'd sworn to get his vengeance, for what they did to his mother. Even if he had to kill them a hundred times, it wouldn't be enough.

“They are not there, and that's the problem,” Cutter said. “They are waging a war of conquest against Upper Derope, a steppeland to the south. We want to draw their leaders, and hopefully some troops, away from the conflict. Fimble is on the opposite border.”

“And what am I to do when they come seeking me? Besides unholy violence.”

“Whatever you like, but I wouldn't recommend dying too quickly, or letting them capture you. They've got... ways... of griefing people. Some players have lost their characters because of bugs that they have learned to exploit. I have no doubt that they could render you dead permanently, or make you wish that you were.”

“You wish me to take a large risk for you,” Rotgoriel said, bowing his head as he thought. “What do you offer in return?” But the answer came to him just as the words left his lips. “No. This is the job that your Mayhew said I must do for him, is it not?”

“So you were the one in charge, back then,” Cutter whispered. Then he cleared his throat. “Yes. This is the job. Do this and we're even. Mister Royal even has the potential for significant advancement if it's done well.”

Rotgoriel nodded. “I shall do this task then.”

Details followed, exact directions to the village, and a promise that Cutter would be watching, and would check in as he could. “There are more stages to this plan, but a large amount of them depend on their reactions, and what level of force they decide to bring. Until then, there's no point in burdening you with knowledge you might never use.”

“Fair enough,” Rotgoriel nodded. “Is there anything else?”

“No,” Cutter said, shooting a sideways glance at Geebo. “It's up to you who you want to involve in your plans and how. But just bear in mind we can't guarantee their safety. These players you killed... they have not been idle, these last few years.”

“I understand. Now I think I shall catch up on more sleep. I doubt I will have a chance once I begin to terrorize those villagers,” Rotgoriel said. He closed his eye and lay down.

A cough. A shuffling of feet. And then the dragon heard Cutter moving away.

He gave it two hours, just to be sure, two hours of listening to Geebo fidget and pace and stalk around. Finally, he asked “Is the human gone?” in the lowest voice he could manage.

“Yes, Great One.”

“Aunarox?” Rotgoriel asked.

“He has the right of it, oh most wily of wyrms.”

“I am a dragon, not a wyrm,” Rotgoriel said but decided to ignore the borderline insult as he rose to his feet and stretched. “All right. I thought it best not to announce your presence to that one. What do you make of him?”

“That was strange.” Aunarox shook her head, white ponytail flying. “I could hear him speaking, but the words blur in my memory. It was as if my mind lay under a fog; I remember only that I was indifferent to him, for he had not gained any favor with Anjuuta or myself. I also kept wanting to offer him quests for relatively minor things, but managed to keep that under control.”

“Geebo's mind lost focus as well,” The drakkit confessed, tugging its frills down with awkward claws. “Though that has been happening more and more. This was like when you spoke to LivingDeadGrrl.”

“My favorite human. How is she?” Rotgoriel remembered the savage, fur-clad human who had shared his taste for human meat.

Aunarox and Geebo looked at each other and shrugged simultaneously.

“So she did not venture down into the caves? Of course not, why would she,” Rotgoriel mused. “The next time the human controls my body, tell him to message her. That should be a thing he can do.”

“Yes, Great One,” Geebo squeaked, and Rotgoriel suppressed a flare of annoyance at the way his voice broke. Why was he so irked by his servant's little quirks? It wasn't just any one thing, but the sum of it added up to something frankly off-putting. Nothing he could put a claw on, nothing he could put into words.

With a growl of annoyance, Rotgoriel shoved the questions away. Though he did enjoy gaining power, life had been a lot easier before his intelligence had gotten so high. Relatively high. Not high enough for the ancestors, but still almost three times as much as it had been when he'd hatched.

Hatched...

He found his eye drawn to the blocky building up on the hill. Memories of his dream came back to him. “That is a dungeon,” he said, half to himself. “And a dragon.”

“Yes, Great One. It is an unborn dragon, dreaming and growing powerful,” Geebo squeaked. This time it was a little less annoying.

Rotgoriel found himself walking up the steps. He stopped when someone whispered, turned and glanced back at the pair behind him. They looked back, confused.

“Which one of you...” The whisper came again, but neither of them were speaking. “No. It isn't you.” He took a few more steps, and the whispers grew. Deep and formless, but just on the edge of comprehension.

“They are not for me to hear,” he realized, and turned around fully. “What would happen if I went in there?”

“You did go in there, Great One,” Geebo said. “While the human was controlling you, I mean.”

Rotgoriel paused.

The idea disturbed him. To enter another dragon's dream seemed impolite. Could it do something to the nascent child? “Geebo. Is it best to stay out of such places?”

“Yes,” Geebo said. “The things that dragons dream do not hesitate to attack any and all intruders. And the treasure from such places is a shadow of the truth. It does not satisfy when you lie upon it, it is fit only for babies to play with.” He spoke with the voice of someone who was recalling a well-memorized lesson. “The only reason to enter one is for sanctuary in times of desperation, or to move the egg to a different location.”

“Sanctuary. Like you tried to do when they killed my mother.”

Geebo's frills drooped. He looked down at the ground. “Yes, Great One.” No squeak this time, only sorrow.

“Would my dreams have attacked you? If I had been still asleep?”

“Without a doubt, Great One. But I liked my odds a bit better in your dreams, to be honest.”

Rotgoriel snorted laughter. After a second Geebo's frills rose again.

No, it wasn't the drakkit's fault that he had molted and become ugly. He was still Geebo. Rotgoriel decided he could live with that.

“You can move dungeons...” Aunarox spoke, and he glanced over to see her rubbing her chin. “And they are in truth dreaming dragons?”

“Ah, er, what we just said is a great secret,” Geebo told her. “Please, do not mention such things to those that are not dragons. Or other dragons, they might kill you to keep the knowledge from spreading.”

“I see. Fear not, my spindly friend, I shall not speak of this lightly.” Aunarox bowed her head.

“Then let us discuss other things,” Rotgoriel rumbled, as he strode down the steps and away from the whispers. “Like terrorizing remote mountain villages.”

“Ah... that's right,” Aunarox spoke. “He wished you to do so, though details escape me.”

“The man Cutter did not give very many details on the goal, but it is a certainty that my human brother will pursue it. That means I must pursue it as well. Things did... not go well for either of us when we were working at cross-purposes. Best to avoid that again,” Rotgoriel decided.

Since his allies were unclear on Cutter's exact words, Rotgoriel talked it over with them.

In short order, they had a plan.

In shorter order, he took wing again and headed west.

And after a few hours and a brief stop to snack on mountain goats, they arrived at what had to be Fimble.

Pulling up about twelve miles away, he motioned to Aunarox, and she steered here carpet to follow him behind the mountain peak and out of sight of the town. They landed on a boulder-strewn slope, dusting up a puff of snow as his wings slowed and brought him to a heavy landing.

“How long did we spend planning?” He asked her as Geebo clambered gingerly off the carpet.

“Perhaps an hour, oh devious dragon.”

“And how much of that plan can we use, after seeing this place?”

“Maybe about fifty seconds? A minute and a half, if we are lucky.”

Put simply, Fimble was smaller than expected. It had five buildings, one street that was more of a glorified goat path, and a single herd of livestock. Terrorizing this place without utterly destroying it would be next to impossible.

“This calls for a new plan,” he decided. “I have an idea...”

RUTGER'S CHARACTER SHEET