"I call upon the residents, the loyal and the conniving, to gather within the vicinity of Boulder Gate, post haste!" the commanding voice continues, "There shall we thresh the wheat from the chaff. In the name of the Founders, the Iempern'ioll Cugosth, and beneath the guiding light of the Stars above, I command thee!"

Unbidden, and without my input, my body lurches upright and begins marching - literally marching - towards the blown-out doorway in lockstep with the others present. What the fuck?! What the FUCK?! Why-I can't control myself. My body is moving on its own and not in the infinitely more enjoyable, sexual way. I can't even speak.

Figuring out the probable cause isn't difficult. I just wasn't expecting something quite this extreme to happen out of nowhere like this. This Commander Hiolh must be a real big deal if, as would appear to the case, he's able to hijack the bodies of an entire town just by issuing an order. Whatever the mechanism behind it is, resistance doesn't seem possible. No matter how I rail against this invisible compulsion, I can't even recognise the existence of such a thing affecting me beyond the end result.

There's no sense of resistance, as if it is entirely by my own subconscious will that I march. It's discomfiting in it's lack of discomfort. Obeying is just the most natural thing in the world and my body won't listen to any countermanding from my conscious mind. So I walk the street, more and more people converging into an orderly formation, the rhythmic thumping of dozens of feet is almost hypnotic.

One thing I notice, though I can't look up, is that it seems strangely...dim outside. As if something massive is obstructing the light of the sun above us. Whatever it is is eerily silent, and I'm reminded of a hazily recalled story about a hanging sword waiting to pass judgment on a sinner beneath it.

After marching in silence for a while, long enough that we've converged with a much larger procession just as trapped as me within the compulsion, the shadow abruptly vanishes without a sound or warning. I wish I could have looked up, but even the direction I'm looking isn't in my ability to control, not even blinking.

I'm not that familiar with Meteo's layout, so it's hard to put an estimate on where exactly we are or by extension how long we've been marching. The town from end to end inside the circular, imposing stone walls ought to be about forty minutes to an hour's walk give or take depending on the length of your stride and how direct your path is. Seeing all these similar-aged people filtering towards the same place puts me in mind of my morning commute to class, like I never left Paris.

Of course, Paris is far, far larger and more sprawling than Meteo, but I have to admit that I never really got used to the scale of Paris either. I only really knew the one or two districts around where I lived and worked in passing. Just as with Meteo, I didn't have any reason to explore or go anywhere that wasn't an important landmark. In a way, urban environments are surprisingly empty of meaningful contents.

Hahhh. There isn't really anything I can do but wax philosophical about shit to myself. I'm bored. I can't talk, nobody else can talk, and I can't look around.

Completely on autopilot here.

....

Are we there yet..?

Are we there...

---

 

Ruined Marketplace, Boulder Gate, Meteo Town

Over a sea of people packed into the plaza in neat rows, a tall, luxuriously clean banner looms at the forefront of the gathered hundreds. NPCs, DDA members, independents and suppression forces, all intermingled, forced to pay respect to the coat of arms displayed upon it. A creature I don't recognise, rather stylised, coils itself around a curved horn as it looks off sagely into the distance and beneath, atop a crisp blue-white stone podium stands a man that looks to be in his forties, displayed on some sort of magical hologram on either side, hovering at interval above us.

He's...ok. I'm not usually the kinda gal to go for the old fox types, but hoo boy that man is fiiiiine. A Firm gentleman with silky black curls, perfectly groomed, handsome beyond anything I've ever seen before and dressed to the nines in a military officer's get up with a huge golden plume in his hat which I vaguely recall being a marker of rank in the Empire from Alex's exposition dumping last month. I suppose...that this feather means they're a Commander in the imperial army? That is what he said he was.

In fact, he's so egregiously gorgeous it has to be supernatural. Like, with how fantastic he looks and his apparent ability to mind control a town's population, this has to be a late-game Charisma build, right?

That's...honestly terrifying.

And...also....sexy....? What?

Fuck. Recognising that I'm being influenced isn't enough to defend myself from it happening. Objectively speaking he's still hot, but at the same time, I'd be a lot happier being several hundred miles away from here. I don't want to find out what would happen if he actually made an effort to mess with my head. Standing here is making me feel some kind of way, and I do not like it.

God, this is like the Terrifiers concert in 2103 all over again. The last gasp of my starstruck pubescent lust returning with a vengeance.

Flanking the presumed Commander and surrounding the area on the rooftops are soldiers with immaculate combat gear that display the same colors and livery as the banner. The pressure they all give off makes me feel like I'm in a vice, individually they feel more intense than the branch manager of the Pioneers' Alliance, Klaeriss, although I can't really put my finger on how or why. Just that they're all strong.

So this is the imperial army, huh?

Part of it anyway. Hardcore.

"I thank you for your compliance and the respect you have shown to the Empire. Please remain as you are," Commander Hiolh speaks up after a time, presumably once everyone in Meteo has gathered to his liking, "As I have already explained the reasons for my coming here, I will keep this brief: Though Fander Field could be considered one of the farthest territories from the capitol, recent incidents in tandem with lobbying from certain personnel and organisations have highlighted the laxity of gratitude towards the Empire's grace and protection. Indeed, it would not be inaccurate to place some of the blame at the feet of those charged with carrying out the will and the Iempern Astärva, placing themselves above the common Citizen - above the common good that all Citizens should strive towards, the sacred unity of mind and spirit as we all travel The Paths to Truth. This is a shame, that as fellow Citizens under the Empire's protection, we must wash away and redeem.

Effective immediately, all crimes committed by those present will be judged by my Stainless Reginlei in conjunction with the Tuybencge of the Order of Enlass. Long-term imprisonment will be the basic punishment for all offenders, with a minimum of 2 months for even the most minor of offences if no acceptable justification can be provided. As for those amongst you who think yourselves immortal, rest assured, the Empire of Stone has ways of dealing with your anomalous existences that don't rely on The Patronage, and one such method of extinguishing the threat the most heinous of you pose has been entrusted to my care to be used at my discretion.

As for those who have upheld the honour of the Empire and conducted themselves in a manner as befits a Citizen of the Empire, you have nought to fear from me. Instead, you have the Iempern'ioll Cugosth's praise. Those who accepted a Quest from the previous Mayor may find my adjutant at Town Hall in a few hours time once we have settled all outstanding issues, and we will distribute the rewards you have been promised according to individual contribution."

While I stand rigidly, still incapable of movement, dozens of people around me start vanishing from view with barely a breeze. No screams are heard. They must have some way of identifying the members of DDA that were unlucky enough to be caught online today. Those left behind won't need to worry about people trying to lynch them, but I don't fancy their chances of escaping the notice of our new management when they do return.

The schmucks that have been caught are screwed though, and will almost certainly be forced to try and make a new character. Not that they're likely to lose out on much progress to be fair, but they'll be better behaved when they do. Actions have consequences, after all, it's not like they couldn't have seen it coming.

"Furthermore, the Losned Consortium have agreed to lend charity for the sake of the impoverished, the injured - and even the recently premature deceased should a corse be in acceptable condition, at no small expense to themselves," Commander Hiolh smiles radiantly, a metaphorical nail hitching itself in my madly beating heart, "Although I would not count myself privy to the full expense, I would wager it amounts to at least a hundred Stone Platinum, to put in perspective how serious we are about bringing the Iempern Astärva's glory to it's rightful lustre.

You will not be held in debt to us nor the Losned Consortium, for this is a debt we are repaying to you. There will not be a repeat of this turmoil for as long as I am here, and there will be changes implemented during the recovery period according to what best fits that promise. More details will be forthcoming. I thank you for your time, and bid you return to your lives - though if you are present, Lord Fander, I wish to speak with you in private. Stars Bless."

---

 

Second Floor, The Mole & Field Tavern, Meteo Town

The tavern is all but deserted by all but the most hardcore patrons and the staff. It might be more appropriate for me to lead us all back to Voinete Mansion, but it feels like a lot of the motivation has been stripped from our bodies, so at Henna's suggestion we've made a pitstop here to catch a breather and collect our thoughts over a pint of beer. Just a shame that the cellars have already been looted, so no alcohol for us.

Yay.

"So, does anyone else feel like they really need to take a bath?" Jupiter, because of course it's friggin Jupiter, breaks the silence, "I'm already a visitor in this body, but I've never felt it quite so starkly as just now. Beyond that even, because I can appreciate aesthetics as much as the next guy but I've never in my life stared so intently at a man while thinking about how handsome he is before. Like, Oliver Madden is the one exception to that rule but...I, I just feel weird all over and under, man."

"I hear you," Grand mutters, just as disturbed, "I think more than that I feel like this was all...kinda anticlimactic? No epic final battle or anything, just a slow decline followed by a sudden and convenient wrap-up by some outside force. If we didn't have that quest I'd wonder what the point of fighting back was almost."

Henna snorts, unimpressed, "That's all well and good for you to say."

"Sorry, don't mind him," I apologise on his behalf for his insensitivity, "Not like I don't understand what you mean, He- Grand. Shit."

"Soooo, now what?" Jade changes the subject, "Silver's back tomorrow-ish, right?"

"You'd know better'n we would," Olrica shrugs, "I think I'll log off for a couple hours when we go back home, take a break and come back on to do a bit of snooping around. Figure out the situation and all that shit."

"It would likely be a good idea to find out what renumeration is being offered in exchange for the contribution points we've accumulated first so we can discuss the best use of our stockpiles with Silver," Morn suggests, "Although, I would expect the most likely answer to be to exchange for Fame and Reputation for the Guild if available."

"Depends what they offer," Jade clicks her tongue, "I dunno about you, but our finances are pretty fuckin' tight, and most our wealth is tied up in deals, the Headquarters projects and that pile of equipment gathering dust in Henna's attic. Taking cold cash wouldn't be the worst idea, but I'd also kill a few dozen more of those DDA schmucks for a quality upgrade on my gear and Skills."

"Regardless, we'll need to take a look at the offerings first," Angelus rests his arms on the table, leaning forward heavily, "Personally speaking, a break sounds wonderful. I feel like a wrung-out dishcloth."

""Same"" the magic bros echo in perfect harmony with a shared look of mutual suffering. Elf mages have it rough.

"That's a given," I smile wryly, stomach grumbling, "...And a real meal. I don't think there's a great deal we can do right now, in any case. A lot of the outstanding problems have been dealt with, so all that's left is to wait for our investments to pay off and tie off loose ends. The Darkest Dreamers Alliance probably isn't dead exactly, but it'll be like the original gate incident all over again multiplied by a severity of ten. Most of their characters are dead in the water and even if they come back with another they won't be able to make as big of a fuss in Meteo or nearby so long as the Commander and his uhh reggily thing are here."

"I think it's like a regiment. I was near the back and I saw literally hundreds of soldiers," Jade offers some conjecture, "Not hyperbole. Hundreds of them."

"A Reginlei is an elite, extraordinarily decorated force," Henna elaborates solemnly, "They are...some of the greatest soldiers that the Empire has to offer. Commander Hiolh is, in turn, one of the most powerful individuals on the continent, not just in the Empire's territories. He's an inspirational figure I've only heard stories about. To see him out here, in the flesh is truly an honour and a privilege."

"So, this man is a big deal, then?" Angelus questions, tilting his head to address her.

"He answers directly to the Iempern'ioll Cugosth," Henna nods simply.

"The Commander mentioned that as well, what is that?"

"It's the old, fancy way of talking about the Imperial Councilors," she sighs, "Folks up north are a pretentious lot about the language of the Founders. Think the association makes their own Paths somehow more profound to draw on the heritage of those who walked before. Ask me, that's Triumphate talk."

"Gotta love asshole traditionalists," Jade pulls that disgusted puppy dog face she does when she's offended by something, "Fusty old bastards taking up space and acting like they're better than everyone not past retirement age have to be, like, a universal constant, swear to fuck."

"In other words, the northern part of the Empire is Connecticut. Got it," I smirk, pulling off my gauntlets and rubbing my sore hands. No blisters yet, but it feels like there should be. My feet aren't any better, and my knee joints could use a spritz of oil to limber them up to boot.

"Ehh, ain't that more a Pennsylvania thing?" Jupiter wonders, "I'm not really on the up and up when it comes to state identity these days. Feels more like a homogeneous clusterfuck honestly."

"I've been in Paris for the past couple years so, who knows," I shrug, combing my fingers through my admittedly kind of greasy hair, "'round here in Florida the old people are too rich and high off opium or meth to care about making trouble for us young'uns directly. They avoid the beaches like the plague 'cos that's where all the hipsters and tourists go."

Morn clears her throat daintily, "We appear to be going off-topic. And we likewise appear to have company."

Following her gaze, I twist around on the bench to see Jericho approaching our table with a blank expression and a sombre atmosphere swirling about him.

"I hope that I am not imposing," he bows his head minimally in greeting.

"We weren't talking about anything of consequence," Grand assures him, "Just shootin' the shit."

"Mm. Unusual to see you alone," I comment, glancing past him for any of his hangers-on from Wolf Hunt, "Take it this isn't a social call, though, from the looks of you."

Jericho heaves a sigh, rubbing his bald scalp, "No, it is not. I don't suppose that Silver is within easy reach? Not to be rude, but this matter strikes me as something he ought to be present for."

"He won't be back until tomorrow at the earliest, probably," I shake my head, "We'll know more when we're all back in Reality. Still, if it's alright with you, I can hear you out as the gal in charge 'til he returns. Silver's given me carte blanche to do whatever, so treat me like a prettier, nicer him."

He appears to consider the offer, clasping his hands together and fidgeting with them. Not quite wringing, though nevertheless, it betrays the underlying anxiety, his facial muscles barely moving at all to express emotion. Something I'm learning is that even if Quirstic players don't really emote, exactly, their body language retains the habits of their real selves to a degree. I'd need a larger sample size to be certain of it, however.

Jericho takes a slow breath in, releasing it in a huff, "Alright. If you don't mind, I'd prefer it if what I'm about to talk to you about was kept on the down-low. I won't ask you to sign a System Contract since the reason I'm here at all...is that I want to trust Truthseekers."

Ordinarily soft-spoken, Jericho's speech is clipped even for him, not to the extent of a drawl, but slower and more methodical than I'm used to. Reluctance and a hint of shame tinge the bits where his verbal trudging wavers. I don't need to read that deeply to understand that the man's troubled by something, though.

"If you'd rather, we can talk in private," I give him the option out of courtesy.

"Your concern is..." Jericho shakes his head, "No, it's fine. I expect it will become public knowledge soon enough regardless. Our community is rather small and tightly woven, after all. Even moreso now come to think of it, with so many stolen away by the army NPCs to who knows where."

"Do you want to sit down for this?" Olrica, unusually quiet so far, offers, making to give up her own space.

"No, thank you," Jericho holds his hand up to halt her, "This won't take long. I have to be elsewhere very soon, and this can't be properly resolved without Silver in the end. To summarise, Wolf Hunt is experiencing a schism of interests and ideologies at the moment, as a result of recent events and the loss of a few members to the NPC army's kidnapping. A large portion of our membership is comprised of more...casual players, and in particular those more interested in forestry and hunting. Being forced to participate in a messy, large-scale PvP war because of my choice to associate with Truthseekers bringing DDA's ire on our heads was, to put it mildly, unpopular. I understand their gripes, but the past few days have added gasoline to their resentments, and now that the problem is nominally dealt with they wish to separate to pursue the original intent."

"Why would they decide to leave now that everything's over and you can go back to normal?" Jupiter asks, drumming his fingers on the table surface, "Doesn't seem like it really accomplishes anything when there isn't an argument to be had if it's just a bunch of dudes one-sidedly complaining. Y'know? Not like you're telling them to go full PvP Guild, are ya? Wait, are you?"

"I'm not," Jericho denies firmly, "However, I and most of the remainder are more interested in expanding our horizons, so to speak. If the past few weeks have demonstrated anything it's that one way or another trouble will find its way to us, and we'd prefer having the personal strength to deal with it on our own instead of being effectively being placed under house arrest."

"So, what, you wanna run more dungeons with us now that you've lost your headcount, is that it?" Jade butts in, "Sounds good to me."

"Yes, and no," he shakes his head, "Although I have yet to bring it up with those who wish to stay behind, I wanted to propose a merger. In the short-term, at least. Truthseekers have a stronger foundation than just about anyone in the Meteo area, so it would be of great benefit to us as a place to reorganise ourselves and determine our future plans. Of course, that would place us inside your command structure, so we would be pulling our weight for as long as we are...involved in that manner."

In other words, he wants to piggyback off our facilities and accomplishments to make a comeback with a newer, stronger Wolf Hunt. I can't say I'm all that fond of the idea on principle, since they'd be blatantly taking advantage of us, but at the same time, Jericho and Wolf Hunt have been nothing but good partners to us and we are in desperate need of additional manpower.

He's right that it's best if Alex is the one to make the call on this one. My first instinct is to say no, to be honest, since we don't need to necessarily invite them into the Guild proper in order for us to help each other out while letting Jericho retain his autonomy. Bringing them into Truthseekers should be actually permanently doing so, because letting them join, suck out all the benefits then take their happy asses elsewhere to profit further separately looks different under that context.

Helping them externally makes us look charitable; While helping them from under our umbrella makes us look like chumps.

Glancing back to the crew, Jade looks to be thinking something similar, Jupiter is grinning like a loon, while the rest keep their peace. I have no idea what Morn or Henna think of the situation, while Olrica, Grand and Angelus don't seem to give a flying fuck. And Olrica is staring at me now...Yes, hi.

"So, pump us and dump us, huh?" Jade comments sarcastically, "Real cool of you."

I cough, somehow not expecting her to say that when I really should know better. Embarrassed, Jericho breaks eye contact and looks off to the side, "Not how I would have put it. The specifics can be discussed in greater detail when Silver returns, but I don't want you to think that I wouldn't pay the debt I'd owe with interest, and I'm sure that the others would do the same."

"How long have you known each other, if you don't mind me asking?" Olrica chimes in, eyes narrowing, "Hearing a lot of hazy feeling promises."

He pauses, staring at the ceiling while he combs his memories for the answer, "About five to eight years, individually. We were a pretty big deal back in Justicar."

"That a fact?" Angelus perks up, "Were you still going by the same handles and clan name back then?"

"No. You played, I'm guessing?"

"Yep," Angelus smiles, "Zekrin, on Jubilant. I used to play a Light Savant."

"No kidding? We were on Crown, best field boss hunters server-wide," Jericho brags nostalgically.

"'Hunter Killer'?"

"That's us, surprised you remember, let alone recognise us."

"Watched a couple of Eximus' vids back in the day," Angelus sits straight, "He still around?"

"Afraid not, passed away two years ago. Leukaemia relapse, God rest his soul," Jericho sighs, "But I digress. We can talk about the golden days of Justicar some other time. I've said what I wanted to, I ought to be leaving now before a fight breaks out."

"Understood," I stand up and offer my hand, "Try hitting up Voinete Mansion or Stone Arsenal near sunset tomorrow Real-time, if Silvers not at either we'll have news at the least."

We exchange handshakes and part. A debate arises from the team shortly after he descends the staircase back to the ground floor. I chip in to the discussion every now and again, but all I can really think about is how dearly I want to take a long bath and pass out. Today has been a fucking slog.

Alex best be ready because as soon as I log off I am going to be complaining up a storm that'd make a middle-aged coupon-clipping mother at Walmart a day after her buy-one-get-one-free on dairy expires seem quiet and sedate, for at least an hour, in order to vent all the stress I've been accumulating as his stand-in. I don't care if it's petty, he gets to go on a hiking trip while I keep our house being set on fire, the Guild afloat and fight a lynchmob out for our blood specifically for a solid two weeks.

I need a raise, damn it. On top of the salary he already owes us.