Jackal Among Snakes

Moonlight filtered through the poorly boarded windows of the abandoned house, leaving long slivers of orangish light across the decrepit floorboards. Argrave sat on a table, gazing up at the red moon with tired eyes. He was growing used to the strange sight, if only just. Across from him, Galamon was tidying up their preparations. He was carrying the bulk of things—glass bottles filled with viscous liquids, pouches full of tools and all the like.

Soon, everything was ready. Galamon took a moment to ensure he had not forgotten anything, feeling his axe, his dagger, his greatsword, and his bow. Once he was content, he locked his white eyes on Argrave. “We are ready.”

“I’m not,” said Argrave. “Thought I could reach C-rank magic. I suppose I was big-headed.” He shook his head lightly and stood. “Well, no use moping. I don’t think we’ll lose.”

“We can retreat if we do,” Galamon pointed out. Argrave was not sure if he was trying to comfort him.

“If we retreat without killing Tirros, it’s rather pointless. We have two lose conditions, the way I see it; Tirros escapes, or we die. If he escapes, he’ll just relocate alongside whichever Veidimen druids are left alive, and I can't really find him again.”

He spoke of the matter very casually, but Argrave was a mess internally. Certainly, if this was ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ he would have complete confidence in his success. He had faced greater challenges in-game, primarily for fun. Now, the former NPCs around him were living, breathing people, and he himself was not some player-controlled avatar devoid of mistakes. He had fear, doubt, inexperience—all of the symptoms of impending failure. But could he stop? The mirror in his pocket said 'no.'

Argrave grabbed a small satchel and a knife, slinging both to his leather gear quickly. He drank the contents of a vial on the table, and he was visibly reinvigorated—his pale skin returned to a semi-healthy pallor. “Ant venom stamina potions—disgusting,” he said, moving his mouth to get rid of the taste. “Let’s go.”

Galamon threw on his Viking-like helmet, and the pair left the abandoned house. It was perhaps an hour before midnight, but the streets of Mateth still had many people moving about. Most were sailors, coming to the city after long voyages over the turbulent oceans. Though some dubious people prowled the streets, the two were not troubled by anyone on their way to the gate. Argrave watched for pigeons, but he could see none.

The moon was close and bright, and they had very little difficulty seeing the way.

Argrave left the gate closest to the coast—the same one he’d taken to go to Erlebnis’ shrine. The guards on duty watched with tired eyes but offered no greeting or questions. They broke off from the road, heading towards the forest, but they followed the edge of the trees without entering the forest proper. Once they came to a river, Argrave crossed, delicately walking over some exposed rocks.

Once Galamon reached the other side, Argrave pointed to the distance, where a mound of rocks sat at the bottom of the beginning of a mountain. Trees rose up the mountain towards its peak, decorating its entirety with green. One could faintly make out the river pouring down from the headwater in the mountain.

“See those rocks stacked up?” He kept his finger straight.

Galamon followed Argrave’s finger, and then nodded.

“They stack up in a rough circle, but the inside is hollow. You can vaguely see some trees growing out,” Argrave explained. “That’s where they are. There’s a crawlspace they enter through, but we’ll have to climb up the rocks for our purposes. I know a good route.”

“Scouts?” Galamon questioned.

discuss their findings. That’s why we left so late at night—to sneak in far enough to deal

kept his eyes firmly fixed on the spot that the scouts usually stood. His heart sped up until it was as fast as a hummingbird’s. He had come this far due to reliance on

shook, but he kept

the mound of rocks, examining the pseudo-valley below. It was crowded with growth—fungus, shrubs, and trees, but distinct paths had been carved into the landscape by frequent travels, like a game trail. There was a makeshift construction atop the rocks—a simple platform of wood planks with a ladder leading up to it, and railings preventing anyone from falling too

climbed onto the wooden platform, crouching low and looking out across the druid’s hideout. The trees, mostly oak, had

Galamon to come closer, he whispered between labored breaths, “We climb down the ladder. Then, you draw

“Why paralytic?” Galamon questioned.

in a grand network, with Tirros at the center. If one dies, the connection is severed, and they

“You go first. I’ll prepare the arrow while you climb

heart pounding. The ladder was sturdy, and Argrave had never been afraid of heights. He was most afraid of being seen. He felt as though, at any second, an arrow would pierce

the undergrowth, ears perked for any sound. Galamon followed closely behind him, landing as quietly as one in plate armor could. He

think. Can you shoot him on the platform?” Argrave questioned.

him? We can stash him

looked up in a panic. A rock fell down from the top of the mound, landing in the undergrowth. Argrave stared at the spot it came from intensely, staying

“When he comes by, be sure to hit him in a non-fatal spot. Not the neck, the head, or the heart.

something in the distance. The sounds started growing louder. Argrave cast a D-rank illusion spell, [Chameleon], that would keep them hidden so long as they did not move. Galamon drew the

was briefly taken aback that it was a woman, but he steeled his resolve. Man

a twang, like a guitar string broke. The elven woman jolted back

were locked on the two of them. Slowly, her contractions became more infrequent, and she was still, hands wrapped around the arrow. No blood flowed from the wound—the effect of the

trailed off. He hid his mouth with his gloved hands.

conceal her. Argrave peered ahead. In the distance, the trees began to thin up. The moonlight fell onto a more open area. There,

point. We should start the assault from there. We’ll be

they were in the game. In a small clearing below, the druids had established a small camp of uniformly built wooden structures not much better than tents. As they were scouts of Veiden’s military, they had rigorous schedules; they would all be asleep at

the other constructions. Argrave motioned to Galamon, and he came closer. They came to the

pulled out some glass bottles full of a roiling black gas. The edge of the glass was inscribed. Glass could hold enchantments. Argrave only knew E-rank Inscription

you sure you can throw

of the bottles from Argrave’s hand. “Do you want