Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave awoke with a song inexplicably stuck in his head. Midday sunlight poked at his eyelids, forcing him to turn. The action woke him further and he sat up. He conjured simple water magic, cleaned his hands diligently, and then rubbed his eyes. The cold wetness brought him from the dreamworld. He blinked his eyes a few times, and then slid off the bed.

“Ooh there ain’t nothing you can do; I got, I got my eye on you,” Argrave sang the chorus quietly, humming the words he forgot to the rest of the song. He went to his luggage and retrieved a pair of gloves, slipping them on. His sickness felt mostly gone. He still felt a bit weak, but then he always felt weak.

Argrave channeled half of his magic into Blessing of Supersession. The magic debt he’d accrued in the fight at the druid’s camp would probably not be alleviated before the invasion occurred. It made him uneasy. That said, one’s magic pool was like a muscle. In order to train it, it needed to be exhausted. The more he drained his magic, the more he would be able to hold. It was the closest thing to ‘training’ Argrave could perform. One push-up would probably break his wrists.

Argrave cleaned his teeth with a cloth and some water, and after washed his hair in the washbasin. He combed his hair back neatly. It was getting long—it fell a little past his ears. Argrave’s chin was still smooth, though—he was too young to be growing even peach fuzz, it seemed. Argrave frowned. Come to think of it, I’m not sure how old I really am. I certainly look fully grown, judging by height alone…

The thought passed, and Argrave reprimanded himself for worrying so much about his appearance. Should probably go meet Nikoletta, talk to her father as she wanted… He straightened his clothes and made for the door, still singing.

“Some girl, old flame, jumps the stage cursin’ her name… tells her just where she oughta go…” Argrave pulled the double doors back. A maid standing in front jumped back. She’d clearly had her ear to the door.

“F-forgive me, lord. I was just instructed…”

“You’re forgiven. I know, I’m a saint. Anyway…” Argrave waited for her to speak.

“The Duke is looking for you, sir,” the maid curtsied quickly. “I hadn’t intended to… I was merely checking if the lord was awake.”

Argrave put his hand to his chest. “And instead, you were enraptured by my soothing serenade. I understand completely.” Argrave smiled genially, and the maid’s tense shoulders dropped. “Well, where is the Duke, then? I have never actually spoken to him before. This will be a new experience.”

“He is in his study with the young lady Monticci. I can guide you there, if you wish…?” she began to ask.

Argrave held his hand out to stop her. “I know where his study is. I am sure you must be busy with other things. Do not let me keep you. Have a pleasant day.” He bowed and then walked past her in long strides, humming the tune now that he was no longer in private.

The extent of what Argrave knew about Duke Enrico is what was written. Without fail, he died in the beginning of the game to the snow elves. The player could find his corpse, and some of his stats existed in the game files, but his personality was mostly unknown to the player beyond what Nikoletta said about him while playing as her. The bulk of it could be summarized as ‘pragmatic.’ He was also a widower; his wife died giving birth to Nikoletta.

“Had no idea you were such a flirt.”

Argrave jumped at the voice, turning around to where it came from. Mina materialized, starting with her short yellow hair. Another illusion spell.

“Hah! We’re 1-2 now,” Mina taunted, pointing at him. Argrave was confused for a second, but he remembered that he’d found Mina twice while she was hiding invisible.

After Argrave straightened his cuffs and regained his composure, a rhyme came to his head. “Who keeps score? You’re such a bore.”

glinting. “Should have heard yourself. ‘My soothing serenade,’ all smiles and

that’s flirting?”

would it

countered, walking

“You’re real polite. You never make fun of

jealousy. ‘Argrave, how dare you use honeyed words to

idea you were this shameless,” Mina refuted, sputtering. “Well, if you’re in these high spirits, I can assume you’re

I see,” Argrave answered without

mind. Pointless to argue with someone like

at least.” Argrave said. Mina nodded in satisfaction now that he confirmed it. “Instead,

sheet, and she anxiously said, “That’s not…

a natural part of life. Though, one wonders why

no idea what you’re talking about,” Mina answered, regaining

quiet, subdued, when an invasion is coming at any time. Leave that

Mina bit back, his jabs inciting a reaction precisely

no reason. The heart wants what the heart wants.” Argrave stopped in the hall and turned to Mina now that their conversation interested

Mina looked at him with wide

childhood swings that way. He ended up

speak further, but she eventually asked, “What

trailed off as his mind went back to the life he left behind. “He died. An accident,” the lie came smoothly. In truth, it was Argrave who had died and come to this hellish place. “But…” Argrave tried to dispel his errant thoughts, shaking his head. “He and his

sorry,” Mina

“Anyway, I should be off. The young lady Monticci and the old gentleman Monticci await me. It’s sure to be

that she

Mina started, but she deflated quickly. Argrave turned and waved

#####

roared fiercely as they travelled across the icy landscape. The fierce tempest carried snow enough to conceal distant mountains and vast forests. A great wall stood tall against it all. It was made of ice that had been carved out by hand. The wall was near a hundred feet tall, and no snow passed above it, instead blanketing the icy peak just above that shielded the city like an umbrella. The city

made of stone and held by pillars of the same material. Carvings stretched across most of the city, making it appear more like a ruin than an inhabited place. The people walking about were tall and formidable. Their skin was as pale

rising from the black fires atop the towers. The tusked skull of a gigantic creature hung from the keep, its empty sockets forever staring menacingly at the wall of

of them were warriors. Their armor was plate, but it was all covered in dense fur to ward from the penetrating cold. In the heart of the keep, the throne room, a great assemblage of fierce-looking snow elves had gathered, each sitting at

iron, fangs, and claws all arrayed with points upwards decorated his forehead. He kept his eyes fixed at the foot of the stairs. There, a badly burn-scarred Veidimen was supported by

was Galamon ‘the Great?” the man on the throne asked. “You’re

Patriarch.” the burned elf answered