Jackal Among Snakes

Dawn light fell onto the village of White Edge. Argrave sat with legs dangling off the floor of the carriage while the door remained opened, watching the still-visible red moon dip behind the canopy of the forest. His eyes had dark bags beneath them, and he felt generally miserable. Despite that, he knew there was much to do today.

Last night, they had laid out the poison-laced deer flesh throughout the lily fields, leaving distinct marks by each to determine which poison had been effective. Today, they would have to check and see which had been consumed and which had been left alone. Argrave wished most to sleep. The feeling overwhelmed, and Argrave pulled out the bronze hand mirror and stared at it to get into the right mindset.

Traits: [Tall], [Sickly], [Weak], [Intelligent], [Magic Affinity (High)], [Insomniac], [Blessing of Supersession (MAX)]

Skills: [Elemental Magic (C)], [Blood Magic (D)], [Healing Magic (C)], [Illusion Magic (D)], [Warding Magic(D)], [Druidic Magic (C)], [Inscription (E)], [Imbuing (E)]

Argrave had mostly made advancements in druidic magic—specifically, the supplementary spells of [Pack Leader] enabling him to give vague commands to the animals he was linked to. Unplanned combat was the number one cause of death in ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ and so being able to avoid it with proper scouting was quite important to him. He could already order the birds to move to specific locations, watch over him as he slept, or search for a specific thing. [Pack Leader] was but a gateway into a very useful subset of druidic spells. It would truly manifest its usefulness when he linked to animals more versatile than pigeons—animals he intended to get at the Burnt Desert.

Argrave turned the hand mirror about in his hand, about to put it away. A voice brought him from his distracted haze.

“Do you hate yourself?”

Argrave looked up, somewhat surprised. Anneliese watched, arms crossed as she stood a fair distance away from Argrave and the carriage.

Argrave frowned. “Hate myself? Where’s this coming from?”

She pointed to his hands. “Whenever you look into that mirror, I see some resentment.”

“I don’t hate myself,” Argrave dismissed, taking another glance at the mirror.

“Your face, then?”

Argrave laughed at that notion. He weighed the mirror in his hand, and then his expression grew pensive. He held the mirror out. “What do you see when you look into this?”

Argrave felt anxious even asking the question. He was probing into something he’d been doing his best to avoid thinking about—what exactly had happened to him. He worked tirelessly precisely so he never had to think about it.

Anneliese hesitated, and then stepped forward and took the mirror. She held it up before her face cautiously. “I see myself,” she responded immediately, lowering the mirror as though it as though it was obvious.

Argrave stared at the mirror in her hand for a long time. He couldn’t quite comprehend what emotion he was feeling at her response—disappointment, maybe, or some warped sense of affirmation. He examined the emotion, feeling it twisting about in his head and chest. Then he placed it.

Isolation.

No matter how much more lifelike these people had become, what he knew of this world and where he had come from placed an unbreakable barrier between him and everyone else he spoke to. A game becoming reality was a difficult thing to comprehend in theory. In practice… it was enough to make Argrave lose his mind. So, he didn’t accept it. He ignored it and lost himself in studying magic, poor humor, and a steady advance towards what hehad done a thousand times: finish the game.

Argrave blinked quickly, trying to bring himself out of his train of thought. “I see,” he finally said in response to Anneliese’s statement. He reached out and took the mirror, stowing it away.

you see?” she

I resent,” Argrave responded

her face. “Do you hate your bloodline, the physical traits you inherited? They are rather

floor and shut the door. “We should start heading towards the lily fields, find out what poison we

and Galamon with your life,” she called out. “At the same time, you refuse to trust us with simple knowledge about yourself, your plans, or your

back. “Didn’t realize I was so fascinating. Do I often occupy

change the subject when I pry,”

a hint in

“I won’t presume your burden. I don’t know what it is you’re thinking about because you won’t share. You might think it’s too much for me—for Galamon too.

“Oh, poor me. I’m a hothouse

with a smile that made Argrave oddly sad. “Just

his mouth to say more but stopped. He turned his head to the road. “I feel something from my birds.

flew up into the air, following down the road. Some time passed before Anneliese opened her eyes and the matrix in her hand

on the carriage?”

nodded. “A red flag

Argrave said musingly. “But why are they coming here…?” Argrave instinctually looked for Galamon, but he had sent him out both to collect more game for a

they’ll be friendly, but I have no reason to assume they’re hostile, either.” Argrave lowered his

empty from what I saw.

what you describe, it sounds like a tax collector.

“Tax collector?”

a portion of a village’s harvest or other suitable compensation as tax. In return, the feudal lord protects them. This system is the foundation of society in most of Berendar, although it’s

the road, keeping his eyes fixed on the distant path ahead. Soon enough, what Anneliese had scouted with druidic magic came into view—a large wooden carriage driven by two horses, a man holding the reins to the horses with two knights in

their caution did not rise any further than that. Soon enough, the man driving the carriage slowed the horses into

the road,” one of the

aware of that?” Argrave

The carriage came to a stop, and Argrave was not so far from the

the knight’s question. The

village,” the man confirmed. “Many other villages, too, but that’s beside the point.

the Order of the Gray Owl,” Argrave identified himself with his badge. “I was under the impression tax collectors don’t find it worth the time to head to White Edge. Why has

and then climbed down from the carriage. Once on his feet, he was taken aback by

“I can’t claim to know why it is that I

Argrave pressed, gesturing with his

brusqueness. He reached into his back pocket and pulled free a rolled-up piece of parchment. He unraveled it, and then read quickly, “Count Delbraun demands half of this year’s harvest, or fifty bushels of

bushels was low or high, but he knew that half of the harvest was a ridiculous amount for a place like White Edge which didn’t have the most fertile lands. “That’s a bit excessive, don’t you think?