Jackal Among Snakes

If there was one thing that Argrave hated above all, it would be ignorance. More specifically, his own.

Seeing something he had no clue about made him squirm. When he encountered such a scenario, Argrave took two routes: ignore the thing in question entirely or learn it completely. Perhaps that was why he had taken up the role of editing the wiki for the game—to seek remedy for his ignorance by learning every detail that there was to be known about ‘Heroes of Berendar.’

This trait had helped him a great deal, both in the past and after his arrival at Berendar. It allowed him to focus on magic far beyond a point most would deem normal. Argrave found magic interesting, and it was also largely foreign to him. It had become a conduit that his efforts could be directed to, just as his fascination with ‘Heroes of Berendar’ had been in the past. In essence, he had replaced one outlet with another.

In the Low Way of the Rose, his dislike of his ignorance served as prime kindling for the all-consuming flame of anxiety. Uncertainty was Argrave’s primary companion, being both pursued by the Stonepetal Sentinels and flanked by the horrors of the Low Way.

Their trek through Nodremaid was harsh. The stone beneath their feet was hard and wore out the back, and much of the path was stairs. The way forward was often blocked by dense foliage, forcing awkward maneuvering. The air reeked of foul, unnatural smells at all times. Prevailing above all was the scent of iron, yet beneath it was strange, exotic, and earthy smells—mushrooms and other foul things lined their path, much of it growing atop equally rancid fertilizer.

That alone was challenge enough, but at times, Argrave could see them beyond the wide leaves and towering buildings. The Guardians of the Low Way. They were brutal creatures with a cold simplicity. Their body resembled a human head, though with the jaw removed. Two muscular arms sprouted from enlarged ears. Eight black eyes with golden irises stared off in all directions. Weapons of varying types had been buried in the back of their hands, held secure by metal bolts. Lack of maintenance over centuries left near all of them badly afflicted by rust.

Every time Argrave spotted one of these creatures, his blood would run cold and his body would shake. They crawled on the cavern walls, on the roofs of buildings, and even swam through the canals, fighting against the current like some twisted mockery of salmon. The three of them moved cautiously enough to avoid being seen, Argrave reasoned. Galamon ensured their party never strayed too close. Still, their fleeting presence bred uncertainty within his mind.

The oppression of the Low Way wore at Argrave’s sense of time. The unceasing light from the flesh plants above furthered that effect. The rays would flicker at times as the faces blooming on the flowers blinked, casting ever-dancing shadows that gave one the impression the entire city was constantly moving.

Worse yet was the constant noise. The streams flowing through the canals emitted an unceasing roar. The sound would shift in volume as they moved, rebounding off the stone corridors and growing more or less intense as they moved up and down stairs. Buzzing or chirping insects occupied everywhere, making even the areas away from the canals constantly awash with sound. At times, the constancy of these noises would be supplanted with howls, screams, and roars—they were infrequent, and that infrequency only increased Argrave’s uneasiness as he tensed, waiting for the next to come, fearing what it might be. He had guesses, of course—he knew what was in the Low Way. But there was no certainty.

Argrave tried his damnedest to suppress all of that. Anneliese was with him—she would certainly be having a rougher time than he. Galamon remained constant, leading their advance as ever, undaunted and steady. Argrave had no place to be held back by these things. He tried to find the same courage that he’d mustered within Thorngorge Citadel, only to realize that had been confidence, not courage. He had known what to expect. Now, though, he felt exposed. He felt his feet were metaphorically bare and cut as he trod through a salt mine.

this place was the distant sight of the headquarters of the Order of the Rose, brightly lit by the red lights of the flesh-plants winding in and out of the stone on the cavern walls and ceilings. Of all the buildings, the headquarters was the only one that broke the uniformity in Nodremaid. It resembled Petra vaguely, if only by

he raised his hand to his mouth and a spell matrix swirled, conjuring water that he drank sloppily. Galamon stopped,

He spent some time to catch his breath, then said hoarsely,

“I smell the foul blood of the Guardians ahead. It’s moving

rest and looked about for a place to do so. The higher portions of the city were mostly crossroads, so

knees, feet, and back all ached horribly, and the pain surfaced as he stopped his motion. Galamon

you know that, Galamon?” Argrave said, wiping some sweat that leaked into

“Hmm,” he grunted half-heartedly.

healing magic to relieve some of the pain. Out of the corner of his eye,

“You’re reading?” Argrave inquired.

need a distraction, anything,” she answered quickly, voice taut. “I’m at the cusp of learning

in a place like this,” Galamon said, though

is good,” she rebutted quickly. “Escaping from it, if only with my mind,

rebuttal. Argrave took a deep breath, feeling some measure of guilt well up within. He finished healing his feet, and then

some clarity. He rummaged in his backpack, pulling free the

reason these people are here. They’re following

same things that he had. They did this willingly. They did

at arm’s length. He told them nothing beyond what they needed to know. Why was that? he wondered. And Argrave knew the answer. Beneath all the veneers, his refusal to examine his own

glance at Anneliese and Galamon. Things have got to change. You’ll only fail if you keep on as you are. You have these people by your side for a reason—because they’re capable. Let them in. You, alone, have