Jackal Among Snakes

Darkness loomed ahead, starkly contrasting with the red lights shining behind. Argrave tried to peer beyond to little effect.

“I don’t sense anything ahead,” said Galamon. “Only… debased viscera,” he contributed after pausing a moment to find the word. “The vampires may be using magic to disguise themselves. You mentioned they were apprentices of a mage group—the Wayward Thorns,” Galamon turned to Argrave.

“Doubtful. They know rudimentary magic, nothing beyond that. Centuries mean very little if you don’t have access to spellbooks, or the genius needed to make your own spells. They have ridiculously deep magic pools, but no spells beyond D-rank. There are reasons for that, but… I’ll share them when we aren’t caught in a vice.” Argrave raised up his hand, a spell matrix forming. A ball of light jumped into the air, banishing some of the darkness before them.

The headquarters of the Order of the Rose in Nodremaid may once have been grand, but its residents had changed it. Much of the place had been dyed red from centuries-old blood. It wasn’t the site of some bloody slaughter—instead, the roses of flesh that gave off light winding about the ceiling had been torn down and destroyed by the vampires to shroud the place in darkness. The ‘bodies’ of the flesh plants were much less frightening than the things themselves. Once the flesh rotted away, all that was left was long stalks of ivory.

“Is light wise?” Anneliese questioned, staring at the ball of flame cautiously.

“They’re vampires, the majority of them older than Galamon. Darkness means nothing for them.”

Anneliese stepped forward, contributing her own light and further illuminating the place. “It’s… quiet here. Figuratively and literally.”

“You mean… not picking up any feelings? Empathy meter goes cold just ahead?” Argrave inquired.

“Yes.” She spared a glance back, then examined the bottom of her boots. Her eyes stayed locked on the corpse of one of the Guardians. The thing’s arms had been torn off. It had been drained of blood. “Still… I cannot say this place is particularly soothing.”

“Right with you,” Argrave agreed, stepping up beside her. The harsh and piercing smell of iron still persisted here, but most other scents died. No insects made noise in the darkness beyond. Indeed, the only noise still present was the barely audible sound of the canal outside, but once they proceeded deeper, Argrave was sure it, too, would fade.

The central lobby was quite a large place. A statue fountain about ten feet tall stood decorating the center, but the fountain had been rendered useless, the faintest bit of polluted red water spouting pathetically out of the statue’s chipped mouth. This place was largely free of the foliage consuming all of Nodremaid.

The main square branched off into three paths, yet there were also two sets of spiral stairs leading up to a second floor. One of the stairs had collapsed midway. The ceiling was quite high. The light of their spell did not illuminate beyond the central lobby, so nothing could be seen of the second floor or beyond.

bigger rooms that way that only have one doorway. Good place to

the halls here

once a dining room, though like all other places in Nodremaid, it had fallen

had only one doorway. They looked to be storage areas, for they were often blocked with thick iron doors and filled to the brim with shelves and crates. Galamon examined the insides of many, deeming most unfit for reasons Argrave did

around slowly. “This place… looks to be sufficient,” he said

and rest his feet once more. When his spell light trailed into the room after him, it illuminated a fairly empty storage room. Argrave was looking at one of the crates, when something caught

it was a vampire, bad memories resurfaced of Barden, of him calling out for Galamon moments before being seized, his very blood stolen. He froze. The vampire didn’t seek to

back, falling to one knee. Galamon drew his greatsword from his waist and swung

hid yourself

feet as quickly as he could. His arm hurt where he’d fallen, but in front of the task at hand, he barely noticed it. The vampire, who Argrave now recognized as a man, retreated further, joining up with

was full of holes, some of it covered with patchwork cloth. It was all the same color, though—a deep red. Argrave considered that it was

a woman, voice

who’d attacked answered, wiping his face free of blood.

caught his

choice of diplomacy or confrontation has been made for us. We must block

he would not

removed his backpack, setting it on the ground alongside his greatsword. He quickly strung his bow and retrieved an arrow, nocking it. Seeing this, the vampires

“I’ll stun one with lightning magic, and Anneliese, follow up with

scattered. Argrave sent out the D-rank spell [Writhing Lightning] towards the one that split from the group. The vampire reacted quickly, trying to form a ward, but even its supernatural speed could not

thunder echoed out—the C-rank lightning spell [Skysunder]. A white bolt struck the vampire, and she was cast to the ground, smoke rising from her waist where she had

of them shouted. “Damn it all! Just break through!