Jackal Among Snakes

“What do you think?”

Anneliese stared at Galamon, her arms crossed expectantly. Galamon turned around, looking to where Argrave had gone briefly to take care of nature’s call.

“Doesn’t matter. I didn’t need answers. I had already resolved to follow him,” Galamon shook his head.

“But I want to know what you think,” Anneliese insisted.

Galamon ground his teeth together, saying nothing as the wind blew across the desert. “I’m reminded of when I was young, and I questioned the meaning of life and the validity of Veid’s teachings. I’m wrought with the same sort of… existential ponderance.”

“So you believe Argrave?” she queried.

His white eyes turned to her. “You do,” he noted. “That is sufficient for me. You’re a reliable gauge for lies and deception. I’ve come to know that.”

She nodded. “I know, at least, he believes what he says. His knowledge, too, is without question. As for what he revealed to us…” she knelt down, her hair falling to the sand. “It challenges many of my preconceptions about the world. I have many questions to ask.”

“What do you mean, ‘he believes what he says?’” Galamon looked down at her.

Anneliese looked up at Galamon, rising back to her feet. “He, himself, knows nothing of what actually happened to him. This… this other world that he described to us…” she rubbed her hands together. “Maybe it is real. But the gods work incomprehensibly. If the gods did indeed meddle, why would they place him in a shackled body? Much is uncertain.”

“It’ll never be certain. Myself… I believe it is Veid’s will,” Galamon nodded.

“I hate uncertainty. I hate being ignorant,” Anneliese shook her head. “Though it may be beyond my ken to know now, it must not always be so. When the threat of Gerechtigkeit does not loom… I think it would be fun to pursue the answer to his question. For now, I will continue on at his side. Now that he has finally cracked, perhaps I can finally learn something genuine about him. He is quite a dodgy one, refusing to answer questions about himself—who he was before. I have to change that. It will come with time.”

“Hah.” Galamon laughed, scratching his chin.

Anneliese gazed up at him, head tilted in curiosity. “You’re feeling… nostalgic?”

Galamon’s mirth ceased when his emotions were so accurately placed. He shook his head as though dismissing his emotions. “It is nothing. Merely reminded of my youth.”

“How so?”

“Unimportant. Just something you said reminded me of what she… well, never mind.” Galamon closed his eyes. “Want some advice on people like him? How to open his shell?”

eager. “You have

gazing out into the distance. “He keeps his

why he jokes, makes light

day, he’ll hit a wall,” Galamon crossed his

get some honesty

Galamon smiled

what

quickly turned into a frown. “No. This is a tactic for you.” Anneliese looked perplexed, and Galamon uncrossed

raised a brow. “Can

difference between a fresh recruit who has done nothing, and one who has spent hours beating a training dummy. At the very least,

not many could do what

is

#####

on his knees to catch his breath. He conjured and drank

Argrave wore something different than yesterday: his set of black leather he had purchased from the craftswoman at Jast. It was lighter and much more breathable than the fur-lined gray set he’d worn. The few pieces of metal on it were brass, faded so as not to reflect light. It was made to cover his body much better, too, preventing the coarse

clean again. He was getting better about tolerating uncleanliness, yet he did appreciate removing the blood and dirt-stained gray leather outfit

with Argrave, stabbing Garm into the sand. “…I believed it was ridiculous to bring black leather to a desert,” Anneliese confided, only barely out of breath. “Yet it is not as scorching as I imagined, and this is pleasant. Like the hottest summer day

stared down at the black sand, hunched over breathless. The night and dawn both had been somewhat chilly, yet during the day, a pleasant temperature prevailed—maybe only because it was on the cusp

said, the Burnt Desert was not without its issues—the sand was heavy and abrasive, making walking more difficult than Argrave expected. The air was incredibly dry. In addition, the ground could grow

the winter, at

still catching his breath, and then rose to his feet.

Low Way of the Rose. It was true that Garm had likely saved Argrave’s life—that said, he did not exactly hide his intents, he was extremely

knew nothing

encounter, one did not engage with him further. He, like hundreds of other key items, languished in the player’s inventory, never to be thought about again. Yet now he was here. Anneliese had sworn to protect the thing, though she had made it clear that the other members of the party would take precedence over his life. The deal had seemed incredibly obvious at the time, yet as things proceeded… Argrave was not entirely sure he could trust Garm at

his thoughts for now. “Things get too hot? You can cool yourself down. Thirsty? Conjure water.

cannot stay exhaustion,”

for this place. It’s the supreme power. You catch what I mean?” he looked to

answer came to her. “You mentioned a

can do that, here. At least… they have,” Argrave amended, realizing this situation could be applicable elsewhere. “A lot of unscrupulous people abound here, willing and able to do whatever

“Who?” questioned Garm.

no centralized power, but they’re all part of the same faction, more or less—the Vessels of Fellhorn, the god of floods and rain. These Vessels are probably the only surviving group still worshipping