Jackal Among Snakes

The first thing that Argrave noticed when entering the palatial estate of Mistress Tatia was neither a sound, nor a sight, nor a smell. Instead, it was a sensation.

The air around them felt incredibly dry.

It was strange, then, that the second thing he processed was the presence of rushing water.

Argrave stepped past the purple cloth blocking the entrance, staring into the room. Arrayed before him was a decadent marble table inlaid with gold at the corners. It was low set, falling just short of Argrave’s knees. The top of it had been covered with purple felt. In each corner of the room, there were small waterfalls pouring from golden horns into small pools.

People sat around the table, though instead of in chairs, they sat atop mounds of pillows in very casual positions. As Argrave entered, most of them came to attention, sitting straighter and casting curious glances at the newly arrived three. They all wore very bright and catching colors. Argrave recognized them to be Vessels.

Each and every Vessel had a strange, almost aquatic quality to their dark skin. It glistened as though fresh out of a pool, yet not a drop of liquid could be seen anywhere on them. Their hair had a silken quality to it, almost oily, and it seemed to move about, spurred by an unfelt wind.

Argrave recognized some. Most prominently, he recognized the woman at the head of the table—Mistress Tatia. She rested amidst a pile of red and gold pillows, wearing a purple dress studded with gemstones. The dress was loose and exposed much of her dark olive skin. She was a robust woman—not fat, exactly, but certainly fleshy.

Argrave locked eyes with her, and she sat up amidst her pillows. She raised both hands in the air. Her actions had a sort of flowing grace to them, each moving to the next without ceasing.

“Greetings, wanderers from the distant north!” she greeted, her voice smooth and pleasant. “My invitation, it seems, was well-received. I am pleased to see you elected to dine with us.”

Argrave stepped forward, allowing room for Anneliese and Galamon to follow him in. Their eyes wandered around the room while the Vessels sitting watched them.

Placing a hand to his chest, Argrave lowered his head a little. “Thank you for welcoming us into your home, Mistress Tatia.” Argrave returned her greeting.

She beamed, showing perfect white teeth. She gestured towards an empty mound of pillows beside her. “Please, come and sit. You and your companions have been arranged a place at the seat of honor. What may we call you?”

“I am Argrave, and these two are Galamon and Anneliese,” he introduced as he took slow, steady steps into the room, somewhat overwhelmed by the sense of hospitality all were projecting. The sense of consideration and kindness was intense enough to feel feigned. Argrave possessed knowledge enough of these people’s characters to believe he was safe, but recent events had proven he was not all-knowing.

“Most suspected our invitation would be rebuffed,” a Vessel spoke—a man with a clean-shaven face. “It is not often that northerners pass through here. The people of the north fear this place—a land of barbarians and heat, nothing more… or so the people of Vasquer think. But we have quelled things, don’t you agree?”

“I made it here without issue,” Argrave replied, finally making it to the end of the table. Mistress Tatia fluidly gestured for them to sit, and Argrave lowered himself into the pillows. He found that the closer he grew to the Vessels, the moister the air became, as though they were isolated in a bubble of wetness.

“My chefs are still preparing our meal,” Tatia explained as Argrave looked about. “And tell me, gentleman Argrave, how does this town of mine treat you?”

Argrave shrugged while nodding. “Having marble beneath my feet is like walking on clouds compared to that heavy black sand outside the walls. And the food’s been nice. Part of the reason I was swayed to come, in fact.”

turning to Galamon and

and nodded, while Anneliese added, “This place cannot

Tatia sunk back into her pillows and placed a hand on the top of her chest. “Indeed. My predecessor spent his life completing this place, passing away at 212.” She nodded as if in peace. “It is a shame you had to see it sullied by the presence of the tribals. My guards told me you

Argrave quickly, hoping

was curious about… regarding the tribals,” Anneliese questioned, leaning

hoping to warn her away from asking an offensive

happy to answer your questions,” Mistress Tatia beckoned

tribals instead of killing them outright?” she

straightened his back and scratched the top of his lip, casting a miffed glance at Anneliese. She did not seem to lack confidence in her question,

I suspect it may be difficult for a foreigner to

never blood,” a Vessel spoke zealously. “If they are to die, let them die in the cool embrace of Fellhorn… or at their own hand, in a pool of misery. Either way, His eternal rain will

He is the unceasing rain and the constant flood. His will is

the air in a steady spout. It was but a small show of the power of a Vessel, no more than a party trick, but it served to illustrate their power. They embodied the water, taking it in and expelling it at will. Though, perhaps ‘at will’ was incorrect—it was at the will of their god, Fellhorn. Their power was, in many ways, similar to Argrave’s Blessing of Supersession vested in him

eventually give birth to Vessels. Like this, we bring a peace to this land—that is but one aspect of the great eternal rain of Fellhorn we hope to bring to this desolate land.” The waterspout coming from her hand rose, and then she closed

noble. Had Argrave only seen Delphasium, he might’ve even agreed with them entirely. But the rest of the Burnt Desert was not the same as this

resolved themselves without aggravating their hosts. “I am thankful for both your

pleasure is ours,”

you worry for your safety, fear not the tribals,” one man spoke from the corner of the table. “Their numbers dwindle by the day. Rats feast upon their corpses, and they feast

The hardships of an uncivilized life—theft, violence, blasphemy… all transgressors are Drained, and society

“Drained?” repeated Galamon.

so, they must surrender all within themselves to a Vessel. We Vessels absorb their souls, offering them to our lord Fellhorn. In return, He vests more of His

expression while Mistress Tatia hurriedly added, “Let us not speak of grim things just before

room. They held silver trays of food, and the

before each and every person present at the table, Mistress

Tatia asked, and when Argrave nodded, she continued, “Now that we have

want to hear of Veiden, land of the snow elves,

not?” she questioned. “Because,

plainly. “House Parbon intends to combat the royal House Vasquer. Their spheres of influence largely constitute the

me more,”

#####

was an enlightening conversation,” Mistress Tatia said, placing her fork down

unfinished. It had