Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave had a question: how does one gain the good graces of a faction in a xenophobic cult with enough power to rule over a city?

As much as he wished to, he certainly couldn’t walk up to any of the three towers, declare his intention to go inside, and be welcomed. The circumstance in Delphasium had been exceptional, but Sethia was a much larger city, and its lords were not nearly as gregarious as Mistress Tatia had been. Argrave and co. would be refused at the gate, he was certain, and he did not wish to test the theory.

In ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ the player’s induction into Cyprus had been spurred by a random, coincidental happening—a chance meeting, in essence. The player would meet a Vessel serving within the tower of Cyprus, demonstrate their prowess, and… things went from there. Argrave could not replicate that. Causing a chance meeting was even further beyond his purview.

Despite thinking on the matter during the entire journey, Argrave couldn’t answer his question. But with a little refinement from his companions, some half-baked ideas he’d been ruminating on blossomed into one beautiful little scheme.

“This is the home,” Galamon whispered and nodded. It was night, and few people were out. They stood before a rather humble dark stone house. It had no windows, and its doors were shut tight. “I smell dried blood… and not in small amounts. If things are as you say, this is the place.”

Argrave exhaled. “Good. I thought it was, but it’s better to be certain… been a couple of months, you know. Things are starting to fade from my memory. So many spells to learn, overwriting what was once there…” Argrave twirled his finger about his head.

“Do you have a solution for that?” Galamon questioned seriously.

“Only rerunning things through my head constantly,” Argrave admitted. “Whatever. Anneliese is with Garm. Guess you and I just have to wait. Won’t be long. Midnight, I think.” Argrave looked up at the sky, staring at the red moon.

“You don’t really need to be here,” Galamon stated neutrally. “Following someone is best done alone.”

Argrave held out his hands. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Galamon raised a brow, then shook his head. “As you will.” He grabbed Argrave’s arm, shepherding him away a great distance. They made their way into an alley between two houses. It was quite dark, and Argrave couldn’t even see the house any longer.

The wait was long and boring, and Argrave wished he’d heeded Galamon’s suggestion. Galamon’s patience was boundless, though, and Argrave stood there fidgeting his hands until the elf’s whisper broke the silence.

“Someone’s come out,” he said. “They’re being especially paranoid.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Argrave questioned, craning his head to see beyond the wall. Galamon forced him back.

After a while of tense silence, Galamon pushed Argrave deeper into the alley. “Come on.”

They made their way through the alley, emerging on a street on the other side of the one they followed. Galamon was especially alert, taking quiet and deliberate steps in pursuit. Argrave tried to stay just as quiet and didn’t dare speak—he knew Galamon was tracking with senses other than sight, as the man they were following was not anywhere in the sight.

“Hmph. Seems he knows the guard patrol routes,” Galamon noted. “He’s made it to the farmland. He’s digging.”

Argrave smiled and exhaled in relief. He had been somewhat skeptical this would work without a hitch, but things had fallen into place. They waited quietly on the street. After a time, Galamon started to move beyond.

to dig very deep, but eventually, Argrave saw a dim blue mark. As Galamon dug more, the rest of it was revealed: a freshly severed human hand with a mark on the backhand signifying its former owner as a human belonging to a Vessel

hand. “This is what you

mostly drained of blood, and the dark-skinned hand was much paler than it

thing?” Galamon

from the hand. “Go to the house. Scare them. Make sure they think someone’s

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of the great stone doors of the wall. They bore brown silken clothing covering most of their body, and their spiked

cautioned. “Turn back. This is the residence of the Lord of Copper. You have no reason to be

report a crime?” Argrave said quickly, ensuring he got their

looked at Argrave and his company of two warily. They might’ve brought Garm, but he didn’t want to risk anything

crime?” the guard

hand—not his, strangely enough. The guards looked at each other, then

#####

so easily,” Argrave mused, sitting

sitting just beside him, seemed amused by his

of levity amidst morbidity is

turning a blind eye,” Anneliese

answer to that,

Argrave had hoped, the hand alone was evidence enough to earn him a meeting inside Cyprus. The guards out front had deemed this matter important, and so they fetched someone more

of the tower, so one might expect that it would be the best-kept and most presentable. ‘Disrepair’ was the best term for the room Argrave saw, though. There was one long,

man seemed a guard just as those before. Argrave knew who he was: the Lord of Copper’s primary human commander, Captain Jeralian. He was an old man with the air of a hardened veteran about him. His hair was all gray, and his

wrist. “Foreigners. My men tell

“That’s right,” Argrave confirmed.

he stopped, retrieving a stool off to the side. He set it across from them and sat. “You allege to have discovered an underground smuggling ring where the citizens of Sethia are

a few seconds before nodding and

straightened on his stool, back rigid. He stared at them

prepared what to say. “The three of us were walking about

“At night?” he interrupted.

“We’re from the north. We enjoy the cold; the moon is nice.” Argrave held his hands out and continued to explain. “Anyway, we turn the corner and stumble upon this guy. He’s digging near a patch of… those spicy, fruit-like crops,” Argrave made the shape of a pepper with his fingers, acting

Jeralian interrupted. “Go

but then he takes off, holding a bag or something. He dropped that hand you see

out a hand to

he dropped a severed hand,” Argrave said as though it was obvious. “A fresh