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.

into the earth. The elven vampire had 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

picked up the hand. “This is what you

much paler than it had any right being as a consequence. “That should get

to do the next thing?” Galamon

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

#####

front of the great stone doors of the wall. They bore brown silken

guards cautioned. “Turn back. This is the residence of the Lord of Copper. You

the place I might report a crime?” Argrave said

They might’ve brought Garm, but he didn’t want to risk anything

crime?” the

held out a hand—not his, strangely enough. The

#####

so easily,” Argrave mused, sitting cross-legged on a once-decadent couch that had not been

Anneliese, sitting just beside him, seemed amused

morbidity is the best way

here is beyond merely turning a blind eye,” Anneliese said.

had no answer to that, so

The guards out front had deemed this matter important, and so they fetched someone

would be the best-kept and most presentable. ‘Disrepair’ was the best term for the room Argrave saw, though. There was one long, if decrepit, tapestry winding about the whole of the room, depicting the god Fellhorn and various Fellhorn-peripheral scenarios. After a while examining it sequentially, Argrave realized it depicted their creation

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 beard was short and patchy as

them. He had the severed hand, clasping it by the wrist.

“That’s right,” Argrave confirmed.

it across from them and sat. “You allege to have discovered an underground smuggling ring where the citizens of Sethia are spirited

seconds before nodding and confirming,

rigid. He stared at them with cold golden

as though gathering his thoughts, but he had long ago prepared what to say. “The three of us were walking

“At night?” he interrupted.

turn the corner and stumble upon this guy. He’s

Jeralian interrupted. “Go

first, but then he takes off, holding a bag or something. He dropped

out a hand to interrupt. “Why

dropped a severed hand,” Argrave said as though it was