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.

amiss, but Galamon knelt down, removed one gauntlet, and then dug 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 its former owner

picked up the hand. “This

the dark-skinned hand was much paler than it had any right being as a consequence. “That should get some attention,

do the next thing?” Galamon questioned,

nodded, tearing his gaze away from the hand. “Go to the house.

#####

great stone doors of the wall. They bore brown silken clothing covering most of their

residence of the Lord of Copper. You have

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

company of two warily. They might’ve brought Garm, but

crime?” the

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

#####

hand to someone in need can earn you friends so easily,” Argrave mused, sitting cross-legged on a once-decadent couch that

seemed amused by his joke, and

bit of levity amidst morbidity is the best way to handle it,”

a blind eye,”

had no answer to that,

evidence enough to earn him a meeting inside Cyprus. The guards out

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

the room. Barring his brown-plumed helmet, the man seemed a guard just as those before. Argrave knew who he was: the Lord of Copper’s primary

clasping it by the wrist. “Foreigners. My men tell

“That’s right,” Argrave confirmed.

sat. “You allege to have discovered an underground smuggling ring where the citizens

a few seconds before

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

ago prepared

“At night?” he interrupted.

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

Jeralian interrupted.

but then he takes off,

to interrupt. “Why were you

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