Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave had been pondering morality the whole time during his journey to Sethia. He supposed it was normal to examine oneself when confronted with the uncaring power dynamics within this southern region of Berendar. Argrave had his own moral code, naturally, and though he might be a bit more flexible than most others, he largely felt he was a righteous person. Everyone did.

And yet Argrave now found himself exposing a secret smuggling ring that offered people freedom from the Vessels, all to earn the good graces of a cult worshipping an ancient god that used its subservient people as walking water bottles.

He reckoned it was a little like exposing the Underground Railroad to become friends with Jefferson Davis.

Of course, Argrave had Galamon scare them a little before exposing them, and hopefully they wouldn’t be genuinely caught… but their operation had gone bust, and there would be no more escapes from the city.

Argrave was drawn from his haze of thoughts at another person’s entrance. He was a bit surprised to see the next comer—Brium, the copper-skinned Lord of Cyprus. Though Argrave could not deny he was surprised he’d climbed the managerial chain so quickly, he came to attention at once, uncrossing his legs and sitting a bit more politely.

“Greetings, gentleman, madam,” Brium began smoothly, coming to stand before them. “I am the Lord of Copper, Brium. I came here to personally thank the three of you for what you’ve exposed here today.” He placed his hand to his chest in thanks but did not bow his head—that little gesture was a good show of his personality. On the surface he was polite, yet beneath was pride and ambition that did not allow him to bow his head to any.

“A pleasant surprise, meeting the Lord of this tower. I am Argrave… of Blackgard,” he hesitated in saying the last part, remembering well what happened when he last used that name. “My companions are Anneliese and Galamon,” he introduced in turn.

“…of Blackgard,” Brium repeated. “What is your home of Blackgard like, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It’s a bustling riverside city, located where many rivers meet. Place has the only bridge for miles, so it’s a rather busy trade city,” Argrave supplied smoothly.

Brium smiled inexplicably. “I see.” He moved the stool that Jeralian had set across from them, then sat atop it himself. His back was rigid and unbent, and he surveyed each of the three of them in turn.

“This smuggling ring you exposed—I am having men examine it as we speak,” Brium began. “You’ve done a valuable service. Yet strangely, you came to the tower of Copper.” Brium rubbed his fingers together. “Perhaps I am ignorant of your lands, but as I recall… copper is the least valuable form of coinage in Vasquer.”

Argrave nodded, catching the message beneath the Vessel’s words. “Gold and silver are shiny and brilliant. People tend to like those metals for that reason.”

Brium gestured towards Argrave. “And yourself?”

“Copper…” Argrave leaned in until he was at the edge of the couch. “Copper a strong metal at its core. But when you combine it with something else—a different metal, far from itself—you get something stronger. You get alloys. Bronze. Brass,” Argrave counted the two with his fingers, then waved his hand with a smile. “Both prime examples.”

Brium laughed lightly, raising his hand to cover his mouth. “I see your metaphor. You are different—far from copper, certainly.” Brium lowered his hand, expression stern. “But metalworking is a complex business. The wrong component can weaken the metal instead of strengthening it. How can you be certain you’ll get the results you want?”

Damned metaphors making my hand spin, Argrave thought.

“It’s as with anything—I’ve done it before.” Argrave leaned back to emphasize his confidence. “But… if there’s doubt, you can always stick with the reliable—practice, testing. Make a small batch of bronze alloy instead of converting all your copper at once. Once you’re sure it works, upscale the process.”

Brium stared down Argrave. His dark brown eyes had an intense sharpness to them that made it clear he scrutinized Argrave carefully. After a time, his eyes lightened and he smiled. “Do you enjoy poetry, Argrave?”

Argrave was taken aback by the conversational turn, but he answered, “Some, certainly.”

“Do you write?” he pressed.

head. “Not poetry, but yes, I

later date, I can share some of my poems with you. I have the feeling

“Another time, maybe,” he said

gaze up to Argrave. “I think things are as you say. An alloy… the thought has never crossed my mind, but I believe

pleased you agree,” Argrave said, though

all this…” Brium placed his hands on his knees. “A metalsmith’s services can’t be cheap. What do you

Argrave said vaguely, “…

and speak frankly,” Brium waved his hand

place for myself in this city, Argent has something I want. It’s

things out. “And bronze is more than fitting to

simply agreed, tired of this long analogical

to have to work something out for you to do. And verify the veracity of the information you disclosed, naturally. That said…” Brium held a hand out. “I believe this may serve to be a long and fruitful

the Vessel’s hand, acknowledging that the other intended for a handshake. He triple-checked he was wearing thick leather

“Likewise,” Argrave concluded.

#####

the tower of Cyprus. Argrave’s steps were heavy. He felt guilty,

something I’m curious about,” Anneliese

poets deviants?” Argrave tried to guess her question in

“This name—Blackgard. You use it consistently. That is

of his neck,

“You’re embarrassed,” she noted.

“If I wasn’t before, after that call-out,

only makes me more curious,” she

and sighed. He looked between both of them—even Galamon expressed that he

city I described, back there…” Argrave paused in the road. “It doesn’t exist. But I’ve made it before.” Anneliese and Galamon

biggest bridge between the two is

Blackgard—you founded it

in the game. Lots of good farmland, choke

Anneliese stopped him. “What does it mean

name, isn’t it?” Argrave answered, turning back to the

it is merely that,” she

“If Gerechtigkeit wins, the world ceases to exist—it becomes a void. A void is blackness. I considered that name—Blackgard—just as that. A

“I see.”

“You see,” Argrave repeated.

a noble name,” she

should probably