Jackal Among Snakes

Florimund held a pure white—likely genuine ivory—chisel in his right hand, a hammer in the left. He turned them about in his hand, inspecting them for any flaws or deficiencies. The other warriors looked over his shoulder, leaning atop him to see the thing better.

They sat cross-legged on the floor in a rather strange place—a silk-crafting room. Above, there were innumerable cocoons, each made of black silk. It made Argrave quite uncomfortable, but he hoped Galamon, standing just behind him, would stop him from being hit by any dislodged bugs. There was a loom, too, and a female southron elf attendant, who paid loose attention to the many warriors and two outsiders in her building.

The conversation had gone passably, and Argrave had explained most of what he needed to the southron elves. They had agreed to communicate with Durran, though nothing more and nothing less. That was what Argrave needed.

The chisel and hammer were the items that Argrave had acquired in the southron elf tomb—though the Brumesingers had been the purpose of their visit then, in ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ the reason the player went was to obtain those items. It was a fetch quest to earn the southron elves’ trust. It wasn’t entirely dissimilar to how Argrave was using them now, yet different enough Argrave had some doubt.

“Been near a century since I’ve seen a complete set of these,” Florimund noted, and the other warriors in the room nodded, clearly impressed. “Do you know what these are?” he raised them up.

“They’re the tools for your illusion magic,” Argrave nodded.

Morvan No-Nose crossed his arms. “Don’t call it magic, you damned palm tree. It’s artisanship. The Way of Worldbending.”

“It’s magic,” Corentin shook his head. “Stop being a pretentious twat.”

Argrave might’ve been uneased by the banter bandied about, but he felt it was actually a good sign coming from these people. If the southron elves hated you, they acted polite. If they welcomed you, they always said what was on their mind, even if it was incredibly rude.

Florimund handed the tools off to the other warriors, who eagerly took them from his hands and examined them. “Why are you showing us these?”

“I’m giving them to you,” Argrave held his gaze.

They all cast a glance at Argrave in that moment—surprise and suspicion bundled together.

Argrave held his hand up. “They’re Gebicca’s, by right. She told me of the tomb. And I’m pretty certain she’d want to give it to you.”

“Don’t pull that noble nonsense,” Corentin waved his hand. “You can’t use it, so you’re giving it to us.”

Argrave laughed. “Even if I could use it, I’d give it to you. Not because I’m some saint, but because I don’t have a use for it.” The people bristled at him when he said that, like he was contesting some point of pride of theirs. Argrave quickly added, “They’re largely stationary things—entryways, traps. I very rarely sleep in the same place twice.”

“Hmph. Stationary,” Florimund chuckled. “You must never have seen our glaives at work.”

Think I’ve hooked them, Argrave thought, but feigned ignorance, shaking his head.

different trajectory. Mages start off piss-weak—a militiaman with a spear could slaughter most mages up to D-rank. The spells are slow, then, lacking power,

nodded, agreeing with

don’t have the same ceiling,” Yann continued. “There’s only so much a warrior can do with his body alone. The spellcasters keep getting stronger and stronger, and before long, they leave

few more eyeballs and limbs, I suspect. None of us can cast a spell for shit,” Florimund stood. “At some point, we warriors have to look for other ways to handle things. Ways to exceed

walked to the corner of the room, retrieving a glaive. He turned back

the big one care to

adjusting his position. He looked down to Argrave, who gave him

tapped his sword. “I’ll have to use my

old for a real spar,” Florimund shook

him,” Morvan interrupted.

his head. “I’ll use the blunt end of the glaive. All you have to do…

the female loom

feet, following. Galamon drew his axe and moved to stand opposite Florimund. The veteran southron

got enchanted weaponry, you’ve already realized the limits of your

“Hmm,” grunted Galamon.

begin,” Florimund said. He stepped forward, swinging his glaive towards Galamon incredibly simply. Galamon pivoted, holding the

no visual sense at all, the back of Florimund’s glaive struck Galamon in the neck. Galamon twisted his body, moving with the blow, and stepped away. He stepped back, then raised his head, white brows furrowed in

in the ground. “You’ve got damned sharp instincts, quick reflexes.

stepped forward, holding

hand. With a final

time—the blade of the glaive seemed to move with a will of its own, and Galamon twisted the axe about, yet never caught it. Finally, it struck

in your own head, make a mistake. Seen it happen a thousand times

the Ebonice axe in his hand, and then

crossed his arms, one eye watching

serious as the first time. He stepped forward, swung, and Galamon waited. He did not move his axe about wildly. Instead, he calmly moved to receive the blow.

forward. Florimund was pulled forward briefly but released the glaive. Galamon advanced, then held his hand out and

from falling by placing his hand against the ground. He

had settled, Florimund called out, “I’m

you’d better be!” Yann shouted, then broke

hand, your arm, your wrists moved,” Galamon noted, staring at the glaive. “That told me where

fast at it,” Florimund shook his head. “Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe it wasn’t. But you get the point I was making, no? This is what we achieve with the Way of Worldbending.” Florimund held the glaive up into the air. “Blades that lie. Arrows that should miss. Outcomes

pride in his choice of