Jackal Among Snakes

Argent was a decadent place. The walls and floor were made of silver, polished so as to reflect all within its walls. Just about everything else was an imperial purple—furniture, carpets, curtains. These decorations had gemstones, and though bordering on gaudy they did further the beauty of the place. It was truly a home for a lord, by Argrave’s reckoning. It was a shame, then, that such a pretty place was marred by the heartless bastard owning it.

The moment that Argrave’s feet met the silver ground of Argent, he activated the Blessing of Supersession. It felt like a cork in his chest had been removed—a cork holding back all the world’s oceans. His own magic supply felt meager and useless as absolute power rushed over him. The feeling was growing familiar, and that disquieted Argrave.

After a second of allowing himself to adjust to the feeling, Argrave held his hand out, using the C-rank [Electric Eel]. The magic constructs started to form in his hand, then jumped up into the air. One, four, thirteen, sixteen—their numbers amplified by the second. He threw away notions of the magic debt he’d accrue, focusing instead on one thing—ending this quickly.

“You said it’s on the seventeenth floor,” Galamon said, looking towards the stairs. “Is that up or down?”

“It’s the second highest floor, so up,” Argrave clarified, stepping towards the stairs.

The floor they were on was empty. All within had undoubtedly moved to confront the chaos outside and were on a lower floor—perhaps some who had been outside would be moving to confront Argrave, having seen his flashy entrance, but he doubted they’d make it here quickly.

Argrave kept a steady speed, diverting much of his attention to keeping the ever-growing cloud of electric eels from bumping into a wall and dissipating. He was tempted to send his Brumesingers ahead to scout, but he wasn’t confident he could maintain focus if he accepted yet more stimuli.

The stairs were, fortunately, a straight shot to the seventeenth floor. Galamon led, and Anneliese covered the back, her single Brumesinger trailing closely behind. She held Garm in hand, the severed head fully exposed. He watched Argrave, expression pensive—doubtless he had questions about the Blessing of Supersession. They kept a steady pace for a long while, passing by room after room of varying purpose.

After a time, Galamon stopped Argrave. “People above. A group. They’re scared… not warriors,” he disclosed, voice echoing out from his helmet.

Argrave paused, brain struggling between maintaining and growing the cloud of lightning above and digesting the information given to him.

“Oh,” Argrave nodded, the answer coming to him. “The breeders. It’s how the Lord of Silver maintains their appearance. They’re harmless, but there could be guards—Vessels. Be cautious.”

Galamon nodded, and then stepped up with quiet steps. Once they got far enough up the stairs, Galamon ducked quickly, dodging a burst of water struck the ceiling behind and dented the silver. Anneliese stepped forward, conjuring a B-rank ward with her ring, and then the party advanced upwards.

Jets of water assailed the ward, chipping at it, yet it remained firm—the attacks could not even be compared to Yarra’s. Two bodies of water danced about the luxurious room. A group of people was huddled in the back, but Argrave could not focus on them.

stepped out from the ward, his bow readied. He fired an arrow at one Vessel. The thing did not bother moving—the projectile aimed at a great mass of water and did not approach its infantile form, so perhaps it did

of the eels swirling above him to pursue the Vessel. It tried to flee, but with a diminished mass it was slow. Near twenty sparking constructs struck the heart of the Vessel, and it immediately lost all purpose, leaving behind only a charred lump. Its water flooded the room, pushing

second Vessel in the room closed the distance instead of playing defensively. Galamon set aside his bow and retrieved his axe, stepping out to receive it. As it writhed along the surfaces of the tower while heading towards

its infantile form stayed in the back. Argrave looked for another opening, another opportunity to jump in, yet the Vessel remained cautious. Feeling frustrated by the loss

attacks were fast, though, and soon enough, they managed to hit home. Writhing like a beheaded snake for but a moment, the Vessel died and its water dispersed, flooding the room. Argrave looked about, assessing for any danger. Eventually, he relaxed a

majority of their features were snow white—hair, skin, even eyebrows. There were many women, while only a few males in their number. Nearly all

and so they’re kept here,” Argrave explained to his companions with a bitter mutter. “The other lords each have something

deal of difficulty seeing properly, judging by where they looked. Argrave continued to use

and so Argrave realized he’d have to do something. “The Vessels are dead,” he called out. “You should stay here, out of sight. Soon enough,

Anneliese call out and whipped his

Argrave into its cover. A jet of silver liquid slammed into the golden shield. It succeeded in halting the attack only for a second before its sheer power punctured the ward. Argrave tried to pull his head out

the stairs, descending from a higher floor. His white hair danced through the air, almost alive, and his pink eyes were cold. Argrave prepared to cast his

his hand. His body began to bubble beneath his silver robes, expanding. “More capable than

#####

else. He’d forgotten his father’s decree that he would be exiled, he’d forgotten the coming

his blood. He was from the proud southern

of his wyvern tight in hand as it soared above the city of Sethia. The battlefield had become a site of wanton slaughter. The wyverns of the southern tribes attacked the Vessels, leaving those on Brium’s side alone—for now, at the very least. Durran was nervous with anticipation, having informed his men of the

proved to be true—Durran could not count them because of their strange

shouted Boarmask above the whipping wind. “I need you to land.

“What?” Durran returned. “Why?”

shouted. “His men—they’re

below. It was difficult to spot Titus’ men. They moved mostly covertly. Yet still, as Durran flew about, he saw archers fire strange, enchanted arrows that seemed reminiscent of southron elf magic. Though

pressing down on his wyvern’s neck. Recognizing his command, the great beast descended towards the city. It eventually landed on the walls of Sethia, and Boarmask removed what was keeping

will you do?”

the people get to safety!” Boarmask shouted. “And deal with Titus, should I find him,” he said