Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave had been preparing for—and loathing—the possibility of a confrontation with the Lord of Silver, Quarrus.

One of Quarrus’ attacks had been sufficient to completely destroy a B-rank ward, and even left a hole in the silver wall beyond it. Argrave was confident in his enchanted armor… but he couldn’t deny his heart was beating the fastest it ever had. He pulled his duster’s hood over his head, drawing it tight as he watched the Lord at the stairs.

The title of ‘Lord’ wasn’t one fabricated by the minds of men—it was a seat bestowed by Fellhorn. The Vessel’s non-physical forms took on some qualities of the metal they were named after. The liquid was denser, packing a harder punch while simultaneously offering better defense. Those qualities were dangerous enough… yet the true issue lay in the fact that the metallic veneer obscured the Vessel’s heart—their infant body.

Argrave had a plan. All of his companions knew it, even Garm. The setting—a room in Argent—was precisely as Argrave expected. They had all they needed to bring this plan to fruition. Yet the fact remained this: they were facing a force vastly more powerful than they were.

“Galamon,” Argrave called out, keeping his eyes locked on the Lord of Silver ahead. “A minute left ‘til the cork comes back on. Use the egg—stall, please.”

“I’ll do my duty,” Galamon said before Argrave had even finished speaking.

Argrave felt guilt and relief twinned when Galamon stepped forth, Ebonice axe in hand. Argrave stepped back with Anneliese, heading towards the center of the back of the room, opposite Quarrus.

The rings on the Lord of Silver’s hands clattered to the ground. His earrings phased through his ear, passing through his now-liquid body. His necklace, bracelets—they all fell, scattering down the stairs as Quarrus’ flesh faded in way of his silvery water.

“I need to spend my time readying the eels to capitalize on the opening we’ll make. I’ll trust you to lead me,” he told Anneliese bluntly as used the C-rank [Electric Eel], summoning sparking constructs. “The Brumesingers will help Galamon.”

“Right,” she nodded, not taking her eyes off the opponent ahead.

Argrave cast a druidic spell—a subset of the spell [Pack Leader]—and his small foxlike druidic bonds clambered down, bunching near his feet. He had given them an order to protect. They raised their heads and sung, their howls like windchimes. Mist started to rise out from their gray fur like steam, spreading across the room.

Quarrus’ liquid form steadily surged outwards, clinging to the walls so as to surround their party. The already silver walls were replaced by liquid, almost as though they’d turned to mercury. The water left by the deceased Vessels flowed towards his form, subsumed into the Lord of Silver’s Vessel. The windows were shrouded, and all sunlight ceased—the only thing keeping the place lit was the electric eels dancing above Argrave’s head, bathing the room in an eerie blue light.

The room’s reflections had been bad enough before, but as the silver occupied all of the walls, their reflections stretched on infinitely. Argrave saw himself, the breeder slaves, Galamon, Anneliese, and Garm, each and all reflected without end. The complete inability to stop Quarrus’ advance gave Argrave a sense of dread and powerlessness—not panic, though.

Spread out as he was, Quarrus could attack them from all directions. The tradeoff for spreading himself thin meant weaker attacks. ‘Weaker’ meant he was still strong enough to cut through flesh like butter, though.

Argrave had been counting on Quarrus doing this.

Galamon raised up his hand, holding a black object with an egg-like shape. It had purple runes on its surface. He tossed it on the ground forcefully…

And the room became black at once.

southron elves’ war relics. Black sand spiraled out, a great winding tornado shrouding the room in chaos. The sand battered at Argrave from every direction, disorienting him yet further. The only thing visible was Galamon standing in the

the Vessels’ anatomy, but he knew they still needed to see, just as any human or elf. Already, Quarrus sent attacks at the elven

creaked loudly when attacks missed, and screams echoed out from the breeder slaves, both rising above the

or so seconds passed, but they felt like an eternity. As the sandstorm thinned, Quarrus’ aim became better. He ignored the mist

forty eels in

deadly barrage of silver from the lord surrounding them. Anneliese conjured a ward as she led Argrave along. The Lord of Silver’s attacks, though spread-out and ostensibly weaker, still pierced the B-rank ward. Argrave took hits in the shoulder. The

Quarrus diverted all of his attention to the elf. Numerous jets of silver shot out from the wall, forcing the vampire to dodge. The

processed what was soaring through the air until it landed a few feet from Argrave. Galamon’s arm had been severed cleanly, the cube still clenched in its hand. The vampire’s cry of agony split the air, reminiscent of the guttural

dodging more like animal than something intelligent. It proved effective—Galamon dodged the next wave of silver spikes, then ran, path unpredictable. The sight of Galamon’s movements brought back repressed

breeder slaves sought refuge. Galamon seized many of the slaves, screaming, and overturned a bed, hiding himself beneath it. Quarrus hesitated

he knew what Galamon was surely doing. With blood, Galamon would regenerate. In his frenzied state, many would surely die. At the same time, beneath all the guilt was a twisted relief that his companion would

Galamon’s arm and sliding it over to Argrave. Realizing her intent, Argrave kneeled, pulling at Galamon’s gauntleted fingers. His grip proved tenacious, but Argrave freed

shouted, the southron elf war

unwilling to damage his valuable breeding stock to kill Galamon. It was a symptom of arrogance—the Vessel did not

barrage of silver liquid. He could feel the magic in the ring diminishing—he was running out of wards to conjure. Four,

his

chaos. “Hold

down to

in me!” the

delay. A spell matrix conjured before his eyes, and then a black and red wave scattered about the room. He heard another

arrowheads!” Garm shouted, voice enhanced by a strange

strong one. It proved effective, this time—it broke past Argrave’s ward, taking him in the leg. Argrave fell to the ground,

the pain, grabbing the bag of arrowheads. He pushed an indent in the cube, and it lit up with purple runes. He loaded the spilled arrowheads into the bag, then cast the

hand. She tossed it to the center of the room. As it bounced before coming to a stop,

from the bag. Argrave felt small fragments batter his body and

scattering about the room. Once even the smallest shard of fragmented Ebonice met with the Vessel’s body, they would dispel his power vested in him by Fellhorn. It was but a moment… but that moment was enough to expose Quarrus’

spotted Quarrus’ true form at once, newborn form suspended in the center of the room as it clung to the ceiling. Though the Ebonice fragments had struck some of Argrave’s electric eels,

had severed his connection with the water to avoid being hit. The Vessel’s infant body landed atop one of the breeder slave’s beds.

leg. He raised his hand, ready to dispatch it with a final spell. One of the slaves stood, running across the room. He feared the woman intended to protect the child. She reached her hands out, and Argrave steeled himself to finish things

and sorrow. Silence followed, and time seemed to freeze. Then, all of the water in the room turned black,

backwards, barely able to keep his head above the rushing tide. Anneliese

she directed, setting Garm