Jackal Among Snakes

Having a preplanned route makes travel all the faster, especially when good terrain is chosen. When traversing uncharted wetlands, such a thing was largely impossible—with Anneliese’s Starsparrow, though, they picked out a relatively flat and dry route devoid of many obstacles. It facilitated quick travel through the northwest… and their destination was not so far, fortunately. The Starsparrow could only scout so far ahead, though, because a great power restricted passage further ahead.

As the day neared dusk, the cold, foggy wetlands bloomed into a scene more befitting a summer retreat, colors of all sort abounding from brilliant, wide-petaled flowers growing off vines and trees and all manner of exotic flora. The temperature of the air did not change, so it was a jarring transition, almost unnatural.

Yet as they proceeded deeper, the little microcosm of beauty was marred. Though it affected plants nowhere else, here, the waxpox morphed what was beautiful into golden brown pock-marked monstrosities that curled and twisted and writhed in unpleasant ways which, though motionless, gave Argrave the impression of bug legs and tentacles.

“Everything goes silent ahead,” Galamon stopped Argrave from proceeding onwards, hand placed before his chest.

Argrave pushed Galamon’s hand off of him. “We’re entering another realm. It’d be stranger if you could hear.”

As they proceeded, the sounds did indeed quiet. The entire wetlands around them had become grotesque—even the roads they had entered to come here were not so ugly. But as they pushed past, Argrave’s ears popped… and a sight of incomprehensible beauty spread out before him, like an illusion shattering.

Before them was a great crater of rushing water laid out in a perfect circle. Water flowed from every bit of this circle towards the center. Great wooden platforms rested atop the rushing water, but they were not built—instead, the bridges were formed of natural-grown trees, and hosted plant life uncountable. There were archways of vines hosting bulbous flowers, golden lily pads persisting atop the swift water, and towering trees with beautiful, myriad-color fruits dangling from their leaves.

There was one thing marring this beauty. A jagged path the same ugly brown rot as the land they’d emerged from cut across the verdant landscape, like a lightning bolt of decay striking at the center of the place. Even despite that, the beauty was incomprehensible, and Argrave took a moment to gather himself. Everyone did.

The game had called this place the Marred Hallowed Grounds. Argrave had been here time and time again.

“If any place could be called a land of the gods…” Durran stepped out, head turning to appreciate the sight.

Anneliese stepped forward, her curiosity consuming her, but Argrave stopped her by grabbing her waist. “Careful. This place is not friendly to us.”

Anneliese nodded, and Argrave released his grip.

trailing the

Argrave noted. “The plague was used for an attack, striking directly at this land—without it having already

mess below his

clothing, shaking their graying fur out. Their fur darkened every day as they consumed the souls of the

of that, Durran’s levity disappeared. He tapped his glaive against the ground, pulled his wyvern scale helmet off his pack and placed it

forth and turning around. “The Sentinels of the master of this land roam this place—they’re dangerous. They take the shape of animals, though druidic magic does nothing against

head. Part of its face was consumed by the waxpox, leaving one side of its maw slack as it growled. Argrave shifted uneasily. As he

lord,” Argrave clenched his fist, brain

is a terrible spot. We can be surrounded on three sides. Head for that bridge—we

waited for Argrave’s command. “Let’s go. Rightward bridge,” Argrave

rushing water and hurtling towards them with a limp. The beast was

ducked, the spear grazing against its shoulder and hurtling past. The wolf lunged forth towards Galamon, the leading target. The elven vampire swung preemptively, and his enchanted greatsword summoned a blade of wind. It split open the wolf’s snout, and it staggered back. Durran pressed forth, using the only C-rank spell he’d learned, [Tempest]. The spell, a great whirlwind meant for blocking projectiles, hovered before him harmlessly, but he swung his glaive through it. The spell clung to the wyvern bone blade,

Durran while he conjured the D-rank [Gore Scalpel]. His wrist split open, and his black blood surged out from his glove, forming a dark maroon knife in his hand. He sunk

dissipated in his hand, and Argrave gathered his team with a simple,

crater over, and until they dealt with the vast majority of the Sentinels, their progress would not continue. The four of them ran off the rotted lands and onto the

their way towards the bridge, a titanic alligator lunged up out of a deeper portion of the water, collapsing onto the wooden platform and

“Its

Anneliese. His warning prepared her, and she managed to conjure a ward with her enchanted ring in time to block the ridiculously fast tongue. The golden shield shook,

punish the enemy’s overextension. “I shall

great roiling black mass of magic within whirl as though a hurricane ran through it. A great bunch of it surged to her hands, forming the lines of the spell matrix—one dimension, two dimension, three

appeared before her, each held by a set of frozen arms attached at the shoulder. They braced for a swing, then spun forth, cutting through whatever was ahead like a sawblade run amok. The swarming beetles were blasted away, some bisected entirely. It continued past the beetles, striking the alligator’s tongue as it retracted before cutting into the giant beast

Argrave stepped forward and supported her. B-rank magic was where things became

her bearings, he said evenly, “Conserve your energy in case it’s