Jackal Among Snakes

“Any further steps, and we will be within their grasp,” Silvic cautioned their party as they idled.

Orion nodded. “This was made clear to me earlier. Being within their grasp is unimportant. A weak grip is easily broken.”

His ever-zealous words did not abate Argrave’s fear at all. Silvic continued, cautioning, “This will not be as other ambushes. We enter the distortion, the realm, of a being similar to myself—we will be in the heart of things, ostensibly surrounded by foes. It further suggests that the wetland spirit holding this fortress yet lives. If that is true, you will face more than a tide of corpses.”

Durran ran his finger against his bald patch caused by yesterday’s burns. He had taken the hardest knocks during this journey, yet he did not falter. That steeled Argrave somewhat. Anneliese stayed calm, likely dually from her own tranquil nature and the enchanted items he’d given to her at Jast.

“I will fight this Intrepid Troubadour Argrave claims to be beyond this distortion. The remainder of you are more than capable,” Orion assured.

“All save you, perhaps, will be unable to leave until the master of this distortion is dead and gone, or until you are allowed to leave,” Silvic once again warned.

“None intend to leave until the enemy is conquered,” Orion rebutted at once.

Without so much as a breath to gather his courage, Orion gestured for them to follow and stepped forth. In but a second, he seemed a chameleon that blended into the environment before he vanished altogether. Silvic was the second to move, and just after the Waxknights. Only once the first Waxknight had entered did Argrave follow, his companions trailing just after him.

Just the same as it had been when they travelled through the Marred Hallowed Grounds to find Silvic and bring her before Orion, the scene distorted before Argrave, and he stepped into what might as well be another world.

Endless isles of green dotted the land before him, thick and tall plants like cattails and reeds growing up out of rich brown soil. These isles were large, covered completely by greenery, like a vast archipelago of verdant growth. They were divided by fast-running rivers that were entirely clear yet seemed to stretch downwards forever as an ocean of water. The sky above was so blue and beautiful it was worthy of admiration.

On one of the overgrown green isles before them, a four-legged creature armored in shining, strong steel stood. It had a thick, round body easily identifiable as that of a horse’s. Its legs were thick and strong. Where its neck might’ve held an equine head, a man’s torso stood. A centaur, Argrave knew, and equipped in full steel plate that gleamed with enchantments. It dwarfed even the titanic rockhide hippopotamuses they’d grappled with during their journey, and held an unstrung bow taller than Argrave in hand.

though without the waxpox corrupting most of its body. While Silvic was decidedly made in imitation of a female, this rider was male. He bore a crown of roots atop his head, though they twisted and entwined together to resemble two horns. He had a beautifully ornate stringed instrument in his hand most resembling a guitar, though different enough it

the edge of the isle

called out. “You made fools and singers of us, weaving tales

body morphed and broke off into a wooden arrow teeming with liquid light. The arrow was nocked and fired at Orion. Argrave flinched involuntarily at

need to kill us all,” the troubadour concluded.

not try to sway you,” he said coldly as he stepped forth onto the river. His heavy plate boots sunk not an

a new spirit,” Silvic noted. “Like

to marvel, though, and he looked about in paranoia for the first signs of their foes. And he saw it at once. The tall reeds of the islands brushed aside to make way for a new arrival, crawling free from the bottomless rivers dividing the islands. At first, it was one location—then, all the cattails and reeds on the edge of the island

spirit were amphibious creatures, thick and long bodies closest in appearance to a crocodile. Their scales did not cover all of their flesh, as though they were immature—instead, one could see through their pink, translucent skin to spot organs that danced with liquid light, marking them as blessed by a

The Waxknights answered him with a grunted HOAH of assent. Argrave gestured towards Silvic and urged, “See what you can do to block off any of

hastened, sinking her root-like hand uncorrupted by waxpox into

spewed poison gas, but their party was well-prepared in advance for such assaults, per Argrave’s cautions. With each of the Waxknights being spellcasters, wind magic quickly swept away the dangerous poison,

the banks of the verdant isle. Their party did nothing more than hold back the Sentinels, killing those who got

attacking from the back. Their fangs were like knives, and Argrave, with only the hood of his duster for protection, collected cuts to the face one after the other. Even with magic,

in the background, the furthest thing from ‘slow.’ Orion charged the duo of the centaur and troubadour with all the rage and persistence of a bull seeing red. And, fittingly, the Intrepid Troubadour dodged with as much grace as

from isle to isle as the arrows sought their target, leaving trails of green light floating just behind. When the arrows struck the earth or the water,

much grace, doggedly seeking the troubadour as though he had a death grudge to settle. None of his blows managed to hit home, but they left devastation in their wake, and had the

poison writhing on the edges of reeds, slowly eating them from within. His kicks summoned winds, sparks, flames. Sometimes, he seemed to run on the air itself. And as ever, his strength and endurance went far beyond the realm of what was normal. His armor

the prince took his mace in hand and threw it. It spun through the air wildly, yet it was moving so quickly

and wrenched it free, tearing