Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave felt a fog within all of his body. His actions were stiff and vague as though he had just been thawed out after being frozen for years. He could barely focus on the task at hand, and even keeping his head held up was difficult. All he wanted to do was go to sleep. But he’d long ago set aside what he wanted. This was about what needed to be done.

Kill the enemy, kill the enemy, kill the enemy, he repeated again and again, half of the time saying it aloud, and the other half saying it in his head. It was the only way he could stay focused on the task before him. He felt as though he was fumbling for a light switch while drunk as he tried to recall how to use the Blessing of Supersession.

Yet once he felt the spring of limitless power vested in him by Erlebnis permeate his being… he felt like a dull knife that had finally found a whetstone, and everything fell into place.

His vision sharpened, and his ears felt as though earplugs had been removed from them. His golden-eyed gaze fell upon the scene before him, and he straightened, now aware Anneliese had been the only reason Argrave was standing up.

The Waxknights, alongside Durran, struggled against a tide of vicious Sentinels and supporting animals. More had joined since Argrave last saw them—the towering rockhide hippos, the gibbons in no small numbers… now, the Barefaced Bard fought directly against Silvic, their war a proxy battle of twisting roots and writhing plants. Silvic was losing, and badly.

Argrave straightened his back and held out both of his hands. Sword and shield, he remembered: sword and shield. His right hand conjured [Electric Eels], and the C-rank spells danced upwards into the sky, awaiting his command. His left became ablaze with wide, sweeping spells that carved a path before him.

He pressed deeper and deeper into the thick of things, adrenaline keeping his mind utterly focused despite his aching mind and body. He never wanted for foes—their rush at him was unending, and even though the animals feared him, they charged. He called upon every resource, using Garm’s eyes to cast spells with abandon. He felt he could not stop walking forward, strangely.

“Guard the back! Reinforcements approach!” he heard Anneliese command. That meant she had confidence he alone was enough to handle all before him. That stuck in the back of his head, making his task seem all the more urgent.

Teeth, claw, fang, and nature itself sought to tear into Argrave’s throat and end him. Drawing upon instinct, he met them with teeth and claw of his own. He conjured great maws of flame from [Wargfire], the icy claws of [Wraith’s Grasp], thick [Windswept Blades] cutting through them all. The enemies were blasted away, some dying outright. Those that did not die met his sword—dozens of [Electric Eels] striking from the sky like lightning, dispatching any hardy foes.

it, it would spell his death. He felt ash beneath his boots, frozen corpses, and the faint shock of still-sparking

and yet it was the one shying away from him, childlike but eyeless face looking as though it was going to cry. It regarded him like a hedgehog, a pufferfish, or a burning flame,

the wall so that no foes could circle around him. All the while, he warded his foes away, still using his tried-and-true strategy—a sword and shield. He was an

almost in a panic. It sought refuge behind a tower. As it fled, Argrave’s [Electric Eels] grew all the more numerous in the sky, and the attacking force grew demoralized from

the Barefaced Bard, did not remain idle. She assaulted the bard even still, staying his retreat. As the number of

still. He spurred the electric eels, and the countless sparking constructs pursued the Barefaced Bard as was his will. The bolts of lightning rained down upon the childlike face embedded

roots from the ground and sprinted across the badly destroyed granite pathway. Her hand morphed into a spike… and she put an end to the Barefaced Bard, plunging her arm right

their commander’s death, rushed at him. All Argrave could do was curl up, relying on his enchanted duster to shield him while protecting his neck and

assailed every part of his body. It never overwhelmed him, though, as much as he waited for it to end. Gradually, the sensation faded. He was

handle the rest, he thought, happily embracing the

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to all that was around him in the palace, his steps left dirt and mud tracking, and he appeared to be the filthy thing

with abundance, so much so it was difficult to refrain from calling it gaudy. Black sconces held golden flames, the black walls were trimmed with gold, and even the stained glass windows had been stained gold. It was a decadent place, yet had a grim

and it depicted a golden snake. It was not the banner of the royal family, though—this golden snake curled around nothing, and stood before a shield. Orion recognized it as the personal sigil of his uncle,

the throne room, there was a majestic golden stag, with shining antlers stretching up ten feet into the air. It

lighter purple. A large jester’s hat rested above her brow, three points poking out the top like a half star. Golden rings hung at the end of

the Plague Jester began in a sneering act, “I am afraid he is rather busy. Considering everyone else is either dead or in a similar state, I happen to be the regent

the stag, where the stairs rose up, three thrones stood. One held the Archduke, his body so well-preserved he seemed alive. The other held his wife—Orion vaguely remembered the blonde woman