Jackal Among Snakes

After cementing some details with Sataistador, Argrave walked away from the conversation with the feeling of a pyrrhic victory. The brighter side of things was that Sataistador was not intending to rampage wantonly to distract and attrit the armies of the Great Chu. That would limit the damage done to their populace. The pyrrhic part of the victory was that Argrave saw that he did need to play into Sataistador’s plans, even if only somewhat, if he wished to dislodge the Qircassian Coalition and Erlebnis around the heart of the Chu empire.

But the navy was only just disembarking, and it would take some time before they even neared Berendar. During that time, Argrave had several things to attend to. The first of his two urgent matters was receiving the delegates of the Blackgard Union’s deity allies. They waited within Hause’s temple, being entertained by the goddess of potential as they waited for Argrave’s grant of access to proselytize or build temples where they wished.

After delivering details of his conversation with Sataistador to Elenore, and ensuring that stricter watch would be kept for his approach, Argrave returned to Blackgard using [Worldstrider]. Once there, he immediately headed to Hause’s temple to receive the deity’s envoys.

Though most of the delegates were unremarkable, they brought with them a rich tapestry of foreign cultures. These people came from the further continents, and some of them even came from Great Chu itself. They had a wide range of ethnicities, mannerisms, and clothing. Their only unity was language—a perplexing thing, and one that made Argrave question this world and its creation more and more with every passing day.

Argrave fulfilled promises that he had made. Rook, god of deception and subterfuge, was given a few artifacts from their heist as had been promised. But Argrave was not giving without receiving. These people were mortals, and in their journey brought mortal gifts. Spices, delicacies, works of art—if they were so liberal with gifts, he felt this was the start of a very fruitful relationship. They informed him that, in time, more religious kinds would come to spread word of their god throughout the land. Argrave gave them permission.

But Argrave said that most of the delegates were unremarkable. The one that was truly quite remarkable was the delegate of Raccomen, god of space. Though garbed in a purple silk robe and standing on two legs, his giant reptilian face that was sharp and angular rather like a shark’s assured any onlookers that he was not human. He was one of Raccomen’s divine servants. Even Argrave did not know what they were called—the god of space had been one of the gods positioned far away from the conflict, and so never appeared in Heroes of Berendar.

As Argrave looked upon this delegate, he was somewhat overwhelmed by the mass of magic exuding from his being. He was easily on the level of Rowe or Castro, despite not being of this realm. His shoulders were as broad as he was tall—namely, about seven feet. Argrave could tell that much of it was fat, but he could not deny that this thing would undoubtedly have a certain physical strength to it.

The remainder of the other deity’s delegates had departed with their promises met and their greetings given. Only Raccomen’s promise remained unfulfilled—indeed, it felt like his delegate was biding his time to even mention the matter. The god of space had been promised an empty stretch of land to the southwest of the Tower of the Gray Owl. The land was a wide-open steppe, both largely inarable and uninhabited, with some nearby mountains packaged into the deal. Raccomen intended to base himself there.

“I’m afraid I never caught a name, back when Hause introduced you,” Argrave said cordially, ready to begin the process now that all others had departed.

being my title.” The large lizardman put his hand to his chest. Though Argrave heard his words, his mouth never moved. His voice came from something else—something mystical, perhaps. “If

Argrave nodded his

#####

empty plains southwest of the Order of the Gray Owl. The boundaries of territory were long-established in advance thanks to Elenore’s shrewd deliberation over this matter, but now it was Argrave’s turn to oversee the process. The Architect Merovin had been walking through the land for a long

the others, all of whom have taken advantage of this privilege,” Merovin said, and Argrave listened intently as the lizardman walked. “Considering it involves this matter

listening,” Argrave prompted

this land to be not merely a base for his followers, but a place to connect all members of the Blackgard Union. Though this is to be a defensive pact, one large issue preventing our prompt aid of another is the time it

“You intend to make your domain a crossing between all of the other gods?

received their gateways—though not

middle of considering if there was a way this might be used to their advantage in the war against the Great Chu when the lizardman stopped in his tracks and looked at Argrave. “I am to begin,” his

gone far enough away, the lizardman’s voice came once again.

study things carefully. Merovin opened his mouth wide, then plunged his hand into his mouth rather brutally. His sharp teeth cut against his arm, but he pushed further still until the arm seemed impossibly far into his throat. Then, he started to pull his arm out. When his

and more stone. He planted it firmly in the ground, and began to erect a pillar rising in the sky. Then, the Architect moved his hand to another part of his body, and simply unfolded it. Argrave watched with horror as the

archway. In time it became indistinguishable where he began and this structure ended. It rose further as he used his flesh as brick and his blood as mortar. The most terrifying part of it all was that it wasn’t terrifying—rather, it looked supremely artistic and beautiful, even elegant, as the man that Argrave had been speaking to made himself into a building. The archway was gray stone and gothic, seeming to fit perfectly into all other architecture in Vasquer.

flat plaque atop the archway. His finger disintegrated, leaving blood behind as he wrote his name: Merovin. With this last flourish the structure inherited his name, the blood subsumed with the stone, and a portal expanded

yet not simultaneously. All of these paths led to Raccomen’s realm, where endless and empty space stretched out. After a few seconds, someone