Jackal Among Snakes

“It’s safe,” the Alchemist declared. A bird landed on his huge finger. His druidic bond had scouted the whole of the crematorium. “Nevertheless, watch the shadows.”

Argrave descended down into the crematorium, shadowed by Anneliese and Galamon. The Alchemist was the last to follow, ducking low and compressing his body to avoid the low-lying roof. They weren’t the only ones present, however; nearly all of Argrave’s most potent forces had been brought to bear, but remained outside. If Traugott was within, he wasn’t going to escape.

Once inside… Argrave smelled blood. The scent was thick enough to be nauseating. He looked to the Alchemist. “You’re sure we’re safe?”

“Only the dead within, along with some animals. I saw nothing mortal,” the Alchemist confirmed, then cast a spell to light the way.

Argrave considered having Anneliese perform another scouting journey. Ultimately, he left the matter to the Alchemist’s discretion, yet kept in mind that terrible scent as he proceeded. Looking right and left, there were large pits of ash covered by glass in recesses along the pathway. Flowers, jewels, and gemstones had been placed atop the translucent covering. Each of the pits had a plaque next to them. Entire families were buried here, joining their ancestors in death. The people of the Great Chu believed the dead could get lost without their ancestors to guide them to the heavens—as it was in life, so it was in death; one’s parents taught the way of the world.

Some of these pits, however, had been opened. Ash—and fresh ash, which was apparent just by looking at it—overflowed out of many. There were small puddles of blood dotted all along, and Argrave saw crematory pits that had been used not too long ago. When they finally came to the central room, Argrave began to make sense of where the thick smell of blood came from.

There was a large pit in the center, with an iron grate instead of glass like all the others. The plaque before it was giant, and told that those cremated here were those without a family that still deserved the guidance of the dead. Now, however, it was a muddy slush of ash and blood that made Argrave’s stomach uneasy. It wasn’t immediately apparent where all of this blood had come from.

Argrave rubbed at his nose, then said angrily, “We should turn back, stop indulging this fucking psycho. I don’t want to play these mind games. Nothing he can say can be worth enduring this.”

“I’ll proceed alone, then. I have some questions.” The Alchemist stepped onto the grate, looking back as if daring Argrave to comply with what he’d said.

Argrave was sorely tempted to turn around and leave. But ultimately, the Alchemist’s insistence and his own desire to put an end to whoever would do something like this spurred him forward.

As they continued onward into the next pathway, it became evident where all of the blood had come from. Body parts lined the shelves and dotted the floors. They were each and all incredibly similar to one another, almost repeating infinitely. Though he had an inkling of whose they might be, he soon had confirmation when he saw the Good King Norman’s head on a shelf, red eyes staring forward lifelessly. No one had the gall to speak in this place. Even the Alchemist seemed silenced by this horror show, but no words needed to be exchanged. They all knew.

This place, without a doubt, was Traugott’s workshop.

picture what happened in his head—at the front of the crematorium, Traugott had at first diligently disposed of his experiments with fire.

the body parts from. He suspected if Elenore looked into things, she’d find countless vanished persons around the perimeter. These people, what with the war going on… they’d never stood a chance against the former Magister of the Gray Owl. He must’ve killed hundreds, maybe thousands. All slipped beneath the cracks,

Norman, whole of body, repeated what felt like infinitely. Their dead red eyes stared at the ceiling, at the walls, at the floors. Some were skinny or fat. Some were muscled or flat. Some gaunt, some tall,

lives. That was the easiest way to press on, amidst the misery of it all. When they came to a dead end, Argrave felt some rising despair—had they been called here, toyed with, without a

“Roh! Rogh roh!”

narrative on Amazon, it's

of the Norman’s was buried beneath bodies,

nothing was here,” Argrave

mistook it for an

soul.” Anneliese kneeled,

the thing. It had been acting like an animal moments before, yet

dog-Norman

she stepped back with

his one dagger, stepping

druidic magic. A clever trick, giving this shell the soul of an animal… but

her, to see her people’s magic be used for something not so

this man. You have a history with Norman. I’ve come to know the man better than you do, I should think. His daughter, Sophia… his son, Griffin. You seemed to dislike him, so you should know Norman’s soul has existed in a state of abject agony for a long, long while… and I don’t think that’ll stop anytime soon. You’re welcome, if it

of blood and the voice of this person.

admirable, Argrave. And the same to you, Anneliese.” Traugott, wearing Norman’s shell, rose to his full height. “So admirable, in fact, that I decided to ask you something, before I asked Erlebnis. I have no love for the god of knowledge, but

opera stage.” Argrave tried to take

intend on casting him aside. Just like you, no?

him aside?” Anneliese pressed, her grip on her staff firm