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.

“Shame about the scar,” Durran continued, eyes trailing the path of rot that led to the center.

“If it weren’t for that little bolt of waxpox, we would never see this place,” Argrave noted. “The plague was used for an attack, striking directly at this land—without it having already broken the barrier to this place, we’d never enter here. This place is hidden to the world.”

Durran ground his foot against the ugly brown mess below his feet. “Suppose I should thank it.”

Argrave sighed, and his Brumesingers finally jumped out of his clothing, shaking their graying fur out. Their fur darkened every day as they consumed the souls of the fallen, and their use to the party grew every day. “I want us to keep going. We have fights to get through.”

Reminded of that, Durran’s levity disappeared. He tapped his glaive against the ground, pulled his wyvern scale helmet off his pack and placed it over his head, and gave Argrave a nod.

“Alright. To reiterate—we move towards the center,” Argrave said, stepping 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 them… but they’re weakened by the waxpox, and they’re big and loud. Once the fighting starts, it won’t stop. There’s a place ideal for—”

Galamon grabbed Argrave and pulled him back, turning him in the same motion. Opposite their party of four, a gargantuan white wolf stepped up atop one of the wooden platforms, front paw on the edge. It lowered its 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 did so, the wolf raised its head and howled. The noise echoed across the great crater, setting the beautiful place stirring.

“Good lord,” Argrave clenched his fist, brain working quickly.

Someone else’s brain worked faster, though. Anneliese shouted, “This is a terrible spot. We can be surrounded on three sides. Head for that bridge—we must narrow the avenues they can approach from,” she advised Argrave.

Despite Anneliese’s words, they waited for Argrave’s command. “Let’s go. Rightward bridge,” Argrave confirmed her advice.

Galamon took point. The great wolf jumped down from the wooden platform, splashing into the shallow rushing water and hurtling towards them with a limp. The beast was threatening enough it was tempting to reach for the Blessing of Supersession… but he dared not use it this early.

Anneliese was the first to attack, sending forth the C-rank [Ice Spear]. The beast nimbly 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, and he carried the swing onwards towards the wolf, slicing it in the leg. The attack was devastating, and the beast staggered.

As the beast faltered, Argrave sprinted forth around Galamon and 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 it into the wolf’s head and it passed through as easily as butter, dispatching it instantly.

The spell dissipated in his hand, and Argrave gathered his team with a simple, “Keep moving!”

The once-serene crater became a hive of activity and sound. The wolf’s howl had summoned everything in the vast 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 first of the many wooden platforms forming bridges across the vast crater. Argrave took the rear to ensure that everyone made it safely, his Brumesingers clambering about at his feet.

They stepped across the wooden platform, doing their best to avoid stumbling over the myriad beautiful flowers in the landscape. As they made their way towards the bridge, a titanic alligator lunged up out of a deeper portion of the water, collapsing onto the wooden platform and shaking it terribly. Several man-sized beetles crawled down off its back.

Panicked, Argrave shouted, “Its tongue is a projectile!”

The words seemed nonsensical until the alligator’s maw opened wide, tongue propelling forth like a chameleon’s towards 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, but held firm, and the waxpox-infected tongue puffed out a cloud of diseased air from the impact.

“Stay back!” Anneliese shouted as Durran moved to punish the enemy’s overextension. “I shall clear a path!”

She dispelled the ward and stepped forth. She held one hand out, feet braced tightly against the ground. Argrave used Garm’s eyes to view the magic within, and he saw the 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 dimension… and beyond, into the fourth dimension, whereupon the matrix spun rapidly, forming a B-rank spell.

Two great blades of ice 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 itself. When the blades of ice struck its whole mass, they shattered. The wetland reptile reeled backwards, its mouth cut open unnaturally large with blood pouring from gaping wounds. It fell off the wooden platform, clearly on death’s door.

The path to the bridge was clear. Anneliese staggered a little, breathing heavily, and her Starsparrow chirped noisily, flying about her head. Argrave stepped forward and supported her. B-rank magic was where things became truly destructive. She used a spell of her people—[Icebound Twinblades]. Veidimen ice magic was always potent, made doubly so by actual Veidimen casting it.

But destructive meant costly. Argrave could see her magic supply was greatly diminished. As she gained her bearings, he said evenly, “Conserve your energy in case it’s needed. You’ve made a path to the bridge, now let the three of us take the lead.”

She took a moment to catch her breath, and then confirmed, “I understand. I will support with wards from my ring.”

Argrave shouted once more and they began moving again, headed for the bridge. Argrave led Anneliese along until she was fully recovered, whereupon the four of them sprinted to the vast bridge unmolested. Argrave realized it was indeed a good spot for a fight—it was elevated higher than the platform, so nothing could jump from the water, and they had only two directions enemies could approach from. The four took their place atop the highest point of the natural-grown bridge, where an archway shed rose-colored leaves in the air.

The Brumesingers spread their fog and song across the land as a great many beasts came out of the woodworks of this beautiful place. Their party worked in tandem beautifully to confront the tides of waxpox-infected predators. Anneliese played the role of the defender, warding off the heavier attacks, and all trusted her enough to let her play this role. Argrave’s Brumesingers conjured warriors of mist to function as crowd control, while Argrave himself dealt strategic blows with lightning magic, disrupting to allow Galamon and Durran land decisive attacks.

At first, the myriad Sentinels like unnaturally fast snapping turtles and the swooping bats were manageable with simple spells… but soon enough, all of the great beasts within this vast place began to creep towards the bridge, slowly pushing their line back further and further. Argrave used Garm’s eyes to cast spells—it was the first time he had utilized the ability in genuine battle because it obscured his vision, but it did save his life.

If not for the fact that many of their assailants were crippled by the waxpox, the battle would have been over in seconds with their party’s total demise.

A snake with a body as thick as a tree wound around the bridge, then lunged forth at Durran. Anneliese blocked the attack, then dispelled the ward moments before Durran counterattacked with a fire spell supplanted by a thrust of his glaive. The blade cut through the snake’s head, making its coil around the bridge go slack and fall into the rushing waters below.

Durran laughed. “Any big plays in mind? You see the writing on the wall, Argrave!”

Argrave’s mind toyed with the trigger for the Blessing of Supersession as he laid eyes on a distant pack of gathering wolves, each as large as the first he’d confronted. They barreled past the other slower predators, heading towards the four of them.

Can’t use the Blessing of Supersession. You have a bigger fight ahead. You know what would work. It’s just a little pain, another voice said within Argrave, pushing past all his doubt.

Argrave pushed Durran aside, stepping forth with one hand held out. A spike of pain shot up his arm… but by now, he was used to pain. Once the C-rank spell matrix formed, blood shot out of his wrist like unspooled thread. The threads of blood danced before his hand, shining once the two ends connected to form a circle. He snapped, and a smidge of blood danced from his fingers towards the center of the circle, morphing, before a crescent blade of black blood as thin as a leaf spun towards the pack leader of the approaching wolves.

The crescent blade cut the wolf without stopping, continuing beyond even once it had finished its cut. Though far more contained, it was no less devastating than Anneliese’s spell. A redder shade of blood fountained from the wolf’s body, and Argrave advanced forward. As he moved his hand, the circle of blood followed, and every time he snapped, the thin blades of his black blood felled another approaching enemy.

The tide of the battlefield shifted immediately as Argrave pressed forth, using a C-rank spell endowed by Garm: [Waning-Cycle Bloodmoon].

As his enemies fell before him, none resisting the power of his spell… Argrave was reminded there was a reason he’d sought out the Black Blood.