Argrave was the farthest thing from a hunter.
But the people with him both hailed from a northern island where hunts made up a large portion of the food supply. Galamon had been a part of many hunts, and Anneliese knew much of the process by virtue of her sheer curiosity. As such, Argrave had learned that their people took two approaches to hunting animals in Veiden: trapping, or cornering.
They could not afford to make any traps, and so they had worked at cornering the Brumesingers. Galamon had steered them towards that end. Now, the creatures lay beyond a veil of mist, entrenched deeply. As the saying went, a cornered rat will bite the cat. Patience was their largest virtue. Their venture to capture the Brumesingers became a siege.
The four of them would press into the mist—never enough to leave them vulnerable from all sides, but far enough to evoke a reaction from the animals hiding within. And indeed, time and time again, the warriors of mist would appear, and their party’s patient caution proved more than enough to receive all comers.
Brium’s Vessel, Yarra, proved to be well worth the trust bestowed in her by the Lord of Copper. Once she learned how these warriors summoned by the Brumesingers functioned, she was quite adept at dealing with them. Her control over the water springing from within was masterful, to the point where she left not a drop behind no matter how she attacked. She seemed to have a penchant for manipulating the water within herself to weapons. She would reform her hands into swords, spears, and all manner of war instruments.
This process took an uncomfortably long time. Argrave felt tempted to leave and ensure their backpacks left outside were truly hidden, but he kept those thoughts inside. Over the course of many fatiguing hours, during which Argrave ran out of magic, the fog that had been near as thick as milk began to dwindle. The place started to look like a graveyard sauna.
At a point, the warriors conjured lacked form and distinguishing features—it had been obvious they were southron elves, at first, and their skin had looked truly real. Now, they truly fought warriors borne of mist.
With a retreating slash of Galamon’s greatsword, the last two remaining warriors finally dispelled not into mist, but into nothingness. Argrave had grown well used to their unnatural and grim howls, yet this last’s death knell did not echo out across the ancient tomb. The silence that followed was all-consuming.
“Hoo,” Argrave breathed out, some of his tension dissolved in the wake of excitement. The process of getting to the Brumesingers in the game was much the same, though admittedly infinitely more reckless and far less time-consuming. “Alright. Yarra, Galamon, stay near the entrance. Make sure the little ones don’t scamper out.”
Yarra nodded, far more amenable to direction after the nonstop conditioning of the misty siege.
With the two of them standing near the entrance, waiting, Argrave and Anneliese advanced ahead. The room had coffins lined up on each of its two walls, but in the back of the room, stairs rose up to an elevated portion that housed one single, grander coffin.
Argrave stepped around, watching the floors for any movement. Neither he nor Anneliese spotted anything for a long time, but then he heard a faint, rapid sound—it sounded like a dog’s squeaky chew toy, almost. It took him a bit to place it, but then he knelt down, lowering his face to the ground and peering beneath one of the coffins. At once, he smiled in triumph.
He saw the Brumesingers he’d been seeking crouched low beneath the coffins. The white-furred creatures were canids. Their appearance bore the most resemblance to that of a fox, with especially large ears. Considering they were desert creatures, the fennec fox seemed a close relative. Their fur was like snow. Their eyes, too, were especially striking—they were like moving pools of gold, a glimpse into another dimension.
The Brumesingers were wheezing in exhaustion, all of their energy spent. Argrave lifted his head up and beckoned Anneliese over. She came to the other side, and her presence made the creatures sidle away in panic, moving closer to the center of the coffin.
“Aren’t they neat?” he spoke to Anneliese. “Had we found them earlier, they would’ve been as black as night. Their fur changes color as the consume the souls of the dead—white, gray, to black.”
“They are fascinating,” she agreed, white hair scattered everywhere on the stone as she pressed her face to peer under. “What should we do now?”
“I count… four,” Argrave concluded. “A lot of hell raised by four of these little guys. You see why I want them.” Argrave tapped the ground, thinking. “You should take one for now,” he looked to Anneliese. “Eventually, I want you to have a bird familiar for hyper-effective scouting. For now, though… these guys can travel through the mists they produce. Nothing short of fantastic for scouting, espionage… all-purpose monsters, these little ones.”
Anneliese nodded. She held her hand out and a green light shone from her palm—Argrave couldn’t distinguish the spell, but he recognized it as druidic magic. One of the Brumesingers lifted its head, then slowly and cautiously crawled out towards her.
Content, Argrave focused back on the last three. Lacking the magic to cast the spell needed, he triggered the Blessing of Supersession, feeling the overwhelming power surge into him. Surprisingly, the Brumesingers reacted to Argrave’s change—one bolted from beneath the coffin, surging towards the exit like a maniac. Galamon kneeled and received it easily, restraining it with his forefinger and thumb.
When he found it wouldn’t escape, Argrave turned his focus back to the other two. He held out his hand, casting the C-rank druidic spell, [Pack Leader]. At once, he felt a strange sensation in his chest. The feeling was vastly different from when he had linked with the pigeons at Mateth. Then, like a cork, it exploded into him.
Argrave came to understand death in that moment.
With this newfound and entirely unexpected epiphany, Argrave’s entire body seized up. His arms lost strength, and he collapsed to the ground. His heart started to beat at the pace of a hummingbird’s wings, his skin felt like it was crawling, and he started sweating uncontrollably. He sight failed, fading into whiteness, and all sound vanished behind a loud ringing.
He did not know when this had come to pass, but Anneliese knelt over him. His vision slowly regained clarity, and he felt something warm on his cheek. Two ‘somethings,’ in fact—on one side, something soft, and on the other, something leather.
As he got his wits about him, he realized Anneliese held his face while the two Brumesingers sat by his cheek.
“There. Your eyes are focusing,” Anneliese said, her voice growing louder as the ringing in his ears faded. “I had no idea something like this might happen. I should have warned you. The spell I used was not like [Pack Leader]. Animals closely linked to things, like…” she trailed off, worried.
“That was…” Argrave began, voice powerless. “…some damn experience.”
“What did you feel?” she insisted.
“Shouldn’t you know?” he croaked out a laugh. “Death,” he relayed.
She said nothing, eyes wide.
“I don’t want to die,” he could only say. “I thought I knew that. But now I know that.”
“You hit your head when you fell,” she said. “I will turn you over, take care of that.”
Argrave accepted this quietly. Anneliese turned him over, and his gaze fell upon the snow-white little creatures that had occupied his entire day. He looked into their whirling golden eyes and felt an indomitable bond between the three of them. There was something more between them. These creatures ceased to be mere Brumesingers—they felt like an extension of Argrave, every bit as important as his arms or legs. He hadn’t felt this intensity when he’d linked with the pigeons in Mateth.
He only realized the back of his head hurt when the pain faded, likely due to Anneliese’s healing magic. She moved him, leaning him up against the coffin. The little white creatures bounded on top of his lap, all of their timidity vanished—rather, it felt like they were now protecting Argrave. Just the same, he felt protective of them.
“Why the hell was that the roughest part of this?” Argrave questioned, only half-joking.
“It seems… these animals are linked intrinsically to death,” Anneliese stared down at them. The one she’d claimed stood near her leg. “Furthermore, it seems there is definitely a strong compatibility between you and them.”
Argrave looked down and raised his hand to rest atop them, some of his energy returned. “You feel anything like this?”
Anneliese shook her head. “[Pack Leader] links your souls. The spell I used merely changes their soul’s disposition towards me. Were I to connect to them with a direct link, as I often did with the bird… I expect I would experience much the same thing, provided I have the same affinity with death as you do.”
Galamon stepped around the coffin, coming to stand before Argrave. He held the last Brumesinger in his hand, and the creature dangled uncooperatively from his hand. It let out small little yelps, though dared not bite at the gauntleted fingers holding it.
“What to do with this one?” Galamon questioned.
Argrave looked up at it, watching it dangle. He started to think, but then stopped himself, picturing the matter like jumping into cold water. He held out his hand and cast [Pack Leader] once more. That dread came again. The sense of death was lessened in intensity, but present nonetheless. Once it was done, he took the Brumesinger from Galamon’s hand, and it crawled down Argrave’s arm to join the other two.
Yarra came to stand beside Galamon, her arms crossed. “Are they of the same family? How many are male or female?” she questioned.
“Why?” returned Argrave suspiciously.
“These creatures could be important for Cyprus’ future. Breeding them could be a very lucrative thing.”
The notion of forced breeding from the Vessels set Argrave into a vision-blurring rage at once. With the Blessing of Supersession still active, he felt the bottomless well of magic within him spin and stir, ready to move, and then…
Argrave stopped himself. That sort of primal anger was so ridiculously foreign the sheer shock of realizing he’d been the one to experience it dispelled all the rage he’d felt. He calmed his breathing. Going to have to consult Anneliese, read more about druidic magic… almost made a big damn mistake.
“…they’re all from the same mother,” Argrave lied. “Not exactly viable for breeding.”
“Unfortunate,” said Yarra with a shake of her head. “I have helped you with your task. Now, I must do my own duty.”
Argrave tensed. “And what is that?”
“That spring in the main hall,” she said, looking back towards the door. “I must ensure it ceases to be. Who knows where its waters lead? It cannot be permitted to continue.”
Some of Argrave’s tension dispelled, but then he considered her words more.
Who knows where its waters lead, she questions. And she’s right. Those waters might sustain a whole village. And she wants me to stand by, watch that happen.
The roiling power of the Blessing of Supersession at the tip of his fingers was a constant temptation. But Agrave’s logical mind battled against his vying heart, and he eventually rose to his feet. The Brumesingers clung to his clothes before dropping off on the ground.
“Fine. Do as you must,” Argrave conceded, doing his best to hide his unease. “While you’re doing that, we’ll grab one more thing from this place—something to help win the southron elves over.”
Yarra nodded. Some of her disdain towards Argrave was gone, evidently, after seeing him act. The feeling was not mutual. She walked away, and Argrave ground his fingers against his palm.
