“Keep watch on Durran,” Argrave spoke to Anneliese and Galamon. “I told you before he’d be a good ally, but… he’s volunteering to carry Garm, he’s following us without reason… my scheme senses are tingling.”
“I was going to tell you,” Anneliese nodded. “I picked up the same… though without ‘scheme senses,’ granted,” she noted with an amused smile. “For what it is worth, I feel no malice from either.”
Argrave nodded. “Reassuring. But you don’t need to feel ill-will to put someone six feet under, just an abundance of ambition. I’d say the two of them could qualify.” Argrave put his hand to his chin. “Maybe they’re trying to probe for information, get the truth out of me… but damn, whatever happened to asking questions?”
“I’ll take the rear, then,” Galamon raised his hand.
“Right. Thanks,” Argrave nodded. Just then, Durran emerged from the portal of sand just beside them, holding Garm in his hand upright. The other hand held his glaive—he used it as a walking stick, somewhat.
“Took you long enough,” Argrave greeted.
“Why in the world did you send me off alone in this scary place?” Durran complained. “Here. Don’t know what this is, but I got it.”
Argrave received what Durran held out—it was a strange obsidian idol. “It deactivates some animated guards ahead,” Argrave lied easily. He had just wanted some time alone to speak with Galamon and Anneliese. “Unless you care to fight them?”
Durran was already looking around the new environment, barely heeding Argrave’s admonishment. He supposed he could not blame the man—the place they were in was ridiculous. The room wound about in ways that seemed to be geometrically impossible. Pillars of flowing black sand rose into endless abysses. The pathway ahead, which resembled polished obsidian, curved up to the wall, and then the ceiling further down the hallway.
“To reiterate—follow what I do absolutely,” Argrave informed Durran, his voice being the only disturbance in the absolute silence of the strange dimension. “Don’t ever run or jump unless I tell you to. If both of your feet are in the air at the same time, it’s over for you, most likely. Galamon might catch you—he’ll be taking the rear, just in case.”
Durran watched everything like it was seconds away from jumping out and biting him.
“This place is no petty illusion,” Garm noted. “All around, I see it—magic, twisting, writhing, dancing. I can’t even fathom its purpose. And its creator… Why was this built?”
“Cool scenery, maybe,” Argrave suggested, only half in jest. In the game, it had been only that: a neat, if simple, little puzzle to occupy the player’s senses. In reality… who knew?
The Alchemist knew, Argrave was certain. But the Alchemist wasn’t exactly an open forum.
Argrave and his two elven companions were not devoid of nerves, either. Argrave started to step down the pathway, trying to keep his breathing steady. He constantly repeated the advice he’d given Durran in his head as he started to walk along the wall.
Transitioning from walking the floor to walking along the walls was a powerfully disrupting sensation. One’s body was accustomed to certain constants, and yet now, before its eyes, these constants were broken. It wasn’t like his feet were stuck to the ground—no, rather, gravity itself seemed to move with the path. It was no illusion, either.
“Gods above…” Durran called out as Argrave walked further into the stretching hallway before them. “Though… the gods might not be ‘above’ in a second,” he mused as he followed, with Galamon taking the back of the party just as he’d promised.
The silence of the dimly illuminated black landscape was marred only by the sounds of their footsteps—Galamon’s metal boots, Anneliese’s and Argrave’s leather, and Durran’s wyvern scale boots each made distinctive sounds. Argrave was hyper-focusing on his steps to ensure that none would be misplaced, but he felt that focus was making him all the worse for wear. Argrave’s Brumesingers squirmed within his clothes, perhaps sensing his terror through the druidic bond.
I’m on the floor right now, Argrave told himself. Nothing strange, just floor. Don’t look at the weird sand pillars. Just keep walking.
Yet his own thoughts felt like dogs nipping at his heels, and Argrave started to talk to ward them away.
“Durran,” he called out. “A question for you.”
“Can it… wait?” the man answered from further back.
“Why are you really here?” Argrave ignored, pressing onwards. “To follow someone into something like this—it’s not something you do for answers, especially not when you don’t know the value of them.”
Durran didn’t answer, and the five of them walked through the ever-twisting hallway. Argrave was about to demand an answer when the southern tribal finally broke the silence.
“Garm told me a lot. About Gerechtigkeit, about why you’re here, about what you’ve done… so let’s not act like the ‘how’ of these things doesn’t have value,” Durran answered back. “I’d have to be an imbecile to miss that there’s something interesting going on with you. Considering I’ve been exiled—self-exiled, I guess—not like I have much better to do.”
It was Argrave’s turn for the long silence, now. That answer gave him a lot to digest. Garm had divulged much to Durran—the extent of his knowledge of Argrave, basically. Which begged the question…
“What spurred you to spill your guts, Garm?”
“What, you’re mad at me now?” the head answered at once. “As I recall, just outside Sethia, you said you’d prefer to have Durran as an ally. I took a little initiative—what’s the problem?”
The polished obsidian pathway opened up into a large square. As they stepped out into, the abyss seemed to extend in all directions. It seemed if one reached their hand out, eternal darkness would eat it. The pathway extended no further.
“And that’s it?” Argrave questioned, stopping and staring Garm in the eye.
Garm stared back. “I know I kept something from you in the past… but I meant what I said. I will help you. All of you.”
Argrave held his gaze for a while longer, studying Garm’s expression. His black and gold eyes did not waver as they stared back, studying him in kind. He tried to see beyond… but they were just eyes, blackened or no. He could not see the thoughts in his head.
“Not what I meant,” Argrave finally shook his head, diverting the conversation. “I mean, did you tell him about the Alchemist? That’s another important bit.”
“Told him a little. Not enough for your high standards of caution, I presume,” Garm said with a smile.
“Let me explain… after we jump,” Argrave looked upwards. He bent his knees downward, then jumped up, slightly rotating backwards as if doing a backflip. At once, true gravity seized him—or perhaps it wasn’t true at all. He fell towards the abyss above. His stomach churned, and he felt like vomiting. He passed through the darkness…
And landed on his feet, perfectly. Though uneased, Argrave was surprised by how smooth and comfortable the landing had been. Durran came next, surprisingly—he landed on his knees. Galamon was third. He’d rotated too far, and ungracefully collapsed on his back. He recovered quickly, standing before Argrave could offer help. Anneliese was last. She landed on her feet, though not steadily enough. She fell backwards.
Argrave supported her with his arm, keeping her from falling. He was flustered, but he said, “Careful now,” as he helped her regain her balance. “How’s that? Been working on the gallantry.”
She calmed herself from the frightful fall, then laughed once she processed what Argrave had said. “With whom?” she questioned.
Argrave only smiled in response, then turned to examine the road ahead once he was content she was steady.
The place before them made the dreary blackness they’d come from seem a lie. Though the path ahead was the same polished obsidian, a vast jungle of uncountable different colors lay before them. All manner of life sprung from every corner of the place—the ceiling, the floor, the walls. It was only barely distinguishable they were in a cave.
“Should be safe, now,” Argrave told everyone. “But don’t wander carefully. Anneliese, Galamon, you know what I’m about to say… but still, make sure you listen, just in case.”
“Never seen anything like this…” Durran said, awed.
“You’ll get to know this jungle very well,” Argrave assured. “All of you will be staying here. There’s wildlife enough to sustain you. I will be in a bed… but I envy you, honestly. But enough about that. I’m to meet the Alchemist.” Argrave looked back at Durran.
Durran pointed ahead. “One man made this place?”
“I don’t know,” Argrave shook his head. “But here’s the thing, Durran. I know you like getting attention… but in front of the Alchemist, you want to be the least interesting thing in the world.” Argrave walked up closer until he loomed over the man. “I expect you to stay outside. Do not talk to him, do not enter his house. Even if he wanders outside, ask him nothing. If he talks to you—don’t see why he would—answer quickly, bluntly, and honestly. Be rude, be mean—I don’t care, and he won’t either—but be honest.”
Durran nodded hesitantly.
“I’m not fucking around here,” Argrave insisted, pointing at Durran. “He’ll end you. Garm was right about the fact that I want you as an ally—I won’t deny that. It’s the only reason I let you come this far, dubious as your motives are. If you want to live, heed these words like they’re the word of every god you hold dear,” Argrave pressed his finger against Durran’s chest.
“Anneliese and Galamon will make sure that you don’t step out of line, even if they have to break your legs. Live like the dead. Capisci?” Argrave leaned down closer. Durran looked confused, so Argrave translated, “Do you understand?”
“I get it,” Durran pushed Argrave’s hand away.
“I’m serious,” Argrave reiterated. “I’m not saying this for my sake. I’ll be fine if you mess around. You’ll be paste if you mess around. All of you will stay far away.”
“You intend to meet this Alchemist alone?” Anneliese frowned. “You didn’t mention this.”
Argrave turned away from Durran. “Better this way. Less contact. Get in, get out.”
She shook her head. “I want to come with you.”
“Do my words mean nothing?” Argrave asked, exasperated.
“I know you’re serious,” she insisted at once, stepping closer. “And I know to listen to your words. But—”
“No,” Argrave put his foot down. “You can come after the surgery, when I’m recovering… and when he isn’t around.”
Anneliese looked frustrated and concerned, but after a long time of silence, she surrendered with a nod that made Argrave feel bad.
“I’ll be fine,” Argrave assured. “Hell, doing this alone will probably make it easier.” He took a deep breath, then turned over to the vibrant jungle ahead. “Right… everything’s already in my pack.”
At the most nervous he’d ever been, Argrave stepped away.
“Wait here. You can visit tomorrow, probably. This guy is quick if anything,” Argrave waved.
Everyone waved back. The sight made Argrave feel hesitant to leave, and so he quickly turned, walking down the obsidian path before him.
The jungle ahead, with its constant noise, was just as bad as the unending silence of the distorted entryway. The sights before him were uncomfortably familiar. He’d come here time and time again. Usually, he was excited—this time, it felt like his task was so monumentally important, his excitement was buried beneath pressure.
A castle of sleek, sterile obsidian came into view. The architecture was foreign, almost alien—angular where one wouldn’t expect a castle to be, round where it ought to be angular. The door itself was round, almost as if bulging outwards, and stood over thirty feet tall. Argrave paused at the door, removed his backpack, and retrieved the things he needed. He gave his Brumesingers commands with druidic magic, and they took their place.
He scrutinized each in turn: the Amarantine Heart, the Wraith’s Heart, the Crimson Wellspring, and the instrument of surgery—the Unsullied Knife. They were exactly as he remembered them. With them in hand, he pushed open the door. It took some effort, being as large as it was.
Argrave didn’t notice the room at all—the sole figure within dominated his sight.
The Alchemist was standing, back straight, waiting. He must’ve been twenty feet tall. His black hair was like silk, and it extended downwards, forming robes around his vaguely humanoid shape. His ivory face was flat and squat, lacking a nose or nostrils at all, while his eyes were gray. He held his hands before him, crossed over each other. The tips of his fingers were palms, each with five digits of their own.
Argrave took a deep breath and exhaled. No pageantry, no babbling, Argrave—to the point.
“I want to trade,” Argrave spoke loud and clear, with a will tempered by the constant hardship he’d endured thus far. “I’ll instruct you on how to perform a surgery that allows you to replace a human’s blood with magic blood. I will provide the materials for said surgery. I will also provide a knife that allows for painless alterations of all physical and mystical. In return, you will perform the surgery I teach you… on me.”
The Alchemist closed his eyes, then opened his mouth. Where teeth and a tongue had once been, one giant gray eye watched Argrave. Its eyes, too, both contorted into mouths. The eye focused on Argrave. The Alchemist’s lips lowered, almost as if the eye was squinting, and he leaned in. After a long moment of observation, the process was reverted and his face returned to normal.
“Shut the door,” he said, voice like splintering ice.
Argrave nodded, saying nothing, then turned to pull the door shut.
