Argrave disliked looking at the bronze hand mirror. With something—or someone, rather—to find solace in, he didn’t need to use it for motivation much at all anymore. Now, though, the day had passed, and he stared down at its surface in the early morning light…
Traits: [Tall], [Black Blooded], [Intelligent], [Magic Affinity (High)], [Insomniac], [Blessing of Supersession (MAX)]
Skills: [Elemental Magic (C)], [Blood Magic (B)], [Healing Magic (C)], [Illusion Magic (C)], [Warding Magic(C)], [Druidic Magic (C)], [Inscription (E)], [Imbuing (E)]
Seeing that ‘B’ just beside blood magic made him feel quite satisfied. Unfortunately, Argrave had underestimated himself, and brought no B-rank spellbooks with him besides that for [Bloodfeud Bow]. He felt like he was wasting precious time that could be spent learning more and more B-rank spells, yet even still…
His rate of advancement was quite exceptional. Between his high magic affinity, his black blood, that [Intelligent] trait, and his own diligence in studying, maybe it was to be expected. He felt some fulfillment. His rate of advancement was not unprecedented, lore-wise, but it was quite fast.
Orion’s presence culled what might’ve been a seed of arrogance, though. With [Bloodfeud Bow], a single-projectile attack with the potential for power far outmatching near all spells, Argrave could seriously injure Orion now. That was assuming the ridiculous possibility the man would stand still and let him charge it for minutes, naturally. The Holy Fool could still crush him and all of his companions without much issue. Fighting him personally was a long way off.
Yet with B-rank magic at his hands… he could start planning for the future in earnest. His advancement to A-rank would be as significant as his visit to the Alchemist, he knew. A-rank was when a mage more closely integrated with magic—rather than merely using it, they would assimilate into it. It was a vague description, yet the innumerable processes to become A-rank were so varied that only a vagary sufficed for describing it.
Argrave stowed away the bronze hand mirror and rose, doing brief stretches before he emerged from the tent. Anneliese sat on a large root not too far away, cleaning and braiding her long white hair back in preparation for travel.
Anneliese turned her head towards him yet remained focused on her task. “Good morning.”
“Is it? I’m not so sure,” Argrave questioned, blinking his eyes as he raised his hands to his face.
“You are pale,” Anneliese noted as Argrave wiped away his tired eyes. He’d gotten a few hours of sleep, but his current state of fatigue made him question if he’d have been better off staying awake the whole night.
“I always have been,” he answered quickly.
“No. You had a healthy pallor not weeks ago, yet you keep…” she trailed off. “Why are you so pleased with yourself?”
Argrave’s subtle grin broadened into a smile. “You’re a good teacher—anyone ever tell you that?”
Anneliese’s amber eyes grew wide as she placed things. “I see now. You—you broke into B-rank with that blood magic spell. That’s why you look so terrible, so tired.”
“Well, that’s the demerit,” Argrave brushed off the remark quickly.
She stood and moved forth, running her fingers through her half-braided white hair in frustration. “You complain when you are miserable, and yet you never… Why in the world do you never…” she sighed. “You will not use blood magic for the rest of this journey,” she commanded, planting a finger to his chest.
“I won’t?” he raised a brow.
“This is a concession you must make for me. I will not bend on this matter,” she stated plainly, amber eyes fierce as he’d ever seen them. “You insisted that I remain inside at Jast for my safety. I insist on this, for your safety.”
Argrave kept the stare going for a little bit. Then, he raised his hand and fixed her messy hair. “As long as it’s not life-or-death.”
Anneliese pouted—a rare expression on her, and one Argrave found quite adorable. “If it is truly life or death, use your Blessing of—”
Argrave placed one finger to her lips, shushing her. “We talked about this. Stay quiet about that while we’re here,” he whispered, looking around. Thankfully, neither him nor his Waxknights were nearby.
She lowered her head with a nod of apology. “Alright. But to that point?”
“Last night’s venture… delayed things,” Argrave said in vague terms as he waved his hand dismissively. “[Bloodfeud Bow] is blood magic, but B-rank magic is still B-rank magic, and therefore costly. I suspect night will fall before I can fully repay things, provided I don’t expend much magic today. Fortunately, the battle for the second fortress won’t involve much magic at all.”
She sighed, then looked up at Argrave once again. “B-rank… I am happy for you,” she finally congratulated him. “Perhaps now, you will rest easier and cease working so hard.”
Argrave only smiled in response, giving no verbal commitments. But in his head, those words still rang—never again, never again.
#####
Argrave went to inform the prince that they were ready to travel but found Orion standing off to the side, one hand held to his forehead. He was just out of sight of the Waxknights, who assembled around a campfire as they ate their rations. Argrave could not recall seeing the prince in distress, so he walked up to him cautiously.
At his footsteps, the prince raised his head. Argrave tilted his head questioningly, and Orion confided immediately, “Another of my knights vanished.”
“Vanished?” Argrave repeated.
“Gone, disappeared during his watch,” Orion explained.
Argrave looked at the Waxknights. They ate their rations and wrapped their waxpox-rife flesh in clean bandages. Indeed, upon count, only seven of the initial ten they’d journeyed with were present.
“Deserted, or…?” Argrave mused.
Orion grabbed his collar, and Argrave’s heart fell into his stomach. “Deserted? Why would you say such a thing?” the prince questioned in a loud, angry whisper.
Argrave calmly stated, “Look at them. It’s but the first day, yet things are this challenging. I don’t doubt their ability or their faithfulness, but men are men.”
Orion’s grip loosened on Argrave’s collar slowly, and the prince straightened. “Their flames must be stoked by righteous winds.”
“…boosting their morale is important, yes,” Argrave agreed, feeling a strange discomfort he could so quickly interpret Orion’s words.
Without another word, Orion stepped to where they gathered. Their prince’s steady, determined approach towards them caused them all to rise to attention.
“Faithful knights!” Orion began. “Three of our number have left us. They swore an oath to the royal family, and to the gods, to live and die for the sake of the royal family. And now they have. More of you may—”
“Orion,” Argrave called out, stepping up just beside him. “I have some things to say,” he said quietly, recognizing well that a disaster might occur if this man spoke his earnest thoughts.
“Please speak, dear brother,” Orion gestured.
Argrave looked out to the Waxknights—if ever before there’d been an intimidating crowd for public speaking, this was it. But public speaking was one of the few things Argrave was talented at, he believed.
“As Orion said, we stand here today with three fewer than we departed with yesterday. These men—these brave men—they marched forth with strength, with ideal, and they confronted the monstrous forces of the Corpse Puppeteer and the Plague Jester. And knowing that they are gone… what will you do for their memory?”
Argrave stepped around, eyes jumping around the small crowd of knights before him. “You must never forget why they are gone,” Argrave proclaimed. “Forget not the sea of corpses you fought against yesterday. Forget not the foul beasts that hunted us through the wetlands. These are our foes. You must never forget that. And when we have won, and when we return… all of us, even the fallen, will return as heroes. Each and every face you see… they will owe you their lives. Each and every face you remember, every face that you long to see again… they will owe you their lives. If there is good, and if there is evil… then we are good, and we fight evil!”
Without giving so much as a single cheer, the Waxknights kept staring on at him. He had confidence enough in his words, though, that he was sure he’d had a positive effect.
“I shall prepare Silvic and my companions for travel. Silvic must scout, per usual,” Argrave turned to Orion. “We’ll travel less distance, and the battle to take the fortress will not be half as hard, but it’s a better point to begin with the third day.”
“Wonderful,” said Orion with vigor, beaming down at Argrave. “Give my regards to Lady Anneliese. And ensure Durran is prepared to recite the gods and their domains,” he requested.
Argrave nodded, making another mental note to do something really, really nice for Durran once all of this was behind them.
#####
Anneliese proved herself an able scout once more, picking out a path with her Starsparrow. Were it not for that tiny and resilient bird they’d claimed, this journey would have been three times as hard. Though she could not constantly watch for enemies, picking a path that did not have them endure wading through chest-high waters was a blessing enough to be considered miraculous.
If the journey of the first day had two climaxes—one for the assault on the road, and the other the taking of the first fortress—the second day was not comparable in the slightest. Instead, it was a steady trickle of enemies, like a constant pressure upon their party. They had to keep watch at every moment for gibbons, like assassins paid by the wetlands, or endure a siege of leopards whilst Orion dealt with encroaching rockhide hippos.
With the constant pressure came tension—all of them were drawn so thin they were all ready to snap at a moment’s notice, save the indomitable people of the party, namely Orion and Galamon. With morale faltering, Argrave once again assumed the role he’d taken in the fortress. Some might call it a commander, but Argrave just felt like a motivational speaker. Soon enough, the Waxknights looked to Argrave for direction as much as they did Orion. Someone more paranoid might think Argrave was trying to subvert them, but Orion seemed pleased that Argrave was taking extra efforts.
Argrave struggled tremendously, though the extra role he so readily took had nothing to do with it. He was beset by constant headaches, and exertions that caused him no trouble yesterday made him quite exhausted today. It was a familiar feeling, and he was more than able to push past it. Even still, Anneliese provided constant and unconditional support, and ensured that he ate properly during the whole journey. Between his anemia and the constant assault from enemies, he might’ve snapped without her.
Yet she and all of Argrave’s companions proved more than mere support, especially so on this day. Galamon was ready for battle at every second, and when it came, fought like a man possessed—Anneliese told Argrave in secret that the elven vampire felt as though he had something to prove when confronted with the unimaginable strength of Orion. Though Argrave was worried this might lead somewhere poor, he was grateful for his steadfast ally all the same. Meanwhile, Durran slowly integrated into the party all the better. He worked well with Anneliese, and he and Galamon developed a rapport.
There was some solace knowing rest would soon come as they grew ever nearer to the second fortress. Simultaneously, there was dread. The solace Argrave felt was like a gleaming fruit with unblemished skin that, once bitten, revealed blackened and rotted innards.
Argrave’s role was not so pivotal as it had been at the first fortress. The goal was simply to get by while the big fish battled it out. Even still, there was danger. There always was, it seemed, and doubly so when they stepped willingly onto a trap.
