As far as Argrave was concerned, the primary difference between marching during the day and doing so at was merely that they had not slept. At least, that was his opinion before they began it.
Argrave was tired and felt a little clumsy, probably doubly so because of his anemia, and the cold water of the wetlands soaked into his bones. Spell light lit their path ably, and the boundary where Silvic’s protection ended was still as dark and unknowable as ever. They were unharried on their march just as it had been during the day—a small blessing that spoke of ill fortune in their future. Though everyone present was hardy, tempered by battle and long journeys both, it was an unprecedently exhausting thing.
The wetland spirit Silvic had been consumed by the waxpox more and more as their journey progressed, just as it had been in the game. Their boundary of protection grew weaker as she did so, and the splendor of the liquid light humming within her wooden body died by the hour. Considering Orion’s recent changes… he did not know if her death was certain, anymore.
Nor did he know if the Plague Jester’s death was certain. Hopefully his words got through to Orion.
Nonetheless, they marched ever onward. The waters thinned as they did, and instead of wading through thick puddles, they stepped through no more than wet mud. The waxpox thrived here, stronger than ever. The rotted plants and trees all took on a taupe tone, accented by red. It was as though they walked through a forest of flesh and blood, and once the idea took root, it was nearly accurate enough to make Argrave nauseous.
Yet that did not last forever. In time, Argrave saw the ever-present mist around fade away, and the wetlands ahead were revealed in earnest. Stone roads were paved into the mud, each and all so uniform they were likely made by mages. None were complete, though, most either buried in mud or abruptly ending. They all led to the same point—a towering complex of buildings, dimly lit by the burgeoning light of dawn.
A beautiful palace rose up out of the wetlands, so impeccably preserved most might think it an illusion. Its walls of gaudy marble and gold still stood strong, nearly fifty feet tall. Spikes and statues of silver stood on the walls, each and all monuments to great warriors or mages. It had a central gate with a breathtaking archway, just over which the largest statue stood. It was a golden statue of King Felipe III, at a time when he was perhaps thirty at most.
A near-black polished granite pathway began at the central gate, stretching all the way back to the main palace. The courtyard beyond had an impeccably maintained garden, where the plants bloomed splendidly even now. Elaborate water fountains dotted small pavilions. All of it radiated luxury and decadence, persisting amidst the harsh wetlands which had become a wasteland of death, rot, and despair as if a mockery to it all.
“This was the palace of the Archduke,” Orion stepped forward, gazing up at it. Everyone else nearly doubled over in exhaustion. “Built after my father’s first war, and given to Archduke Regene, his brother.” He looked back to Argrave. “My uncle, his children… Have they all died?”
You’ll learn their fates soon enough, Argrave wished to say, but he nodded, still breathless.
Orion nodded, then looked back, examining each statue. “They conquered this land with a pledge to weed our heretics, to spread the faith… yet they build statues of men and women, warriors and spellcasters.”
“…this was a palace for the Archduke Regene, not a temple for the gods,” Argrave pointed out, finally catching his breath.
Orion did not answer. His gaze wandered the walls, the towers, and the distant main building. “The gate is open,” Orion said slowly. “The walls are unmanned.”
Argrave had noticed the same things, but the statues standing on the marble battlements made it seem as though they confronted a fortress manned by giants and gods. Maybe that was true, in part.
“We proceed carefully, lest more arrive,” Argrave looked around slowly. “We’ll know what we’re facing before we face it. Silvic?” he turned, though his gaze landed on Anneliese. She nodded, and he held her steady as she took control of her druidic bond.
Minutes passed as Argrave waited, and Silvic acted as though she were scouting. Then, suddenly, Anneliese took a deep breath and grabbed out. Argrave caught her arm and said, “You alright?”
The bird fluttered back to her shoulder, but Anneliese took a moment, hand held near her heart as though to calm its throbbing.
“Just tired,” she said, not rejecting his support. “And… the… the Jester. I saw her. I saw her face. I have never experienced such… absolute hatred.”
Argrave had not experienced what she had, but he shuddered when he heard her say those words. After giving her a reassuring squeeze, he asked, “Did you manage to scout, even still?”
She nodded, then stepped away to speak to Silvic to relay the information.
As Argrave feared, the enemy had rallied here. Even now, they hid in the walls and in the outer buildings, waiting to ambush them once they entered the palace—prudent, considering a mere gate could not bar them from the palace walls for long and the animals they led could not manage sophisticated commands. Two of the Plague Jester’s servants had made it here, it seemed—the bard and the jongleur. They were not staying by the side of the Plague Jester, but rather took the east and west wall respectively, likely to ambush them from behind if they proceeded too far in. The centaur was absent. Given his speed, Argrave supposed he was off gathering the more distant reinforcements. All the more reason to hurry.
The Jester waited in the Archduke’s throne room. If Orion decided to stick around and help them deal with the two servants of the Jester that were formerly manning their fortresses, he couldn’t say for sure the Jester would not come out of the throne room and attack them.
Orion needed to isolate them from the Plague Jester. She was so potent that merely being in the crossfire might mean death. Yet if Orion fought the whole force alone, even he might die. Hell, if the whole bulk of their enemies rushed out and attacked their party, they’d probably succumb then and there. But the Jester didn’t seem to be confident in that. She was not aware of her inherent advantage, so she waited. The troops she led could not handle tasks like scouting and complex strategies were off the table. One small fortune in this miserable situation.
Argrave saw only one option in all of this. They would need to face the bard and jongleur, while Orion dealt with the Jester alone. That meant they’d need to fight two bosses that Orion typically dealt with, alongside a vast horde of the same harrowing opponents they’d encountered in the wetlands. Worse yet, they’d need to do things quickly, so as to avoid confronting more foes coming in from behind as reinforcements.
The Plague Jester was only a shaman empowered by a wetland spirit, not a strategist. The fact that she had divided her forces in this manner demonstrated that. Even if she knew she held the advantage, which was dubious, Argrave wasn’t certain she’d be able to capitalize on that. This formation of hers was crudely effective and relied on their party proceeding in ignorance.
Yet Argrave was not stupid enough to brute-force things, relying on his Blessing of Supersession. Their opponent had employed their strategy and ostensibly held the advantage, but they had tremendous knowledge of their opponent. Argrave, Galamon, and Anneliese discussed the matter in great detail, all the others standing by as council. They worked to dismantle the coming battle piece-by-piece.
#####
Orion led them all into the palace of the Archduke, his Waxknights supporting him from behind in a compact and orderly formation. Argrave and his party followed, too, just behind the royal knights serving Orion. He was certain all of them were being watched. The enemy was prepared to jump out in ambush once they moved to deal with the plague jester.
Once they reached a certain point, Silvic broke away from the party, weaving into a pavilion overflowing with plants. Her presence disappeared into the well-maintained gardens in seconds, and none of their party betrayed that she had even left by giving a reaction. Just after, they reached the central square of the palace, where the path branched to the east and west, or continued north straight to the gargantuan main palace.
The Waxknights halted. Orion looked back and nodded to Argrave.
“Don’t forget, Orion. No compromises,” he called out, hoping to ensure things would go well.
“I will defeat the enemy,” he agreed, then turned towards the main palace, rushing upwards towards the stairs.
The Waxknights turned east and rushed just as Orion did. Argrave and Galamon moved towards some of the buildings arrayed against the wall, while Anneliese and Durran followed after the Waxknights.
“Be careful,” Anneliese whispered to Argrave before she left.
“Don’t worry. I like living,” Argrave returned. “I’d like you to live more. Be more careful than you want me to be,” he called as she left.
Like that, they parted, her white hair shrouded as she pulled up the hood of her duster to better protect from stray assaults.
Their strategy hinged on two principles—the first was that they would need to defeat the two powerful enemies as quickly as possible so as to avoid being attacked by two opponents far beyond them. The second principle would be to use the chaos caused by undermining the enemy’s strategy to dismantle them.
Argrave felt confident their plan was the best they had. He’d taken everything he could into consideration, especially the personalities of the bard and jongleur. He wasn’t confident in success, though, and being separated from two of his companions made him more nervous than he cared to admit. He channeled Galamon’s steadfastness, moving into one of the buildings of the palace with the elven vampire just beside him.
They walked into a simple, two-story building. At once, the place was filled with rancorous HOOS, and the gibbons that had plagued them during their journey came flooding out of a basement and the second story, swinging atop the rafters towards Galamon and Argrave. The uproar set the whole palace alive just outside.
Argrave conjured a ward with his enchanted ring yet angled it precisely so it stemmed the tide rather than stopping it altogether. With the number of foes lessened for but a moment, Galamon danced past the gibbons’ sticks pulsing with liquid light, dispatching one after another. Argrave conjured [Electric Eels] while his companion did his work, searching for an opening.
They were overwhelmed for but a moment, and Galamon shielded Argrave with his body. He took harsh, bone-breaking blows, but delivering a swing of his greatsword in response so powerful it clove through two foes. After, Argrave split his electric eels into a deadly surge, dispatching near a dozen of the gibbons.
This small assault chipped away much of his magic. He still had enough to do what needed to be done.
“Second floor,” Argrave directed, breathing steady as Galamon finished off the last gibbon. “They should be fighting the bard by now.”
Galamon nodded as he drained blood from one of his flasks, and then the two of them raced up the stairs. One gibbon had waited in ambush, but Galamon slammed his sword’s pommel into its face before it could even swing. After it fell, he stomped on its neck, dispatching it.
There was a large bay window on the second floor, overlooking much of the palace grounds. Specifically, Argrave could see where Anneliese, Durran, and the Waxknights confronted a tide of chimera-esque Sentinels, and the animals of the wetlands that had so plagued them during their journey.
After looked around, he spotted a pink flower on one of the well-maintained hedges. “Silvic is in place,” he concluded. Argrave took a deep breath to steady himself, then said, “Guess we wait for our grand entrance.”
“I’ll make sure you’re safe,” Galamon nodded.
Argrave held his hands out. The B-rank matrix of [Bloodfeud Bow] took form, and a recurve bow of dark blood took shape in his hands. He cast another spell, and his Brumesingers finally came out, stepping up to defend him alongside Galamon.
“Not sure I can be safe,” Argrave concluded, blood dripping from his other hand as the arrow took shape.
