Jackal Among Snakes

In the days to come, the news of Leopold’s election to the position of leader of Relize washed across the coastal city. Argrave’s thoughts of Elenore and their dilemma were washed away like a sandcastle overtaken by the tide. The tide, in this case, was the great deluge of work that Argrave involved himself in.

Three days after Leopold assumed his office, news spread of his support of Argrave as a claimant. Rumors had been whirling and many people were already privy to this information, but it was another thing to have it directly confirmed. The support of the people was not a rancorous uproar, per se… but it was not a rejection. Argrave was liked well enough, largely due to his actions with the vampires here in this city.

The coronation was set to happen in five days after this announcement. It was to be a public ceremony right before the Grand Council’s Assembly. Argrave would make a pledge to the people followed by a pledge to the Grand Council and Leopold. Following that, he had to make hundreds of pledges day by day. After all, he’d promised to make a parliament that represented the interests of the realm, and it needed seats to fill it.

“This Parliament you intend to found is clearly going to be quite the grand institution…” Leopold noted, biting from an apple. “How many seats will there be?”

“Promised a lot. At the very least, it’s going to be… hundreds,” Argrave shook his head, leaning over a blank draft document. “I would just use the three estates as my model, but we’re lacking one of them… and things are quite different here in Berendar in general.” Argrave looked up, seeing Leopold’s confusion. “Ah, the three estates… I travel a lot, you see. It’s a system from elsewhere,” he explained.

Anneliese put one hand on Argrave’s shoulder, looking at the draft herself. “The most influential people are the wealthy, the nobility, and the magic users of the realm. These match up well enough with your three estates, I should think.”

Argrave nodded. “I know. Even still, I don’t want this to be some kind of council that promotes self-interest. We need good people on the seats—people that I can trust to focus on the betterment of the realm.”

Leopold scoffed. “You’d be better off putting dogs on the seats, then. At the very least I can promise that dogs love people. People that love people other than themselves are few and far between.”

Argrave disagreed, straightening his back and gazing at Leopold determinedly. “An assembly’s culture is decided by its composition. If we choose enough good people to take the seats—diligent and dedicated people—they could set the atmosphere of the Parliament for years to come. I’ll take however long it takes to get the right people. And trust me—they exist.”

Leopold grumbled but helped Argrave ably in finding these candidates. Much of their time was spent searching for people to place in prominent positions. In the patrician families, there were only too many people trained in administration and management that were underutilized because of a variety of reasons. He might’ve left the task to Elenore. Something of that nature was her specialty. Nevertheless, asking no favors of her was important for self-reflection. Even still, it cemented the importance of this plan of his going well. He desperately needed Elenore.

Nights were occupied with studying imbuing, learning other B-rank spells with Anneliese’s tutelage, and helping out a certain vampire.

“You pour your fresh blood into this, then you drink,” Argrave explained. “I just need you to do it every night, nothing more. If you do it more often than that, it’ll be… difficult to get you to stop.”

“It makes me feel bestial,” Galamon complained, staring down at the black bowl with runes on its surface. “After I drink of it… I feel stronger, sharper, true… but I feel as though I value life less.”

Argrave scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I’m sorry about that, but maybe take comfort in that it’s the last piece that we need for this ritual. It’s on someone’s person, and this individual wanders. They’re not some bystander, either—they’re a vampire, themselves. Drink your own blood from this bowl, you’ll start to gain an intrinsic knowledge of where this piece is. In essence, you’re imbuing your blood with some of the magic in this bowl,” Argrave shrugged. “That’s the only way we’re to find this next item, the glass eye.”

Galamon sighed, removing his gauntlet and setting it aside. He held his right hand over the bowl and stuck his finger into his wrist, letting blood drain out.

“I’ll, uh… I’ll come back when you’re done,” Argrave inched towards the door.

“You’re not telling me something,” Galamon looked at Argrave. “You’re always a little vague, but you’re avoiding talking about this ritual itself.”

Argrave paused, watching the blood drip from Galamon’s wrist. “You’re not wrong,” he confirmed.

“Just tell me,” Galamon said plainly. “You owe me that much.”

Argrave scratched at his chin, then stepped forward and sat in a chair. “Well… this ritual. When it’s done, you won’t be a vampire. But you won’t be… exactly like you were,” Argrave explained.

“Get to the point,” Galamon pressed.

“You’ll retain certain… beneficial qualities,” Argrave said hesitantly. “Like… regeneration, your senses, your strength…” Argrave held his hands out. “But rest assured—the vampiric ‘beast’ you talk about, the need to drink blood, the inability to consume food: all of that will be gone. You will be elven again. Not normal, but… elven. Trust me on this.”

Galamon closed his eyes and pulled his finger out of his wrist. The wound closed up second by second. He opened his eyes, stared down Argrave, and drank of the black bowl filled with his own blood.

“…we should get back to preparing,” the vampire said, betraying none of his thoughts on the matter.

Ignorant of his companion’s thoughts, Argrave did just as the vampire suggested. Galamon was pivotal in the most important undercurrent to all of their preparations: the realities of war.

Argrave’s suspension of Elenore’s services meant that they wouldn’t have top-notch abilities to sabotage as Argrave had hoped for, at least not until Argrave decided to stop with this charade. It did leave him a fair bit uncomfortable about his plan. He desperately hoped this time apart would help Elenore reflect… otherwise, he’d just be a huge fool.

Leopold and all of the patricians of the Grand Council began the process of marshalling their forces. Melan Wratson, S-rank mage and vampire, escorted the architects contracted by the Grand Council of Relize to the Indanus Divide. They would examine the spot that Argrave had marked to determine whether or not it was truly a viable location for a fortress.

Beyond that… logistics occupied the bulk of their time. Securing food, supplies… fortunately, the patricians had a well-trained and well-equipped retinue, so they did not need to worry about arming their men, only feeding them. Leopold, who had a large hand in the non-patrician merchant class that traded in common items like grain, was more than capable of filling that role. Beyond trading, there were several villages nearby that would eagerly join for protection. Between Relize and these subsidiaries, they occupied most of the Mideast.

The newly-elected leader of Relize issued a mandate requesting a certain number of trained guardsmen from each patrician family. He offered incentives for exceeding this number, as well as the promise of possible advancement in the face of military success. Those who lent high-rank spellcasters to the cause were given something very special—exemption from Council and crown taxes. Argrave lent his name to this mandate to give legitimacy to the promises.

That said, Argrave was very worried about their spellcasters. Melan Wratson was the only S-rank mage in the city. Beyond that, not many high-ranking spellcasters occupied the Mideast. There were thousands of powerful spellcasters in the north—a legacy of the former northern queendom that had been conquered—and more in the south, which had both Jast and the Tower of the Gray Owl. Their spellcasters, in contrast, were sorely lacking.

For now, the only thing they received from the patricians was the promise of support, both in soldiers and spellcasters. But the promise was loud and the numbers significant. Leopold did not seem to doubt the numbers, and so Argrave elected not to, either. Things were shaping up to have a vaguely feudal army structure, wherein each patrician or their representative acted as commander of their own troops. Argrave briefly considered waiving this and establishing a military hierarchy of some kind, but he decided against it when he considered the scope of the task and his lack of military knowledge.

Non-essential trading was halted altogether, and the docks became full of ships preparing for a war rather than a simple voyage. Seeing the changes happen day-by-day was like a weight shackled to Argrave that grew in size without an end in sight. He was telling these men to stop trading, stop living their lives… and die for him. That pressure was enough to break a man, Argrave felt. The only thing that abated that overwhelming pressure even a little was knowing that their death was inevitable if they could not stand up to Gerechtigkeit.

Without Elenore’s help, engaging the fractured state of Atrus was a fruitless effort for now. Ideally, whoever left would engage in battle against Vasquer all on their own. Perhaps Elenore might take a hand a things—Argrave wouldn’t stop her. It was her prerogative. Even still, their plan remained largely unchanged. They’d secure the Indanus Divide, make contact with the south to see if they were amenable to coordination, secure the north, and strike at Vasquer. In rough, oversimplified terms, they’d seize key strongholds piece-by-piece until they made it to Dirracha itself.

In truth, Argrave was surprised Felipe still drew breath. In ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ the king always died relatively quickly. Sometimes Induen was responsible. Sometimes the king got himself killed. Sometimes he died from the plague. The player could even have a hand in things directly. Unintentionally, Argrave had managed to extend the king’s life the longest he’d ever seen it.

But the king remained in Dirracha. If the capital was seized, that would likely spell the end of Vasquer resistance. The nobility would be willing to fall in line, and the south would surely follow the Margrave if Reinhardt decided to accept Argrave’s new position. Even if they didn’t, Argrave could reach out to Castro. He’d planted the seeds there—the Tower Master of the Order of the Gray Owl would likely be investigating Gerechtigkeit. His support alone would lend him unprecedented authority.

Ostensibly, they stood at a position of impending success. Even with the setback of Elenore’s imposed and ongoing self-reflection, Felipe had so desperately lashed out against Levin because he was in dire straits. Levin’s exposure of the king’s misdoings likely cemented the righteousness of the Margrave’s rebellion and swelled his forces with new supporters. Relize was firmly under Leopold’s control.

This position of impending success was generally where things went belly up. Wildcards remained. Orion remained absent, and Argrave did not yet know Levin’s fate. Both of these uncertainties might be remedied by keeping Elenore’s counsel. He couldn’t, though. He had to make sure that she would keep him in the loop. And this method… it was the best that he knew.

Yet Elenore did not reach out. That fact stung at him even when the day of his coronation came.