Jackal Among Snakes

After cementing some details with Sataistador, Argrave walked away from the conversation with the feeling of a pyrrhic victory. The brighter side of things was that Sataistador was not intending to rampage wantonly to distract and attrit the armies of the Great Chu. That would limit the damage done to their populace. The pyrrhic part of the victory was that Argrave saw that he did need to play into Sataistador’s plans, even if only somewhat, if he wished to dislodge the Qircassian Coalition and Erlebnis around the heart of the Chu empire.

But the navy was only just disembarking, and it would take some time before they even neared Berendar. During that time, Argrave had several things to attend to. The first of his two urgent matters was receiving the delegates of the Blackgard Union’s deity allies. They waited within Hause’s temple, being entertained by the goddess of potential as they waited for Argrave’s grant of access to proselytize or build temples where they wished.

After delivering details of his conversation with Sataistador to Elenore, and ensuring that stricter watch would be kept for his approach, Argrave returned to Blackgard using [Worldstrider]. Once there, he immediately headed to Hause’s temple to receive the deity’s envoys.

Though most of the delegates were unremarkable, they brought with them a rich tapestry of foreign cultures. These people came from the further continents, and some of them even came from Great Chu itself. They had a wide range of ethnicities, mannerisms, and clothing. Their only unity was language—a perplexing thing, and one that made Argrave question this world and its creation more and more with every passing day.

Argrave fulfilled promises that he had made. Rook, god of deception and subterfuge, was given a few artifacts from their heist as had been promised. But Argrave was not giving without receiving. These people were mortals, and in their journey brought mortal gifts. Spices, delicacies, works of art—if they were so liberal with gifts, he felt this was the start of a very fruitful relationship. They informed him that, in time, more religious kinds would come to spread word of their god throughout the land. Argrave gave them permission.

But Argrave said that most of the delegates were unremarkable. The one that was truly quite remarkable was the delegate of Raccomen, god of space. Though garbed in a purple silk robe and standing on two legs, his giant reptilian face that was sharp and angular rather like a shark’s assured any onlookers that he was not human. He was one of Raccomen’s divine servants. Even Argrave did not know what they were called—the god of space had been one of the gods positioned far away from the conflict, and so never appeared in Heroes of Berendar.

As Argrave looked upon this delegate, he was somewhat overwhelmed by the mass of magic exuding from his being. He was easily on the level of Rowe or Castro, despite not being of this realm. His shoulders were as broad as he was tall—namely, about seven feet. Argrave could tell that much of it was fat, but he could not deny that this thing would undoubtedly have a certain physical strength to it.

The remainder of the other deity’s delegates had departed with their promises met and their greetings given. Only Raccomen’s promise remained unfulfilled—indeed, it felt like his delegate was biding his time to even mention the matter. The god of space had been promised an empty stretch of land to the southwest of the Tower of the Gray Owl. The land was a wide-open steppe, both largely inarable and uninhabited, with some nearby mountains packaged into the deal. Raccomen intended to base himself there.

“I’m afraid I never caught a name, back when Hause introduced you,” Argrave said cordially, ready to begin the process now that all others had departed.

“I am Architect Merovin, Architect being my title.” The large lizardman put his hand to his chest. Though Argrave heard his words, his mouth never moved. His voice came from something else—something mystical, perhaps. “If it does not displease you, I must head to the allotted land right away. The power my lord has bestowed upon me is volatile, and I have already waited for some days.”

“Of course,” Argrave nodded his head. “At once, then.”

Brick by brick, Merovin pulled apart his body to construct an archway. In time it became indistinguishable where he began and this structure ended. It rose further as he used his flesh as brick and his blood as mortar. The most terrifying part of it all was that it wasn’t terrifying—rather, it looked supremely artistic and beautiful, even elegant, as the man that Argrave had been speaking to made himself into a building. The archway was gray stone and gothic, seeming to fit perfectly into all other architecture in Vasquer. Argrave wished to approach, but dared not given Merovin’s warning.

After a fascinating time, only one of Merovin’s fingers remained at the top of the archway. It bent, then planted the tip against a flat plaque atop the archway. His finger disintegrated, leaving blood behind as he wrote his name: Merovin. With this last flourish the structure inherited his name, the blood subsumed with the stone, and a portal expanded outward, claiming a perfect circle around itself. Argrave could tell something within that boundary changed. It was now acclimated to the god of space.

But it was within the archway where true and obvious change occurred. Argrave could see countless paths, all occupying the same place yet not simultaneously. All of these paths led to Raccomen’s realm, where endless and empty space stretched out. After a few seconds, someone walked out of the archway, appearing from nowhere. Argrave remained rooted as they walked to him. The new arrival was another lizardman.

“…Merovin?” Argrave asked cautiously. They looked nothing alike, but…

“I can claim no such name,” responded the lizardman, stepping outside the spatial boundary. “This land, henceforth, will be named Merovin. As one of the Lord’s Architects, he exists in this space absolutely as its planner and partial governor. That archway is connected to the Lord’s realms. Inside, other gateways will take us to the other gods’ realms. Through them, we can better fulfill our promises of aid.” The lizardman looked at Argrave. “The Lord gives his thanks. We shall make good use of this land, King Argrave, rest assured.”

Argrave looked upon the archway—this new land named Merovin—with some caution. This place had become a connector between Vasquer and all of the other entities within the Blackgard Union. He couldn’t tell if this would have less-than-benign implications in the future, but the time for protest had long ago passed. He had welcomed the gods to his lands.

As Argrave’s puny brain ran on its hamster wheel, Elenore’s thoughts pierced his head. “Argrave. I have two important bits of information. The first—the initial wave of dwarven craftsman have made their way to the surface. I’m going to begin the process of bringing them over to Vysenn, even if they’re… well, they’re acting rather like tourists. Now that they’re here, we’ll begin supplying the dwarven nation with spirits to help them forge their metal.”

Argrave asked forgiveness from Raccomen’s Architect and stepped away to speak in private. Once he had privacy, he asked, “Is their number sufficient?”

“More than sufficient,” Elenore confirmed. “Another thing. I’ve been… talking with Anneliese. It’s about Rowe, about Dras, about… well, about everything related to Veiden. It’s such big news I don’t think we should speak of it in this fashion.”

“Alright…” Argrave agreed cautiously. “I’ll be over as soon as possible.”

“Please,” said Elenore thankfully. “Argrave, this war… I don’t think it’ll be like any others we’ve endured.”

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