Orion laid his gaze upon towering gray walls. He was no stranger to such sights—be they in Mateth or in Dirracha, he had seen walls standing near hundreds of feet tall, enclosing all that within and protecting it in the same turn. But this was not Vasquer, and yet these gray walls stood like giants in this endless black desert, nestled at the bottom of a crater. He had always been proud of his people’s feats. He did not expect to see their equal in this unforgiving, if beautiful, desert.

The prince stepped closer. Orion had gone south, south, and south again, running into village and town and city in equal turns. All rejected him, yet at all stops he received yet more tales of this land of Sethia—a place that was free of the burden of the leadership of the Vessels of Fellhorn. All was as Durran described, even the great curtain walls before him.

When he neared, he spotted a caravan of a strange people lingering outside the gate. The gate guards, though nearby, did not seem to bristle at these people’s presence. Their skin was as black as night, their ears were half the side of their head, their height was greater than that of man, and their guardsmen had a familiar looking weapon in hand. They wore strange and luxurious silken clothing.

Orion walked to them with slow, heavy steps, an innocent curiosity driving him forward. As he neared, their heads turned towards him, watching, waiting. They prepared themselves for anything, yet as he neared, one broke off.

“Argrave?” one asked, half in disbelief.

Orion paused, standing before the southron elves of the Burnt Desert.

#####

“Your brother was a savior to us all,” said Corentin. He was a one-legged, one-eyed veteran, and he kindly handed the prince a cup billowing steam.

Orion accepted the cup from the southron elf, turning towards the fire. They encamped within a small, secluded alcove on the edge of the city Sethia.

“Why do we camp away from the city?” Orion questioned. “Are your people barred from entering?”

“No,” Corentin answered, walking with a limp on account of his missing leg. He used his glaive like a walking stick as he moved around the various others sitting around the fire. “No, we can enter. But all that most know of Argrave is that he was black-haired and gray-eyed. You might be mistaken for him.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Orion looked down at the cup, taking a drink. It was a tea of some sort—a strong, fruity flavor that left a strange tingling on his tongue.

Corentin paused his walk. He ground the bottom of his glaive against the sand, then tossed it aside, awkwardly moving to sit. He splayed his iron peg leg out before him, sighing as he sat.

“Argrave saved the city. But a lot of people were too blind to see it. Misled by someone named Titus,” Corentin shook his head. “But… even still, it all turned out alright in the end.”

“Argrave killed the Lords of this land—that’s what I know,” Orion said, half-questioning.

“Aye. He killed the Lord of Silver, a hand of a god,” Corentin said, somewhat proudly. “The Lord of Copper was slain by my people, and the Lord of Gold was slain by the Lord of Copper.”

Orion frowned—a lot of similar-sounding names came at him at once. “And these people—they were tyrants? They were cruel to their own?”

Corentin nodded. “Unimaginably so. They could Drain people—that is, absorb their very essence to strengthen themselves. They bore Blessings from their god that made them control water absolutely. Beyond that, they kept slaves, breeding them for desirable appearances.” A nearby southron elf handed the old warrior a cup of his own tea, and he drank from it. “But all that’s done now. The slaves to Copper and Silver rejoined the humans at Sethia. We accepted the elven slaves of the Lord of Gold into our tribe… but that’s not been easy.”

Orion nodded and downed the drink that he’d been given. He sat there for a moment, thinking. Slavery was something that was wrong—this he had been taught by the gods. And even by his own reasoning, he would not like to be forced to do something for another; consequently, he should not force another in that manner. Yet…

“Why did Argrave get involved here?” Orion questioned.

“So far as I know, he needed something that belonged to the Lord of Silver,” Corentin said musingly. “He simply needed to create some chaos to obtain it.”

Orion’s grip tightened around the cup. “So this… was a by-product?”

Corentin frowned, burnt eye seeming monstrous in the shadow of the flame. “No. Argrave could have chosen to have us all killed, remained safe by siding with the Lord of Copper. But he infiltrated that man’s tower, subverted him, and liberated this city. Now… you see it prosper. There were three giant towers of precious metal there months ago. They’re gone, now. They’ve been melted, minted into currency. Titus builds up this city day-by-day, preparing for the coming reckoning.”

Orion nodded, somewhat contented by this answer. “But why… why might Argrave be unwelcome, if he truly did all of this?”

“That would be Titus’ fault,” Corentin noted. “It… he framed Argrave and Durran. It was a complicated situation,” the southron elf shook his head. “I cannot bring myself to hate the man, though. Titus treats us elves fairly, promotes our interests in turn with his own. He’s done right by us. Both of our peoples prosper. And his city accepts refugees, builds itself up, promotes expansion…” Corentin sighed. “Much as I hate it, I must overlook what he did.”

“But why? Why did Titus frame Argrave?”

Corentin lowered his cup and set it down. “I could tell you what I saw. I was there when it happened. But… there’s another I know, one who’s been in contact with us. He knew Titus quite well, from what I understand. The man wears the mask of a boar. Perhaps you’d best talk to him.”

#####

Though Argrave felt some urgency as soon as he heard the news that a delegate from Levin’s burgeoning kingdom of Atrus had entered Relize, after a brief discussion with Elenore and Anneliese he decided it would be best for them to remain within the Dandalan estate. After all, even despite the presence of potentially hostile foes, their goal did not change—winning over Leopold.

The head of the family went off to the second story to convene with his ridiculously large family, escorted by the diligent Ansgar. Elenore, meanwhile, sent off Melanie to gather information. Undoubtedly her agents were paying attention, and even if they weren’t, the arrival of such a delegate could not avoid attention. The Dandalans were not opposed to allowing Melanie’s reentry—it was a good sign. Still, Argrave felt sorry for the servants who would have to move aside those two giant marble doors each time.

“I’m thinking this is not good,” Argrave told Elenore.

They had been given a private place to wait inside the mansion. It was a comfortable longue room with little in the way of decoration, but much in the way of comfort. Argrave sunk back into one of two couches placed opposite each other, one foot tapping against the ground anxiously.

“I think you’re wrong,” Elenore shook her head.

Argrave leaned in quickly. “We’re on Levin’s side? I missed the memo,” he spread his arms out. “I think a kingdom has more to offer than we do, balkanized state or no. If Levin is here to bring Relize under Atrus…”

“This was an inevitable confrontation, if a poorly timed stage,” Elenore admitted. “But… if Levin does genuinely intend to remain neutral and renegotiate peace with the victor… we might find that out now. And we might iron out simple terms of alliance. It’s best to seek out that opportunity.”

Argrave sunk back into the couch as she spoke. Truth be told, he didn’t like Levin. Whether in the game or in his present reality, he was someone to be despised. Even still… much the same could be said of Elenore. She had done terrible things. The difference, he felt, was that one could be redeemed. And one had never been needlessly cruel… only pragmatically so.

Levin was closer to Induen in that way. And someone like Induen… Argrave had made his thoughts on the matter rather clear.

“I agree with Elenore on this,” Anneliese said quietly.

Argrave lifted his head up and looked to her. The elven woman had a bitter but resigned look to her.

Pushing his tongue against his cheek, Argrave said slowly, “Alright. If I’m in the minority…” he left his accession unspoken. “Still, I’m not sure how you intend to get words to these delegates. Even if you do, Levin might not even be present.”

“Provided Leopold agrees…” Elenore trailed off.

“I think he will,” Anneliese contributed. “Just judging from the state of him when we parted.”

“If that’s true,” Elenore nodded, “I think we might use Leopold’s connections to speak to this party. These delegates will surely visit patrician families—Leopold might have ties we can use to our advantage. Or, if we’re lucky, the family they seek out will already have some of my people in some positions. It’s not likely. Patrician families have proven difficult for me to get a handle of in the past.”

The door opened, and all turned their head. Melanie entered confidently, glancing around before shutting the door.

“I’ve got a bead on the delegate,” Melanie announced. “They rode by horses, elsewise we might’ve gotten advance notice… they’re currently meeting with the Yiasten family.”

“Gods… I can’t integrate druidic magic fast enough…” Elenore lamented. “Yiasten… as I recall, this is but one branch of the family. Another holds the title of count in the distant north. In Atrus, as I recall. That would mean the delegate likely has Count Edgar Yiasten… he’s a shrewd diplomat, as I hear.”

The door burst open, and Melanie narrowly dodged it with a quick step forward. Ansgar and Leopold stood there. His sixty-year-old son helped him stand—it made quite an awkward scene, seeing as how both looked near the same age.

“The delegates visit Yiasten,” Leopold said with a fire that belied his age. Half out of breath, he fumed, “Those pencil-pricks… turning up their damned nose at all the other patricians… and now, they have yet another thing to brag about at Grand Councils. Well… well, let’s see if they can brag.”

Argrave rose to his feet and opened his mouth to ask a question.

“Don’t ask a stupid question. Yes, I’m on your side. I’ll not see Atrus promote Yiasten to lord over this city, as I’m sure will happen if I do nothing. My children agree, because they’re smart.” Leopold broke off into a cough and waved away Ansgar when he tried to help him. “But damn it… this won’t be easy. Yiasten… gods be damned, Yiasten…”

Argrave straightened. “You can get comfortable, Leopold. Working together, I can say we’ll prove to you we’re competent.”

“Is that why you looked all anxious and were muttering between each other when I burst in?” Leopold coughed a little once more. “Ridiculous… stairs. Why is the council on… second floor,” he said, catching his breath. “Boy… or should I call you king already? There is a huge difference between putting a notion to the Grand Council for voting… and having an active opponent. We’ll be fighting for leadership.”

“And if we can make Yiasten’s primary proponent hinder him?” Anneliese said. “Have a seat, Leopold.”

“Thank you, but there’s something I must do first,” Leopold shook his head. “The Grand Council will convene for this matter. But we… we have two advantages. None know of your presence here,” Leopold pointed to Argrave with his arthritic fingers. “And that leads to our second advantage. We’re going to host the Grand Council. I can pull some strings… and hosting the event, that’s the most important thing.” Leopold took a deep breath. “The host controls the flow of things, after all.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that Atrus has more to offer,” Elenore said. “Don’t be so certain we have an opponent, Leopold. Who knows what Levin wants? He could wish to ensure Relize’s neutrality, win them to his side, or simply stir up the waters…” Elenore leaned back in the couch. “Regardless, everything is an opportunity if examined in the right light.”