“Come on, check it out,” implored Durran, gesturing towards Argrave.

“No, I won’t ‘check it out.’ Where the hell did you get a hand, anyway?” Argrave said incredulously, looking at his companion’s hands. All three of them, that is.

Durran waved the hand, its fingers stiff and floppy. “From the vampires. One of them lost it, and I kept it. Not like they need it anymore—they all burned up beneath the sun.”

“You’re not going to be performing necromancy here,” Argrave said decisively. “Just give it up.”

“Come on,” Durran urged, moving to the trunk in the center of the room. “The manifest said this little bracelet stores souls—that it’s full of them. We have everything we need. I really want to try this out,” the former tribal said, golden eyes veritably glowing. “I’ve learned so much from what Garm wrote.”

Argrave caressed his temple, casting a glance at Anneliese. In light of the morbidity, it was difficult to treat this with any degree of amusement. Finally, he commanded, “Galamon, take the hand, please.”

The elven vampire moved to action. Durran backed away, holding his hand close to his chest—the detached one, that is. Rather than grab at the hand, Galamon grabbed Durran’s wrist and the tribal winced in pain. His grip loosened, and the vampire took it.

“Not in the city,” Argrave pointed at Durran as Galamon hid the hand somewhere. “Once we’re not in a city any longer, I’ll consider it.”

Durran shook his head. “If not now, then not ever. It’ll rot,” he said in lamentation.

“There’ll be more hands, and soon,” Argrave assured. “Felipe’s force might be crippled, the north and south arrayed against him… but the central stretch of the kingdom is still firmly in his hands. Our first priority is that fortification in Indanus Divide. And all of this is assuming that Leopold is indeed elected leader,” Argrave said slowly.

Everyone looked around, offering no response. Despite being in Leopold’s mansion the entire day, no news reached them. The Assembly was ironclad, and no information leaked from the Grand Council. It was impossible to tell how things were going. Of course, Anneliese could keep tabs on the meeting with her Starsparrow… but Argrave asked her not to. He couldn’t influence things—the prospect of knowing what was happening made him deeply uneasy, regardless of whether it was positive or negative. All he wanted was the result.

“So… to summarize…” Argrave warded his thoughts away by shaking his head and walked over to the things they’d been examining. “Durran… you are now the best-equipped out of everyone here.”

“Well…” the man rubbed his head in embarrassment. Perhaps Argrave should be mentally referring to him as ‘their necromancer,’ now. “You still have that crazy blessing. Galamon’s got his axe—don’t have one of those. Maybe I can get one, soon.”

As was to be expected of loot lifted from the necromantic Order of the Rose, much of it pertained to necromancy. There was that bracelet, for one. It was capable of binding impermanent souls within for later use. It kept them safe for a long while—centuries, even, given that it was partially filled even now. Souls stored in that manner lost all of their subtler touches, though, and were incapable of recreating creatures like those in the Low Way.

Maybe Argrave’s soul wouldn’t degrade in that manner if it were kept in that bracelet. He didn’t care to test the theory.

Beyond that, the artifacts contained many useful instruments for necromancers. Much of them could be replicated by spell—soul harvesters, flesh sculpting knives, that sort of thing—but the fact remained that Durran had all he needed to create whatever manner of creature that he wished. That bracelet might be useless for creatures like those in the Low Way, but… others weren’t.

Argrave had little doubt Durran could recreate the Guardians of the Low Way if he had the time, inclination, and the raw materials. Considering they were about to go to war, the raw materials were about to be a rather common thing. Even still…

“Necromancy is hated in Berendar,” Argrave told him. “Most everywhere you go, you won’t be able to make use of it.”

“I think I can be the judge of that,” Durran refuted. “I’ve been reading these books. I know what I can make.”

Argrave nodded, knowing he was right. In the distant future, necromancy was to be an incredibly useful skill, its potency doubled by some of the gods’ blessings. Argrave’s Brumesingers were testament to the strength of necromancy—they provided bodies, shields. The higher body counted necromancy offered was invaluable on its own, even excluding its other practical applications.

“Do you know what’ll happen when the boundaries between our realm and the gods’ realm weakens?” Argrave questioned. “It’s called corruptive magic for a reason. All these Order of the Rose fortresses… their creations lay idle. They guard what they were bid to guard. But Gerechtigkeit will bend their purpose, subvert their creators. And every abomination will come surging up from the depths of the earth, sowing discord by slaughter.” Argrave gestured towards Durran. “The necromantic things you make… you’re still alive, so they won’t be taken from you right away. But you’ll be fighting against that corruption. Knowing that, is this the path you want to take? I’m not trying to dissuade, just… give advice.”

Durran stared back at Argrave, seeming uncertain himself. Then, his eyes hardened, and he nodded decisively. “Be a shame to let Garm’s legacy die with him.”

Argrave looked to Anneliese, raising his brows up as he acknowledged the man had a point. “Alright. Don’t say you didn’t know,” Argrave concluded, deciding to drop the subject and move on. “Besides those things… we got some items for me. Like this nice little bracer that can makes me into a cutter,” Argrave reached down and picked up something silver.

Argrave held a silver bracer. It had dark grooves all along its surface with glass that presently only displayed silver. The thing had a magic formation on the inside. It didn’t fit far up Argrave’s arm because of how thick his wrists had become, but it did fit. He wasn’t comfortable putting it on all the way quite yet.

Its appearance was new, yet even still this bracer was quite familiar to him. It slowly drained HP—or now in reality, Argrave’s blood—until charged. Once charged, any blood magic would draw upon its supply before harming the player. In ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ it had been useless. Far better things could go on your wrist, and the equipment slot had never been justified—players would suffer the HP hit from blood magic gladly. Now, though… casting blood magic without repercussions even once? That was a huge thing. No risk of anemia, no discoordination… they were rare, so he hadn’t hoped to find it. Then again, that qualified for many items—he guess he’d just gotten lucky.

Argrave set the bracer aside. “That bracer, then this.” He raised a pair of ratty gray gloves, slightly worn from centuries of neglect.

These gloves, while not exactly protective, coordinated extremely well with his preferred element—electricity. They were like Galamon’s Giantkillers in a sense, but rather than catching whole spells, they collected a small charge from all lightning spells cast. The effect was like a tiny flame before the two blue infernos that were the Giantkillers they’d collected from the mountains in the Burnt Desert, but it could certainly help Argrave out in a hand-to-hand pinch.

Argrave set the gloves atop the bracer. “For Anneliese…” Argrave knelt and picked up some boots. They were man’s boots, but they fit her—she was quite tall, after all. Argrave was too big to wear them, and Durran ceded them to her.

These boots were for mobility. They had wind enchantments—strong wind enchantments that were quite durable and used the caster’s supply of magic instead of their own. Anneliese had used some magic of that sort in the past, so they probably fit her best in terms of aptitude. Whether moving faster, moving upwards, slowing a descent… these boots could do it all. They were best for thieves that utilized magic like Ruleo, but Anneliese would make stellar use of them, Argrave had no doubt.

Argrave looked at the heavy leathers, feeling glad it was Anneliese who would have them. Anything that kept her a little more able to avoid harm made him happy.

“I look forward to trying them,” Anneliese said honestly.

“I don’t doubt it,” Argrave nodded. “The stuff from Induen’s retinue will take a little longer, according to this manifest… our battle with him depleted them, and they need to be recharged now that they’ve been identified,” Argrave picked up the paper. “Even still, once we have them? You all saw how long Induen held out against us. We’ll upgrade our defensive capabilities massively.”

Argrave prepared to move on to Galamon and his black bowl, taking the thing in his hand.

“Induen held out against you,” Durran corrected him. “Monster that you are. If we’re getting his gear, well… looking forward—”

Durran turned like he’d seen something. Perplexed, Argrave turned too. Just outside of the ward blocking off their conversation, someone stepped through a now-opened door.

Argrave dispelled the ward. “Elenore,” he called out. “Sister,” he said, reminding himself to use that word. “Welcome back!”

“Good afternoon, Argrave,” she greeted. She dressed in black, today.

Argrave gave her a hug—it was starting to feel natural, he found. After, he pulled away and held her thin shoulders. “It’s good to see you again,” he said, smiling.

“I was gone but a short while,” she shook her head dismissively.

“And you returned at a perfect time,” Argrave nodded. “The Grand Council is going to decide how much it likes me and my ancient adoptive grandfather Leopold today,” he said with some swagger. “I am definitely not nervous, not a whit, not a speck…” he finished with sarcastic anxiety, clasping his hands together. “So, your troubles in Atrus… they’re over with?”

Elenore did not smile, saying simply, “The situation in Atrus is being resolved. I am rather confident in its success.”

“Excellent! Let’s—”

“Your agents faced no troubles in Atrus, did they?” Anneliese stated out of the blue. “No one was hunting them.”

Elenore remained quiet, lips pursing as she wandered for an answer. Then, she said, “I never claimed they did.”

“No,” Anneliese shook her head. “As I recall, you said Levin was hostile to you in the palace, implying that was the same in Atrus. But if Atrus was truly a negotiating platform as you thought… Levin would not be hostile to you, would he? And he cannot be hostile. Those delegates would not collaborate if he was,” she continued. “Those delegates that we never met.”

Elenore stepped a little further into the room. “We ought to continue this conversation under ward,” she implored them.

Argrave took a deep breath and exhaled. Anneliese’s conviction came out of left field, but he knew she did not mention things like this she was not certain of. This woman dressed in black that he gazed upon… he felt he was back in the past a few weeks, meeting the Bat for the first time. Nevertheless, he conjured his ward to shield the room once again.