Argrave had wanted a break. In a way, the week spent at the oasis town of Otraccia became just that.

The normalcy of opening new spell books and delving into them for hours at a time became a welcome respite compared to the unending torture that had occurred at the residence of the Alchemist. He felt like someone who had just recovered from surgery returning to their job—and in a way, that wasn’t too far off.

The Alchemist had said that every function of Argrave’s body would be improved. That statement was entirely true. He could focus for longer without exhausting himself. He functioned better with less sleep. And, moreover, he did basic exercise every morning, and ate plenty of what Galamon suggested. The activity was basic, as mentioned—nonetheless, the improvements felt tangible, especially endurance-wise. It was like he was on the classic diet of chicken, rice, broccoli, and steroids. Hopefully his face wouldn’t swell.

Durran was restless, constantly inquiring about the state in Sethia. He seemed to have difficulty believing that things were going well under Titus, and though Argrave shared that sentiment, he wasn’t near as invested as Durran. Indeed, despite his unease with the development entirely foreign to ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ things did seem to be improved.

Galamon finally got a chance for a break, too. Beyond giving advice to Argrave, he did little as he waited for the changes to his armor. His greatsword was being modified to accommodate southron elf magic, and the original enchantment would remain fully intact.

Though the offer extended to all of his weapons, Galamon claimed enchanting the dagger would be impotent, and the Ebonice axe interfered with the southron elf enchantments. Moreover, he needed to see the axe blade to dispel magic. However, the enchanted arrows Galamon still had were enchanted with southron elf magic. The arrows would not betray their flight path as they moved—trivial, considering most people can’t dodge arrows, but it might come in handy.

Garm’s gift of sight had proven to be much more beneficial than Argrave had initially predicted. Perhaps the High Wizard of the Rose had predicted such a thing. Not only could Argrave see other people’s magic, he could see his own. Watching it manifest from its raw, almost gaseous state within the body to a genuine spell proved invaluable for comprehension. Argrave understood spells of C-rank better, though he heeded Anneliese’s advice and refrained from tackling B-rank quite yet, despite the tremendous increase in advancement lent to him by his Black Blood.

Regarding his new changes…

“You want me to drink your blood?” Durran questioned incredulously.

“Naturally,” Argrave nodded as though it was a normal request, acting deliberately obtuse.

Durran frowned intensely, sizing up Argrave suspiciously. “Don’t you have someone for that? He’s standing right over there,” Durran gestured towards Galamon.

“You got aboard this ship a bit late, so you probably don’t know about the Amaranthine Heart juice. Magic in liquid form is black,” Argrave explained. “When people talk about me being ‘Black Blooded,’ it means that I have magic in my blood stream. Hence, I’m curious if ingesting it would produce the same effect as it did previously.”

This wasn’t something that could be done in ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ and Argrave felt it was long overdue to try out something beyond the game’s purview.

“Can’t you ask your lady friend?” Durran stepped away. “Snuggling, sharing a bed—fluid sharing isn’t such a big step forward. Little bit of blood drinking might be weird, but I’m told some people are into it.”

Argrave laughed and shook his head. “Come on. Don’t be a coward,” he insisted, wagging his finger at Durran.

Durran took a great breath, and then sighed. “Gods above… fine. You got some ready, or…?”

Argrave took off his glove and rolled up his sleeve. “Cast some magic,” he prompted Durran, then pulled out a knife he’d taken from the kitchens.

The tribal looked at Argrave like he was mental, but he did cast a spell. Argrave cut his own arm without much hesitation—after what he’d endured, cutting his arm came quite easily. His blood was indeed much, much darker, yet still decidedly red. Durran drank.

After a time, the tattooed tribal looked a little puzzled. “Yeah… I… felt something bubbling, near my chest. Felt faint, but… present.”

Argrave drank some of his own blood. Indeed, the feeling was present, but it was far diminished. More importantly, it even worked on himself…

“What is this?” Galamon questioned, having arrived before them all but silently.

“Look at this,” Argrave spoke to Durran. “He smelled good food, and he comes rushing over.” Argrave faced Galamon. “Don’t worry your little head. Just testing something.”

The big elven vampire frowned.

After Anneliese and Galamon caught wind of what he was trying, they quickly put an end to it. Argrave assured them he only intended to use it for emergencies, but even that seemed to make them uneasy.

#####

As the days passed by, Durran’s insistence on learning what happened after they left only grew worse. Argrave relented to travelling out with him to get a closer look at Sethia, and his companions accompanied him.

“If you won’t let me go inside, at the very least let me contact Boarmask,” Durran pleaded, one knee in the black sand of the Burnt Desert as the four of them stared near the crater leading into the city of Sethia.

Sethia had changed considerably. The vast amounts of sand burying the place had been removed, cleaning the place up. Aurum, the gold tower, was gone, and Argent was clearly next on the chopping block. The walls of the city had been badly destroyed, but already, patchwork fortifications had been erected to ward away the elements.

“How will you signal Boarmask? Shout loudly?” Argrave shook his head. “It’s been a month. Even if you have some signal system, he’s probably stopped checking for them by now. On the off chance he’s still holding out, we’d still have to wait. I don’t want to risk lingering near Sethia and drawing unwanted attention.”

“Yeah. I got annoyed for waiting on him, too, so we worked out something that’d work quickly,” Durran explained. “Mounted a mirror some ways away. Come on.”

Durran led them around the crater surrounding Sethia, herding them to a small circle of rocks. He picked up a metal mount that had a mirror attached to the end. He wiped the sand-covered mirror down with a cloth, and then positioned the mount. Light shone off the mirror splendidly. After some finagling, the ray of light struck a prism hidden within a bell tower. A rainbow consumed the interior—though obviously noticeable to anyone looking for it, it wasn’t excessively eye-catching.

“Now, we wait elsewhere,” Durran explained, stepping away.

Argrave looked to his other two companions, consulting them. Based on expression alone, none seemed to protest. Anneliese obviously wanted to follow, as a matter of fact.

In the end… I’m curious, too, Argrave decided, then followed Durran without words.

#####

Argrave sat within a small alcove, where ashes evidenced a fire had once been lit. Durran waited impatiently, tapping his wyvern scale boots against the ground.

“Much longer, Durran, I’m going to call things off,” Argrave spoke up. “No time for—”

Galamon grabbed Argrave’s wrist, bringing him to attention. He rose to his feet, hand on his axe, waiting for someone to come.

Argrave could hear the faint sound of metal clanging against metal. Soon enough, a bulky man entered into view, a backpack slung over his shoulders. Boarmask had removed his armor, and the muffled sounds evidenced he’d hid it within his backpack.

“Durran,” the man greeted. Argrave knew his name was Rolf, but few others did. He had straight blonde hair and bright blue eyes—the archetypal appearance of a paladin, and the man’s personality matched up well enough. He was once called the Romantic Warrior—romantic meaning ‘idealistic’ rather than ‘loving.’ He was just, mostly, and devoted to the Vasquer pantheon. There was definitely no romance in either, a fact his story revolved around.

“Didn’t think you’d have—” he paused when he met Argrave’s gaze, obviously surprised.

“You see something you like?” Argrave interrogated. “Don’t worry about my lamps. I’m sure you know high-rank spellcasters can look quite weird.”

Boarmask entered further into the alcove, giving Argrave a wide berth. “I suppose you’d have to be high-ranking to deal with the Lord of Silver as you did. And I’m glad of it. Since you came here with Durran… I suppose you’re allies, at least for now?”

“For…ever, hopefully,” Argrave nodded.

Boarmask paid little heed to the difference between ‘for now’ and ‘forever,’ stepping within and setting down his backpack. The thing clattered noisily. Galamon watched him cautiously, obviously ready to protect Argrave as needed.

“That’s good. Then I’ll start talking. Titus is always well-protected. He keeps some highly-trained bodyguards with him, some of whom have enchantments from Vasquer to better help protect. In addition, most of the guard within the city are—”

“Relax, steel-plated assassin,” Durran interrupted. “Start with the city—how are things for the people?”

Boarmask leaned up against the wall, putting his hands on his knees. “Titus is very good at winning over the people, and that’s all that I’ll say.”

“’All you’ll say?’ Stop with the bullshit, tell me what’s happening,” Durran rose to his feet, stepping up to the unarmored knight. Befitting the pure warrior from ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ Boarmask was larger than Durran—not by much, though.

Boarmask stared at Durran, then shifted on his feet, crossing his arms. “Sorry. Just been a tense month, prowling Sethia alone. Couldn’t wear my armor. Too easily recognizable. Felt unsafe,” he lowered his head wistfully.

“Are you stalling? Get to the point,” demanded Durran.

“Titus had everything ready for the aftermath,” Boarmask said bitterly. “Healers, food, construction supplies… caravans came into the city for near two weeks after the Lords were killed before the neighboring cities heard of what had happened. By that point, Titus had already sequestered enough for the whole of winter.

“He declared you innocent,” Boarmask pointed to Durran, “Instead, he framed other prominent Sethia locals, having them imprisoned and tried. By this point, even though he has no title, Titus is the sole leader of Sethia. The people love him fiercely. He’s been doing his best to establish the city once again, both militarily and economically.” The blonde man rubbed his hands together. “That’s why things will be difficult for us.”

Durran looked troubled. He stepped away to the edge of the alcove, staring out across the sand. “Are we sure Titus didn’t get replaced by someone else? Maybe it’s a different guy with the same name.”

Argrave lowered his head, concealing a small laugh with his hand. Boarmask took him seriously, evidently, for he asked confusedly, “What are you talking about?”

“He’s adept, thoroughly prepared, and he’s not exactly ruining people’s lives,” Durran said slowly.

“But he has no problems ruining the lives of innocent people,” Boarmask refuted incredulously, as though he couldn’t believe what Durran was saying. “The attacks in Sethia—he was the main contributor to all the collateral damage! He framed you and would have had you killed. He’s framed more, since. All of this kindness, it’s a ploy to earn support, and nothing more!”

Durran had no response to that.

“Don’t just stand there,” Boarmask continued, stepping up to Durran and grabbing his shoulder from behind. “The man is a monster. A butcher wearing a king’s mantle.”

Durran jerked his shoulder away, turning around. “And we should do what, throw the city into chaos while raving about justice?!”

Boarmask stared wide-eyed, flabbergasted by the outburst. Argrave glanced around, surveying his party’s opinion. He could practically see it written on their face—both agreed with Durran more than Boarmask.

“And what of the future?” Boarmask pressed. “We allow someone callous to sit on the throne. No matter how benevolent he may be now, when things go awry… a man like that would do anything to retain power!”

“Well, it’s clear his strategy right now is to make sure everybody is taken care of,” Durran said with a droll anger. “Enough supplies for the winter, you said. He’s building an economy, you claim.”

“And a military? What might that be for?”

“When your only neighbors are the Vessels, what else?!” Durran spread his arms out in emphasis.

Boarmask stared at Durran, jaw clenched tight and brows furrowed. “Then what is your plan? I cannot accept you would suggest letting things be. The man tried to kill you.”

Durran closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm down. When he opened them again, they were full of resolve. “I’m not fond of force-feeding people another way of life when they’ve already decided on one. I wanted to lead my people into a new age. As is clear, I’m not good enough to do so,” Durran shook his head. “We gave Sethia a choice. Sethia made that choice. Now… I won’t be involved with this. I won’t cause chaos once again.”

Boarmask stepped away, expression stern. He turned around, obviously stunned, and paced about for a time. “You’re going to simply… give up?” His gaze jumped to the rest of Argrave’s party. “All of you?”

“Killing Titus solves nothing,” Anneliese pointed out quietly. “He is a strong, decisive leader. Without something prepared for the aftermath… all we do is ruin chances of peace in the city. And, from my perspective… Titus does love this land. Truly.”

Anneliese’s words swayed Argrave, and all of his indecision vanished. He nodded in agreement.

Boarmask glanced around the room, his expression slowly losing anger and tension both. He walked to his backpack, then leaned down to pick it up. His gaze settled on Argrave.

“I thought, perhaps, one Vasquer might be worthy of their ancestors,” Boarmask said. “It appears I was wrong.”

Argrave felt great indignance at the claim, but he kept calm. His Brumesingers mirrored his true emotional state, though, growling at the blonde-haired man. Boarmask slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked out quickly, as though he couldn’t wait another second to leave.

Silence hung in the alcove. Argrave took a deep breath and sighed, a whirlwind of emotion and thought disturbing his mind.

He wanted a perfect solution. None existed.

“…I learned what I wanted,” Durran broke the silence. “Now I’m eager to leave.”

“Long journey ahead,” Argrave said distantly. “After we get what we need from the southron elves, it’ll be ten to twelve days, I suspect, since we’ll be avoiding towns. As we planned, we’ll stick to the eastern mountain ranges—they have few water sources, but that’s no problem for spellcasters. Plenty to eat along the way… even if it might be bugs.” Argrave tried not to shudder, the image of a centipede dangling above his tongue. “After… we’ll take a ruined mountain highway, right into the lion’s lap.”

Durran and Galamon looked confused, but Anneliese caught on.