Of all the original protagonists that Argrave had encountered, Dimocles was the one that that had acted most like a player of Heroes of Berendar. His personality was the most well-suited for that role—just like him, players sought to collect things for the sake of collecting them. Artifacts, spells, abilities, companions… the players get more and more, collect the best of the best, and make the numbers go higher and higher until the game ends. That, or until they get bored.
Before coming to the Bloodwoods, Argrave hadn’t thought about Dimocles much. Now that he had been so directly confronted with him, Argrave knew that this person would be extremely troublesome. If a player saw a nice piece of armor on a non-playable character, murder was generally the first thought to come to mind. Such a person would have no issue doing the worst things imaginable to further their need to collect. That was why he was here, serving Erlebnis.
But Argrave had been a player thousands of times before. Even if Anneliese couldn’t read this man-turned-polymorph, Argrave could imagine what was going through his head with ease.
And with the situation as it was… Argrave knew that Dimocles would feel angry and violated. Elenore had raided his safehouse, taken the items that he thought were his, and then Argrave had sent him a mocking note with the fruits of that labor. If Argrave were a player… well, if ever there was a motivation for revenge, this was it. The player was the one who entered random homes and tore everything off the walls, not the other way around.
“Hey, friend!” Argrave called out, walking down the slight decline of loose dirt and heading for Dimocles. “Long time no see.”
Dimocles froze in his furious pattern of pacing, blue-green eyes locked on Argrave. His face grew totally still, then bubbled as it shifted into a neutral expression. Argrave presumed that it would be impossible for Anneliese to read him again, now that he’d composed himself… but then, Argrave hadn’t been counting on her for this encounter. This was his battle.
Argrave revealed the miniature cabinet to spur a reaction, grinning widely. Dimcoles didn’t give him an overt display of emotion. He straightened, adjusting his gray and teal robe before putting his hands behind his back almost politely.
“I’m told that Onychinusa is the reason behind the roots in this forest reverting,” Dimocles responded, acting as though he wasn’t bothered.
“This time is all about you. Let’s catch up,” Argrave threw the cabinet up in the air, catching it again and again. “You see, I gave my sister some very specific directions. They led to a certain villa under the control of a minor lord named Dimocles. But that… it’s just a front, isn’t it? A little bit of deception to hide the real value. And—would you look at this?” He caught the cabinet fiercely, holding it up between two fingers. “Where would I have gotten this?”
Dimocles stared, and behind Anneliese called out, “He’s using his polymorphism to make more hands on his arms, that he might cast more spells quicker.”
Argrave shook his head. “You ought to stop that. I can do a lot more than break off one of this cabinet’s knobs.”
Dimocles held his hands off to the side, and Argrave said the tiny hands formed on the edge of his skin slowly recede. The polymorph said, “You don’t even know what that cabinet does.”
“It’s a collector’s item,” Argrave said coyly. “The workmanship… sublime. And what’s within it…?” Argrave moved his hand to the cabinet, opening it up. Within it… there was everything at once, and nothing at all. It was time. Inky, gelatinous, intangible time.
Argrave bit the tip of his glove, pulling it off to reveal his pale, huge, and still quite bony hand. He had a golden ring bearing his sigil, and pulled it off quite easily. “I’ve been using the enchantment on this ring a fair bit,” he said, placing it inside the cabinet. He shut it, conjuring memories of when it had been fully charged. He made magic hand gestures at the cabinet, but they were pointless. When he opened it again…
“Would you look at that,” Argrave said in faux wonder, pulling out a pristine ring from the cabinet. “It’s fully recharged! And the gold… it’s never been shinier. Gee, what a nifty item. I’m not so certain it can repair itself, though… after all, the knob I sent you is still missing.” Argrave looked at Dimocles as the man breathed heavily. “And if it were crushed… bits of wood won’t do much good to anyone, let alone a collector.”
This simple cabinet was really quite arcane. It had one very simple but very potent function… and that was restoration. Any item placed within it could be restored to the state the user wished it to be. So long as the user knew what the item had been like in the past, it could be restored. He supposed size was another limiting factor… but not forever.
“Keep it,” Dimocles urged. “It’s too valuable to be broken.”
“In the grand scheme of things, I value people over possessions. And you… you made a lot of veiled threats about the things I value very much,” Argrave said, voice carrying a stable fury. “I’m returning the favor. That anger you’re feeling… I’ve felt it tenfold. My blood can burn a lot hotter than yours, I’m afraid. I think you’re seeing that.”
Argrave hid the cabinet in his duster pocket, and then bent down to retrieve a fallen branch. He clenched it tight in his hand, and it crumbled to bits in his hand with the strength offered by the armor’s enchantments.
“I’m going to give you one chance to get back everything you’ve got, Dimocles. You’re going to tell me about any emissaries waiting in the centaur’s cave. You’re going to give me exact locations. If you do that… you’re halfway there.”
Dimocles stood there silently for a time, looking off to the side as he thought. “…there’s one at the altar down there. Another is watching the centaurs in the ice lake on a cave at the side.”
“Any more?” Argrave pressed.
“No,” Dimocles answered.
Argrave looked back, giving a nod. Merata slowly stepped out of the redwood tree he’d shrouded himself in, his great steps rocking the earth. Dimocles stepped away in surprise, breaking the neutral expression on his face even as the elven god slammed his crook into the ground. Merata’s powers scoured the earth, searching for the living and dispatching them with efficiency. When alone, and with the element of surprise, an elven god’s power would surely be a match for them.
“He did not lie,” Merata confirmed after a long time. “I’ve taken care of the two. In droves, they were difficult, but…”
“Alright,” Argrave smiled pleasantly. “Now, Dimocles… now, you’re going to head to Kirel Qircassia’s breach. You’re going to use the Blessing of Supersession very overtly, and you’re going to make as much noise as you can. Make sure that Kirel Qircassia knows that you’re blessed by Erlebnis. And make sure your hits hurt.”
“Are you kidding—” Dimocles began, stepping forward.
Argrave pulled out the cabinet, his face stone, and held it tightly in his clenched fist. Dimocles stopped talking, his polymorphism failing to hide his anger whatsoever.
“I can enact my threats, Dimocles,” Argrave shook his head.
“But so can Erlebnis,” the polymorph said with a dark tone. “And he has more than only me in Vasquer. With things as they are… you’ve chosen a side. Even if you force my hand here, you’ve made a choice.”
“Vasquer will accept no gods or masters,” Argrave said with a wide grin. “Now, are you going, Dimocles?”
“My things. How will I—”
“You’ll get them when the time comes,” Argrave shook his head. “I think I’ve demonstrated something. I can be just as knowledgeable as Erlebnis… but I don’t have the same limitations he does. Maybe that’s something for you to keep in mind for the future.”
Dimocles adjusted his robe… and then walked off into the forest, heading in the direction of the breach.
“Hold on,” Argrave called out, causing Dimocles to stop. “Nikoletta made a delivery while you so kindly escorted her. And when they arrived at Blackgard… they were a little short. I think you still have something of mine, Dimocles. A certain fruit.”
The man met him with a cold glare, and then slowly reached into his robe. He pulled out the berry from the elven realm, holding it close in hand. Then, he tossed it at Argrave, who caught it gently. With the man embarrassed, Argrave gestured with his head for the polymorph to leave. And so Dimocles went… though he was not soon to forget.
#####
“Will that work?” Anneliese asked Argrave in concern.
“Almost definitely,” Argrave nodded. “Dimocles will use Erlebnis’ Blessing of Supersession to fight against Kirel Qircassia… and that’ll be the final straw for their alliance. I’m almost entirely confident that’s our end result.” He turned to look at her. “If we’re lucky, he’ll die.”
“Are we lucky?” Anneliese asked him with such seriousness Argrave couldn’t help but laugh.
“No… no, I don’t think so,” Argrave shook his head.
Behind them, the patriarch of the elven gods, Ghan, staggered into view. He was supported by his wife Ujin and his daughter Gunlik.
“We’re all here,” Merata said, watching Argrave from on high. “The remainder… we place on your shoulders.”
“Are you certain this will work?” Ujin looked down at Argrave.
“Honestly? It’s an educated guess. Sarikiz will be forcibly awoken when Gerechtigkeit makes the gap between realms very thin. I suspect this is due to her noticing other gods. Thus, if you four come, even if only partially… she has to wake up,” Argrave nodded.
Ujin looked at Ghan for approval, and the injured deity nodded. “It’s done. Decided.”
Merata stepped closer to Argrave, planting his crook down. The wood cracked and groaned as it shrunk in size, and before long it was large enough for Argrave to grab. Even his meager human senses felt that there was something powerful about this hooked staff. Next, Gunlik offered his bow, and it shrunk down in turn. Ujin held her hands out, and her nails turned into liquid glass that flowed into a bottle. Ghan raised his hand up, and lightning struck inside the bottle before the glass sealed it shut.
With a crook, a bow with a flaming bowstring, and literal lightning in a bottle… Argrave’s only task now was to head back to where Sarikiz waited. Though he felt a little exposed with Orion’s absence, Anneliese walked with him in every step.
####
Argrave and Anneliese solemnly marched in silent despair through this land of grassland frozen in time. With illusion magic, and with a party of two, travelling through the centaur’s cavern was not difficult. She held the flaming bow, while he held the crook and the bottled lightning. Ahead of them, Sarikiz slept ever so soundly. Now, with the tools that might wake in her hand, the advance was not so carefree. What slept might indeed awaken at any moment.
But step after step came, and the Holy Mother of the centaurs did not rouse. The both of them came to stand near her feet, where the only sounds that dominated was her distant breathing. Anneliese waited for his signal, and he gave it—a slight nod.
Argrave planted the crook down into the earth as Anneliese stabbed the bow just with him. With those two there, Argrave gently set the bottled lightning down between them. A few seconds passed… and then they came alive.
The crook seemed to blossom with plants, curling and writhing outwards until they took the shape of a man holding the crook. Then, Merata was there, far smaller than Argrave at present. The bow caught aflame, and the fires grew higher until Gunlik appeared to seize his bow. The lightning in the bottle grew more agitated until the glass shattered loudly, and then both Ghan and Ujin manifested. They were a family of blonde hair and red eyes, as small as Argrave before Sarikiz.
Argrave stepped away from them, fearing what was to come. Ghan stepped forward and said quietly, “Sara.”
Argrave felt a gust of wind blow across his cheek, and his eyes were drawn to the side. There, a pig that had been midstride ran down the grasslands, its time resumed. Pleasant winds disturbed the grass as far as the eye could see. And ahead…
Sarikiz, the Holy Mother, leaned up as though awoken by an alarm. Her golden dreads splayed out across her white dress like gold threads on the fabric. Her eyes opened wide, white and divine… and she saw them.
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