/n/jackal-among-snakes-1520/c-140
chapter-139

Argrave grabbed a silver handle from a shelf, pulling free a black box. It was large, and he was unprepared for the weight—Anneliese put her hand beneath it to stop Argrave from dropping it. They lowered it to the ground together. It was a black cube chest with a silver locking mechanism.

The four of them stood in Argent’s treasury, entirely unopposed. The place was a fitting treasury for the Lord of Silver… but quite disappointing for Argrave. Fine art, silver statues, or sculptures of Lords past might indeed be quite expensive, but Argrave would have preferred enchanted items. In ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ you might be able to sell an expensive painting to a blacksmith—that wouldn’t fly, here.

Instead, Galamon wrenched free gemstones from statues and poured boxes of jewelry into their lockbox. Once the box was full, he moved on to the backpacks, haphazardly tossing valuables in alongside the books and supplies he held. The elven vampire still had a grim air to him—he was far paler than normal, and instead of dour, he seemed enraged. His arm had healed to the elbow already, yet it seemed to be taking much out of the vampire. He drank from his flasks very frequently, draining them one by one.

Argrave knelt down to the chest, lifting it open—Quarrus had not bothered to lock it. There was a silver medallion within atop a pillow of purple silk. It was a strange, primitive looking thing, with strange letters on it. In its center, a woman held a horn up, pouring water from it.

“The inheritance medallion,” Argrave raised his head to look at Anneliese. “With this gone… no more Lords of Silver. No one will ever hold this seat again.”

Anneliese looked at him seriously. “Is that… prudent, taking it?”

“Well… the ancient gods are a bit more vindictive than the others. At the same time, they don’t pay much attention to the mortal world. I think.” Argrave took the medallion. “Destroying it might be problematic. Merely taking it, though…” Argrave weighed the medallion in his hand, then stuffed it into his pocket. “Every bit helps.”

Argrave stood from the box, walking to a corner of the treasury where things remained more on the curio side of things. He opened a few boxes—most of them were worthless things, truly just oddities—but eventually, he saw what he’d been looking for within. He turned the box in question about.

A gray, slightly transparent model heart lay within the plain box. Argrave touched it. The thing was lifelike enough that Argrave would not have been surprised to feel heat, but it was dormant. In the wake of the grim battle not moments ago, he could not muster the excitement he’d been anticipating at obtaining the Wraith’s Heart, the final piece he needed to become Black Blooded.

“Time to go,” Argrave turned around. “Leave the rest of the treasure. Maybe the freed breeder slaves can take…” Argrave trailed off, feeling the words weren’t fitting with Galamon’s presence.

“We should assess things in Sethia, alter our plans accordingly,” Anneliese suggested.

“Getting out is more important than doing some people-watching. Quarrus made a big commotion, both by fighting and dying—might be some of his underlings are sauntering up those stairs. While it’s a fight we can win, I’d rather sidestep it altogether,” Argrave commentated, stepping towards the stairs.

“…what of the albinos?” Anneliese asked quietly. “They saw—"

“Leave them,” Galamon interrupted. “Please. I’ve done enough damage.”

Argrave stared at his vampire companion. He couldn’t recall him ever saying ‘please’ before.

“Galamon… you couldn’t—”

“Walk, Argrave,” he interrupted. He raised his severed arm up—the forearm was already taking shape. “I could’ve done something. I took responsibility for all the pain my hunger causes when I chose not to die all those years ago.”

Argrave could say nothing in response, and so he turned towards the stairs.