/n/jackal-among-snakes-1520/c-661
chapter-660

“The end is nigh, ladies and gentlemen!”

Stain tried his best to push through the crowd to get a better look at things as the man on the platform spoke passionately and feverishly. There could be no doubting that he believed every word he said. And from the look of it, Stain was the sole nonbeliever in their midst. He was taking another form by employing a shapeshifting blessing bestowed by Rook, the god of deception and subterfuge.

“Judgment is coming upon us!” The man held his arms wide as he pranced about the stage, and Stain could just barely make out his features—pearly white, almost immaculate. “If you judge the world of today to the world of yesteryear, you’d have to be an invalid to say there’s a comparison. Can you truly face your ancestors and say that our people possess the same mettle they did to overcome this crisis? I look back, and I say firmly ‘no!’

“We judge a land by its leaders. The man we would call king is the youngest child, in contradiction to all ancient traditions. He rules while his elder brother yet lives, and throws him at his enemies like a hound trained to hunt,” the pale-skinned man spat as he moved about the stage wildly, squatting and leaning down to speak to his enraptured audience. “He claimed the throne by force—but not his own, oh no.” The man spread his arms out grandly.

“The bastard Argrave, born of a shameful incestuous union between the king and his niece, is naturally predisposed to malevolence. Worse yet, his soul vanished, to be replaced by another from a different world—a crueler world, divested of the common virtues all of us share. This new life surrendered his soul to all manner of vile powers. He contracted himself with evil gods like Erlebnis, barbarian elves from both the north and the far east, the monstrous cannibals of the Burnt Desert, and just of late… the squat people in the distant empire known as the Great Chu.”

The passionate speaker fell to his knees and whispered tensely, “Is it normal, I ask you, for our enemies to be left to wander freely through our borders? Is it normal for us to forsake our pantheon so freely? Is it normal, I ask you, for our king to cavort with necromantic magics powerful enough that the heroes of old are brought back from the dead, and propped up like monuments to support his claim?”

Stain contacted Elenore covertly, informing her, “I’ve checked the crowd and marked any threats. Ready whenever.”

The speaker punched the wooden stage he kneeled across. “It’s wrong! It’s wrong, all of it!” He shouted with moving intensity. “The Kinslaying Serpent may play the egalitarian, giving more power to mayors, and nobility, and spellcasters… yet this so-called parliament is packed with sycophants who would drink his sweat if he demanded it. His maniacal sister, who earned the just punishment of dismemberment and blindness, sits atop this council, weaving all these parties in her spider’s silk. Our leadership, dear people, is inadequate. When judgment comes… we will be found wanting,” he whispered gravely.

Then, in an explosion of power, he leapt to his feet. “But even if our leaders are weak, we are still ourselves, undebased by the malevolent powers the Kinslaying Serpent would welcome into our homeland.” A fanatic glint settled into his eyes. “Before we, too, are corrupted… made a slave to the powers wracking the world… we must follow our distant ancestors, rejoining them in the afterlife.”

“Mothers!” The man shouted, pointing throughout the crowd. “Though it may pain you, you must throw your children from the highest perch, and follow them shortly thereafter. Dash the heads of your infants upon the stone. If you feel you must atone for this act, set yourself aflame. Let your pain be your bulwark as you take solace in the fact that your soul, and those of your children, will be liberated.”

“Fathers, like myself!” He continued, pulling out a blade. Stain stirred—he’d anticipated more time. “Allow me to demonstrate!” The man plunged his blade into his gut without so much as a scream. “Pierce yourself, firmly. Let the blood drain down, staining the earth. Take comfort in knowing that you still bleed red… for in time, all of our viscera shall be black and corrupted, just as the king’s.

“And if you lack the spirit to extinguish yourself…” the speaker fell to one knee. “Fight. Fight against our tyrant, to the very last man. Break your nails upon their armor, and smash your bones against their cruel whips. Hunt down those that bear rings—the mark of the Kinslaying Serpent’s taint. Kill them all. Eat their children. Make them—”

All at once, the closed venue erupted open. Argrave’s soldiers stormed in, subduing people in an efficient, pre-planned manner. The few casters that Stain had identified were subdued with Ebonice before they could get out so much as a single spell.

Meanwhile, the ringleader shouted, “The devils come! Purge yourself! This is your last chance to be free! They will not allow us the peace of death!”

He pulled free the blade from his stomach, bleeding copiously as two soldiers climbed the stage to subdue him. By the time they’d neared him, he’d already plunged it again—not his stomach, this time, but his eye. The soldiers caught his arm, dislocating it and forcing him to the floor as the other healed his wound with magic. Stain could only grimace as this whole place was quickly subjugated.

“Good work, Stain,” Elenore finally spoke in his head. “Argrave wants to hear from you in person.”