Snakes

## Part I

Firestone was beginning to despise central for sending him off to Anauroch for so long. There wasn’t exactly much to write home about in the desert. He hated sand, first and foremost. It’s rough, gritty, and getting it in your eyes was simply the *worst*. But if there’s one thing he hated more than sand, it’s snakes.

Now he’s found himself investigating hokey death cults in a province full of both.

At least he didn’t have to deal with this alone, for central had also supplied the man with help in the form of Lavinia: a tagalong wizard who succeeded him in rank but not in field experience. This infuriated Firestone, even if he never really brought it up. He’s been active for a year now, but she’s put in less work and achieved even more than he did? *Hardly sounds fair.*

He didn’t think too much of Lavinia at first. All the other agents spoke highly of her, hailing her as one of the more competent agents in central… but when Firestone first met her, he almost wanted to laugh. In all his twenty-four years of life, he’d never met someone quite as small and bookish as Lavinia, and the fact that the two first met at a *library* was the cherry on the top. In their first encounter, Firestone noticed Lavinia borrowing books about art history. *Who even does that?* She was overly polite, constantly minding her words and doing her best not to attract too much attention, and she simply did not get jokes. Firestone wasn’t the funniest man to begin with, but Lavinia was something else entirely. Although he’s grateful central sent him help to begin with, a part of him wished he was deployed with someone a little less harmless.

Firestone soon learned that he might have gotten more than he’d bargained for.

Five minutes ago, the duo were traversing abandoned desert ruins in the overworld to find leads on a Category III — a potential threat, but not exactly world-ending. In this case, they were trailing a cult. Now, the two have found themselves getting ambushed just outside the ruin outskirts by the very same cultists they were sent to investigate. *Not as abandoned as I’d hoped*, he thought to himself. He’s always had the worst luck with just about everything, and missions were no exception. Lavinia didn’t appear fazed in the slightest, but the same couldn’t be said for Firestone.

The Night Parade, these cultists called themselves, and they’ve been running amok for years now. His superiors had only told him that they were a Category III dedicated to an ancient serpentine deity... and that they were highly dangerous, but that was sort of a given. Danger, he could handle; cultists, he was more than familiar with. What he didn’t expect, however, was for his quarry’s heads to split open and for tangled masses of writhing snakes to sprout from where their faces used to be.

What didn’t help was the fact that there were three cultists, all very much hostile and gaining on their position. *So that’s... eighteen snakes?* The cultists knew magic too, as if that ghastly display only seconds ago wasn’t enough. Today wasn’t his day, Firestone knew that much.

“Snakes… it had to be snakes.”

“I’m afraid you’ll just have to get over it, Mr. Firestone. There’ll be nothing but snakes for miles.”

A growling bolt of blue eldritch energy comes flying from the palms of one of the cultists, hurtling towards Firestone, who narrowly escapes the blast by leaping towards an old and broken pillar. As the bolt impacts the ground where he once stood, a resounding shockwave sends sand and gravel skyward as they scatter across the desert. *Shit*. He’d been separated from Lavinia. The man shuts his eyes, clutching his rifle tight as he presses himself against the safe, stony surface of the pillar. Now he’s starting to sweat. Firestone turns to check in on his companion and finds that she’d managed to shield herself with a projected barrier of sorts — beams of magic splitting and bouncing away from her. Curiously enough, her attention seemed to be on him as well.

“Would it help if I made the cultists look like something else?” she called out, her voice strained as she struggled to maintain her shield. A strange question. *Could she just do that?* She wouldn’t have asked if she couldn’t, and Firestone was fairly certain she’s never told a joke in her life. He nodded and shot her a thumbs up, making sure to exaggerate his movements so she’d have a simpler time reading his body language.

With a flash, accompanied by the crisp sound of arcane glass shattering, Lavinia’s barrier falls apart which prompts her to perform a series of swift, complicated hand motions. “Now!”, she shouts, and Firestone begrudgingly bursts out of cover with his rifle at the ready. As he swivels to face the cultists once more, well-expecting them to be as painful to look at as ever, he’s met with a view that defied his expectations entirely.

*Hey now*, he thought. *That’s a bit much*.

In lieu of the grotesque serpentine cultists were figments and apparitions — all of which looked like a man once knew; a man he had a great deal of history with; a man he wanted very dead. The snake-men by themselves might have been too much for Firestone... but this? This, he could work with. It didn’t take long for him to get to work, focusing on holding his breath to steady his aim.

Firestone didn’t know what Lavinia did to him or his eyesight, but he’s never been the sort of guy to look a gift horse in the mouth. The man trained his eyes on his targets, lining up his shots as he readied himself to pick them off one by one. The first to go was a sword-wielding fool who’d made the fatal mistake of rushing towards a mage and a marksman without cover. There wasn’t much of a struggle as lead met flesh, chunks of red splintering in all directions as their once-hostile frame collapsed to the ground with a sloshing noise. *That’s one less to worry about*.

The smell of gunpowder filled the air — a strong, sick, sulfuric smell that Firestone had grown to love. Smoke billowed out the barrel of his gun, piping hot, but he couldn’t afford to let his gun rest just yet. He took aim once more, snapping to fire at the caster who’d hurled destructive magic at Lavinia and himself only seconds ago. He had to be fast, for his quarry was already charging up a counter-attack. Without a second wasted, he pulled the trigger.

***Click.***

*Oh, that doesn’t sound good.*

## Part II

Firestone’s rifle misfired at a most inopportune moment; a fatal mistake. There wasn’t even enough time for the man to let out one final cuss as a lance of eldritch force burst through his chest, sending him flying and falling to the ground with the brutal thud — his blood painting the desert floor cherry red, splattering about with every move he made. His ears were still ringing from the impact. From his groundbound position, he could make out his foes approaching in the distance, their darkened frames outlined by the setting sun behind them. Firestone hacked violently as he willed himself to rise, globules of red dribbling from his mouth. The cultists were getting closer.

Suddenly, one of the cultists collapses to the ground, and then the other. *What?* Firestone wasn’t quite sure if that was it. The realization dawns on him. The cultists didn’t fall. People don’t just hit the ground like that. They were *crushed*. Crushed by something invisible. Something strong. Firestone didn’t get the chance to see what happened, but he felt the very air around them begin to vibrate for a split-second before falling still once more.

He turned to look at Lavinia, wondering if she’d seen or felt what just happened… but the second he got a glimpse of his companion, he knew that something was amiss. His eyes widened at the realization, his heart beginning to race as she staggers back, recovering from casting a spell judging by her stance.

*What are you?*

Lavinia turned around, taking a deep breath as she made her way towards him with a neutral expression. She looked completely unbothered. Unfazed. How? Firestone’s encountered petty mages and cultists with arcane inclinations in the past. But this? This was something else. Suffice to say, he’s glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of that magic... if that even was magic. As she approached, he did his best to snap himself out of his fear-induced trance and offered her a forced, friendly smile.

“Are you alright, Mr. Firestone? Can you stand? Mr. Firestone?” She knelt, getting low to examine his wounds, offering him a hand to steady himself all the while. Her expression darkened with each second she spent investigating the severity of his injuries, shaking her head disapprovingly. Firestone felt tension in the air, and if there’s one thing that never fails to rile him up, it’s tension: that unmistakable feeling of barbed chain squeezing at his heart.

“Couldn't you have done that trick of yours a little sooner?” He quipped.

“Now’s not the time for jokes. You’re hurt.”

“I’ve dealt with worse.”

“This is easily the worst you’ve been dealt.”

“Oh cripes, Lavinia. Lighten up, will y-”

“Falx, that’s enough!”

There was silence.

Firestone stared at her dumbfounded, her words cutting into him like a hot knife through butter. He hated hearing his first name coming out of other people’s mouths — *especially* hers. He didn’t really know how to respond to a situation like this. So he didn’t.

Instead, he just sat there and watched as he brought out a medical kit to try and patch him up. He’d do it himself, but he wasn’t really in any position to do so at the present moment. Firestone turned to look at the bodies of the cultists Lavinia had completely and utterly demolished. It was as he thought: what brought them down was a wave of sheer destructive energy — not exactly elemental, for there wasn’t that strange and telltale charge in the air that came with standard-issue chromatic magic. There wasn't that telltale humming either, or the sound of magic getting burned up. He wished he’d paid more attention to his superiors whenever they talked to him about matters of the arcana, for he wasn’t too keen on asking Lavinia about her magic outright.

By the time she’d finished patching up his wounds, the silence between the two had become disgustingly profound. Firestone had no intention of breaking it. He’s caused enough trouble already, and angering an already-agitated pseudo-wizard sounded like a terrible idea. That’s why he was shocked when she helped him up with a guilt-ridden expression on her face. *Never a good sign when that happens.*

“I’m sorry, Mr. Firestone. That was highly unprofessional of me.” She bowed her head low before her eyes met his once again. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

Firestone had to act fast, and he played it cool so the weird magic lady didn't demolish him.

“What? No, no. It’s… it’s fine. And for crying out loud, don’t call me mister. That’s not my name.” He gave her a quick, playful shove — one with a tad too much force in it. She didn't react well initially, looking upset for a split-second before rolling her eyes. A coy smile formed upon her face, even if she did sound impatient.

“Are you done? We’ve still got quite a ways to go.”

“I don’t think those cultists are going anywhere. Look, we’ve come this far. Why don’t we take a quick break… you know, weigh our options, sleep on it.”

“And you’re certain you’re not just buying time to avoid trouble?”

“No… no, that’s exactly what I was hoping to do.”