Jackal Among Snakes

“Someone is following you,” Galamon informed Argrave as they walked side-by-side out of the gates of Mateth.

“Really?” Argrave asked, surprised. He was tempted to look back, but that might give things away. “I suppose Prince Induen took a greater interest in me than I thought he would.”

“Doubtful. He’s an amateur, and rather young.”

“He?” Argrave repeated, getting a hunch. “Describe him.”

“Tall for a human. Shorter than us. Well-built. Dark red hair. White clothes—expensive, somewhat worn.” Galamon listed off monotonously.

“Damn it,” Argrave complained. “Really? And he’s alone?”

Galamon grunted in confirmation.

“How annoying. Just… scare him away,” Argrave commanded in exasperation. “Like a stray dog. No violence, preferably. I’ll take the time to clean myself off.”

Galamon turned on his heel and walked away without so much as a confirmation. Argrave moved onto the beach in his absence. He conjured some water with simple F-rank magic and cleaned some of the blood off his handkerchief, wiping what spots of red remained on his gear and body and draining them into the ocean. Responding to the blood, something swam up to shore. Argrave backed away warily, but then started smiling.

It was a small school of Irontooth Piranhas. As their name suggested, they were vicious predators. In the game, they appeared whenever the player swam too far from the shore, killing them instantly. They kept the player locked on the continent of Berendar. It was one of the reminders that the game was a game—few and far between in ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ where immersion was a top priority.

But this isn’t a game anymore. I could buy a boat ticket, sail from the continent, leave this nightmare behind. Let the continent fall into disarray. Why is this my problem? Why should I step forward to deal with these things?

Argrave felt a lump in this throat. Almost vomited from seeing my own blood. Almost cried from getting punched. The future holds a lot of that—taking hits and giving them. I talk nonsense about killing druids. I’ve never even killed an animal. I’m no hero. What the hell am I doing?

It was difficult to appreciate how good life was in the 21st century until one was deprived of its basic liberties. Cruelty and tyranny were relics of a bygone era for many people living well in first-world countries. He had a warm bed, cheap food, and trivial concerns. He missed that. Argrave blinked quicker, holding back tears—a fact which only made him angrier at himself.

“It’s done.” Galamon’s deep, grating voice drew Argrave out from his depressive haze.

mind

and smoothed his wet hair. “Now, I have to go communicate with an ancient god. I implore that you restrain yourself in the event of seeing strange, inhuman creatures

#####

turned into certainty. He kept an unsteady hand on the pommel of

knew of Erlebnis and had a moniker

same time, all it took was a mere stumble, or perhaps the push or pull of a hand, and one would be forever lost within its

was part of his faith. The Veidimen’s chief goddess and namesake, Veid,

him with an indelible guilt, though. He had made his peace with his blasphemy by taking whatever contracts

Galamon used this to explain why Argrave knew so much about everything around him—royalty had

be a mortal agent of

and uncanny knowledge on near everything around him, clear direction and purpose, and direct communication with one of the ancient god’s emissaries… what else

should be his atonement for fearing death, let it be so. He refused to accept that

thoughts, Argrave was just as uncertain as—if not more

legs, and two tiny, baby-like arms. The voice was identical to the previous, but Argrave was

interrogation or a lovely treat.

utmost privilege for any mortal to be given the Blessing of Supersession, and even greater still for it to

things went well. Oril Valar is in the Bermuda

question? If so,

I came to receive my half of the trade, and then we

held one of its stubby arms to the side.

the tree’s roots. He followed behind, keeping a fair distance away. It moved to the side of the shrine, towering over Argrave. The same stone shrine awaited him, those melting eyes seeming to stare

Argrave looked at it

his back, he kept his eyes fixed on the portal. He had

Argrave’s head. It was difficult to suppress his base instinct to dodge. He felt nothing touch his head, but the arm most certainly moved towards him—into him, likely, moving through his

felt a searing feeling throughout his body—not pain, per se. It was somewhat frightening, yet concurrently oddly refreshing. It felt as though he’d just taken a drink of