Jackal Among Snakes

The Alchemist living beneath the hot sands of the Burnt Desert was nowhere near as insignificant as his name implied. The master of this obsidian castle was not merely a practitioner of alchemy. He embodied it. Literally.

His body was alchemy manifest.

The principle of alchemy—fantasy alchemy, at least—was that of exchange. The most famous example would be turning lead to gold. In ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ alchemy was dually a process by which potions were created, and a magic of conversion.

The Alchemist had displayed these qualities when Argrave had entered. His eyes and teeth had receded back into his head, whereupon they were alchemized within his body to form a single giant eye that better scrutinized Argrave. His body was a constant boiling ocean of alchemy, able to reform what he had into whatever body parts he needed.

Now, Argrave followed this hulking monstrosity through his abode of sterile obsidian. He was alone. The Brumesingers, Argrave’s companions—all were outside, idle.

The Alchemist’s silken black robe of hair sunk into his back as they walked, leaving a blank slate of ivory flesh behind. Slowly, lips formed, eyes just after them.

“You are a servant of Erlebnis?” he asked from the newly formed lips, voice harsh and loud.

The sight of the shifting flesh might have terrified Argrave had he not gone through the Low Way in the past, yet more disquieting was the fact he was being asked any questions at all. He was not surprised the Alchemist had seen through the Blessing of Supersession so easily, though.

“No,” Argrave answered, suppressing the urge to add extraneous details. Answer only the question you are asked, he reminded himself, repeating it mentally like a mantra.

The lips and eyes on the Alchemist’s back merged into one giant eyeball that shone with green light for but a moment. Argrave could see spell matrixes within the eye’s pupil. Argrave knew not what the monstrous figure was doing, and he didn’t dare ask.

Soon enough, the eye was replaced by the black robe once again, and Argrave heaved a sigh of relief.

There was much mystery surrounding the Alchemist. Argrave had dedicated weeks of research to writing the wiki’s article for this character. He had combed through countless in-game books, looking for references, even symbolic references, to link the Alchemist to anything—a faction, a religion, a god.

Argrave’s experience with ‘Heroes of Berendar’ narrowed things down… but gave nothing concrete.

Firstly, Argrave knew the Alchemist had associated with an ancient god. He didn’t know the details of this association, nor did he know which ancient god, nor any details beyond the fact that the two were linked.

Secondly, Argrave knew the Alchemist had once been mortal, and that his change was brought about by magic. Details were hazy on this end, too—some records claimed it was a hostile spell, others claimed it was a ritual taken willingly for the purpose of embodying alchemy.

Thirdly, the Alchemist was old. Millennia old, at least. Argrave knew he was aware of Gerechtigkeit. He could be enlisted for the final battle, something Argrave was sure as hell going to do.

foremost among them. Argrave’s personal conjecture was that the Alchemist lived in such a secluded place to avoid people, and to avoid harming people—some of his dialogue expressed dissatisfaction with his rage, and guilt for wanton

was just

came to a giant set of polished obsidian doors. He did not need to raise a hand—the doors started shifting aside as he neared. Argrave knew what was beyond. He had come here time and time again. Even still, it had been months since

shelves held books, and every single book, without fail, had a white cover. A great many of them had lettering on the cover—even more were blank. Spread out across the room were obsidian tables. They looked like altars, in truth, but there was no discernible religious significance to

libraries and studies of vast scale in his time on Berendar. He’d seen the libraries within the Order of the Gray Owl’s buildings, the ancient library in the Low Way of the Rose, and the cold stone library in Veiden, managed by

arms stretched out as he retrieved many of the books with blank covers. The mini-hands at the end of his fingers served to bring precision—with it, he effectively had ten normal-sized

other. Seeing the small hands on the tips of his finger clutch books and pens tightly

Argrave did nothing. He had already begun writing with two of his hands,

his back at once and ran through his planned lecture. He stepped to the closest obsidian table and laid out his things, then

Wraith’s Heart. It’s a perfect mirror of a real human heart. Moreover, it has the capacity to take aspects of magical artifacts and embody them, if they are alchemized inside your body,” Argrave pointed to the Alchemist. “The Wraith’s Heart can be considered empty, at

each of his five small hands writing and moving diligently to inscribe on

that end, these two items stand to fill the Wraith’s Heart emptiness.” Argrave touched the purple rock on the table. Sensing the enchantments near it, veins rose and linked to Argrave’s gloves. “This is the Amaranthine Heart. It extracts vitality… or lifeforce, from anything that it links to. It can additionally sap magic. What it absorbs can be extracted as liquid magic.” Argrave pulled his finger away, and the veins of the Heart snapped, fading into nothingness. A single dot of black liquid appeared atop it, like a drop of

reached out for the Crimson Wellspring. “This item is called the Crimson Wellspring. It is capable of converting most organic matter into blood. Unlike most other artificial

step back and gathered his thoughts. “These two items, working in tandem inside the Wraith’s Heart, will serve to subvert some of my normal biological

rejects false blood,” the

pets the Singers of the Brume, certain species of elves… they all share one thing in common; their blood is not corrosive because their body creates it for them. It isn’t the magic that is being rejected—the

set some books down, then reached away, retrieving books that were not blank. Argrave barely saw diagrams of creatures—anatomies of the

heart,” he explained, voice shaking somewhat. “And further, it establishes the necessity for the Unsullied Knife,” Argrave pointed to the scalpel on the obsidian table. “Crude tools could not extract my heart and replace it with the alchemized Wraith’s Heart without death. And that is the crux of the surgery—heart replacement. I

nothing had been left out. The Alchemist said nothing, moving with purpose throughout the library as he examined

at Argrave.

the Alchemist’s gray-eyed gaze with his

both equally impossible from the Alchemist. Argrave gained nothing by answering, something that the player in ‘Heroes of Berendar’ learned quickly. The Alchemist very rarely rewarded the player for

happen when this alchemized heart is placed within you?” the Alchemist

a leading question. “My body will have to reform itself to accommodate the magic within my blood. Everything within…

the Alchemist nodded. “It will. As such, I am establishing another condition to our trade. If your screams annoy me,

blinked. “Will I…

“No.”

around me? You’re an incomprehensibly powerful mage! Argrave wished to ask, but he’d already pushed his luck by

He nodded. “Okay.”

a room on the outer wings of my castle. You will stay there during your period of change, so that I might observe these changes. I expect your companions to tend to your needs while you are here. They will be given access and informed of things.” He lowered his hand.