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.

The Alchemist was not receptive to questions. He was more apathetic than cruel, but he was also entirely intolerant of the most insignificant annoyances, questions being foremost among them. Argrave’s personal conjecture was that the Alchemist lived in such a

that was

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

air. The walls themselves seemed to emit a steady purple light, making the place seem infinitely gloomier than it already was. The shelves held books, and every single book, without fail, had a white cover. A great many of them had

on Berendar. He’d seen the libraries within the Order of the Gray Owl’s buildings, the ancient library in the Low

retrieved many of the books with blank covers. The mini-hands at the end of his fingers served to bring precision—with it, he

the gargantuan robed figure turned to Argrave, five books held in his right hand with five writing implements in the other. Seeing the small hands on the tips of his finger clutch books and pens tightly was vastly disconcerting—so disconcerting, in fact,

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 inhaled,

the 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

fell figure wrote down what Argrave said, each of his five small hands

lifeforce, from anything that it links to. It can additionally sap magic. What it

called the Crimson Wellspring. It is capable of converting most organic

will serve to subvert some of my normal biological processes. Together, they can produce magic-imbued blood. You have achieved something similar with chimeras,” Argrave said, pointing

The body rejects false blood,” the Alchemist said—his first

Argrave continued, undaunted. “Creatures that have naturally occurring magic within their blood—dragons, wyverns, my 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 blood is

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

reject the magic blood… the third thing to be alchemized within the Wraith’s Heart is to be my own heart,” he explained, voice shaking somewhat. “And further, it establishes the necessity for the Unsullied Knife,” Argrave pointed to the

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

stared down at

the Alchemist’s gray-eyed gaze with

answer. Gratitude and offense were 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

this alchemized heart

will have to reform itself to accommodate the magic within my blood. Everything within… will change, and morph. It will be very painful,”

nodded. “It will. As such, I am establishing another condition to our trade. If your

blinked. “Will I…

“No.”

make a ward around me? You’re an incomprehensibly powerful mage! Argrave wished to ask, but he’d

He nodded. “Okay.”

too. "Go. You will be led to 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