Jackal Among Snakes

Galamon blinked his eyes open. The whole of him felt heavy, but it was considerably better than the numbing pain that had come after his battle with the demon of ice. That had been one of the fiercest opponents he’d ever faced, beaten only by the Shadowlander in Dirracha. But for foes that he’d fought personally, and killed personally, it took the prize by a large degree.

He felt a slight grip on his hand, and remembered that the last time he’d awakened, his wife had been by his side. He saw her there even still, and felt a sense of peace that he had seldom felt in Berendar during all his years of wandering as a mercenary. But he also saw two others sitting quietly. They wore familiar dusters and a breastplate bearing an indented symbol he’d come to know quite well—the sun-and-snake, Argrave’s personal heraldry.

“I believe he’s awake, king,” Muriem said, grabbing Argrave’s attention.

King Argrave rose from his chair quickly and looked down at him, Queen Anneliese waiting patiently with arms behind her back. The king said, “Galamon. You had me worried there.” He planted his hand on his wrist, then said vigorously, “Getting injured after big battles was my thing. I never wanted you to take up that role. You’re feeling better, I hope?”

Galamon focused, briefly questioning if he was hallucinating. Finally, he said only, “Yes.”

“Anything about these wounds I should know? Is this concerning?” Argrave continued, looking over him.

“No,” Galamon answered. “It’s passed.”

Argrave let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good.” He sat back down in a chair he’d pulled up. “Provided you’re up to snuff… let’s talk about why there’s a big hole in the city wall, and why this out-of-place fellow is here.”

Galamon looked to his dwarven companion, Anestis. The man gave him very pleading eyes.

“I’m not sure myself.” Galamon rested his head back on his pillow.

#####

For the early game of Heroes of Berendar, warriors and rogues had quite the rough go of things. Sure, spellcasters started off very bad—F and D-rank spells could kill people, but generally a warrior or rogue could walk up and cut someone down far faster than a spellcaster might zap someone to death. Magic was a limited resource, too, by and large. Argrave had recklessly met Erlebnis to mitigate that fact, then pranced about avoiding battles when he couldn’t use the ancient god’s blessing.

But by C and B-rank, it was abundantly clear spellcasters had the true damage-dealing ability. The gap could be bridged with enchantments, and the physical classes were generally hardier than mages, but in terms of raw power magic users outclassed warriors and rogues by a good magnitude.

an extremely obvious margin for the entire duration. The developers had to create some illusion of balance, even if it might not be totally so. And so by the

could conjure waves of flames, sparking trails, and walls of ice. This power of his came from blessings. They were a part of his being, however, unable to be

magic, which employed spirits to achieve devastating effects. If spirits were

his bed as he ate a huge bowl of stew. Muriem was returning home to fetch their son that he might speak to his father now that he’d woken up. Argrave was

once.” Anneliese said to

a bit.” Argrave stared at the dwarf on the opposite side of the bed. “As a matter of fact… what happened was wasteful,

extreme pressures and high temperatures at all times of the year. Down there,

were to describe their people physically, they dressed like the Greeks of antiquity, and ranged from all skin tones just as humans did. Anestis, though, had rather tan skin that contrasted harshly with the pale Veidimen. The dwarves were extremely isolationist and took many cues from ancient empires like Rome and Imperial China—namely, like those ancient empires, the Dwarven Senate posited that dwarven culture was firmly superior in all

of living relatively equal across most classes, and safety from war, Argrave might’ve enjoyed waking up there. After so long being seven feet tall, perhaps the other end of the height spectrum might enlighten him somewhat. Even still, as he

defended

“Do you still have the

his

answer for you: no,” Argrave continued. “The device was round, and was made of an orangish dwarven metal, wasn’t it? It had four prongs in particular locations, each of which could be manipulated in specific ways for specific results. And it’s still trapped in the

body, where their essence was expended to give him a temporary boost of strength. Mortal bodies weren’t made for divinity, and so it burned through his flesh while granting him tremendous strength.” He turned his head to Galamon. “The only reason he’s alive, probably, is because of his

spoon an inch from his mouth, then lowered it back to

sigh and sink back further into his chair. “Yes, well… the

say that it was a waste, but spirits were a commodity. The fact was that the physical classes still got the short end of the stick, somewhat. Using spirits to empower oneself was infinitely less useful than using shamanic magic. On

Unlike Veiden, the dwarven realms could be reached in Heroes of Berendar—consequently, he

to make dwarven metals once more?” Argrave asked flatly. “I know a lot of your

hands together nervously. By his mannerisms alone, Argrave didn’t deem the dwarf some great person.

did come for precisely

bodies, and more investigations… but no results. Eventually, I found a lead. It was fading fast, so I took a risk, went into the undergrounds. Went into a dwarven city. Found this man… and the ice abomination shortly after.” He focused on Argrave, his vitality

city,” Anestis protested. “It was the works of our ancestors, thousands of years ago. Our building techniques have evolved

make weapons like you used to,” Argrave said sharply, shutting the dwarf up. He looked back to Galamon and asked in exasperation, “You really went looking for the Ebon Cult?” He stared an unflinching Galamon down, then sighed deeply while rubbing his forehead. “Good lord… I’m glad to see you well,

Galamon grunted in response.