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.

outperform another by an extremely obvious margin for the entire duration. The developers had to create some illusion

nothing but his body, he 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

achieve devastating effects. If spirits were only available to spellcasters… players would

as he ate a huge bowl of stew. Muriem was returning

as a sort of currency to me, once.” Anneliese said to Argrave delicately. “Is this what you

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

temperatures at all times of the year. Down there, the Dwarven Senate colonized the underground bit by bit. They sought to avoid the cycle of judgment entirely, leaving the rest of the surface-dwellers to deal

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

average human in Vasquer. With a true democracy, quality 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

saved this entire village, empowering this man as I did,” Anestis defended himself,

you still have the device you used to

his eyes distrustfully.

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

you used was a dwarven device that collects spirits. The way that you used it, the spirits were processed and projected into Galamon’s body, where their essence was expended to give him a temporary boost of strength. Mortal

an inch from his mouth, then lowered

into his chair. “Yes,

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

realms could be reached in Heroes of Berendar—consequently, he had

once more?” Argrave asked flatly. “I know a lot of your people do just

didn’t deem the dwarf some great person.

for

Ebon tribe returned. Lot of 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

city,” Anestis protested. “It was the works of our

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.

Galamon grunted in response.