Jackal Among Snakes

The Alchemist walked through his abode of obsidian with Argrave struggling to keep up just behind. Argrave thought that they were heading into the library once more, but the Alchemist reached into the walls as he walked to retrieve an obsidian staff. He slammed it on the ground, and the whole placed pulsed with purple lights.

Like that, the whole of it came alive. The hallway that they’d been walking through descended, forming a slope downwards. The walls and floors looked like ferrofluid manipulated by a magnet, glossy like metal but flowing as liquid. Despite this, each step that they took was as solid as stone. The Alchemist’s home had been manipulable in Heroes of Berendar, but now that it was beyond the constraints of the game, this place seemed capable of doing whatever the Alchemist pleased.

Argrave hated admitting it, but he somewhat hoped that the Alchemist’s back would split open to reveal a mouth that told him something—anything. The silence, however, was deafening, broken only by the soft fleshy footfalls of the Alchemist and Argrave’s boots impacting against the malleable obsidian all around them. They headed deep, deep, and deeper, following the sloping path.

Eventually, when Argrave looked around, the path backwards didn’t exist anymore. In all directions, it was endless blackness, disorienting enough that Argrave couldn’t tell which way was the direction they’d come from. Up could’ve become down long ago—it seemed feasible, given the gravity-defying pathway they’d walked through just to show up at the underground jungle. All he could do was follow this silent giant, fearing to speak in case he sparked anger.

Finally, the obsidian pathway became a fair bit brighter, and Argrave narrowed his eyes to shield from the light. As his eyes adjusted, recognition dawned—they emerged into the Alchemist’s chimera lab. A stairway descended downward into it, landing ungracefully in a secluded corner of the room. When Argrave finally took his feet off the stairs, they rose behind him and vanished. The Alchemist dropped his obsidian staff, and it sunk into the home like it never was.

The chimera lab was not a place with abominable creatures floating suspended in glass containers full of green goo. It more so resembled a morgue that had been taken over by a very tall librarian. The place had a ceiling about thirty feet tall. There were tall columns of impeccable white books imbedded in the walls, but between each tower of books, drawers resembling mortuary cabinets filled the space from bottom to top. In morgues they’d hold the dead—here, they held the living. Or unliving, in any case.

The Alchemist walked down into the chimera lab, his pace slowing somewhat. He raised his hand up, and it thinned as it stretched out. When it reached a certain shelf, he stuck his hand inside the obsidian, then pulled it open. From there, he grabbed the one within and lowered the subject down ungracefully. As he did so, he slammed the cabinet shut once again.

Argrave stared at this chimera as it was placed down. It was humanoid, and clothed in black robes—a good start. But as he stared, he came to realize the thing looked uncannily close to him. Things were off in certain places—Argrave was bulkier than it was, but perhaps that was simply the difference between when he’d left here last and now. The eyes were still the black-and-gold color they’d been the first few months after acquiring Garm’s eyes. The hairstyle was different, too—curlier, a little drier. And the face had some sort of uncanny wrongness to it. He certainly wasn’t worried about any of his party members being fooled by this thing.

“He’s let me out the box again, I see,” the chimera muttered, then looked at Argrave. “Nothing’s ever so blissful as seeing a face like yours. Well, honestly, I’d say that to any face, so long as I get some time to walk and talk.” He held a pale hand out. “I’m Pawn.”

Pawn. In Heroes of Berendar, they didn’t expect a player to blindly jump into a quicksand pit in the middle of the Burnt Desert to encounter the Alchemist. They didn’t stop you, of course, but the point stood; something—or rather, someone—needed to direct the player toward this place. Hence, Pawn.

The chimera Pawn was in many places throughout the game, all at once. Argrave had probably seen—maybe even talked to—Pawn before. His appearance was randomly generated, but the quests he gave remained the same. The Alchemist needed ingredients. Pawn was a tool to collect these. He traded with people, wandered the wilderness, hired adventurers… hence, the player was eventually led to the Alchemist, either by investigating Pawn in suspicion or in earning his trust.

“You’re the one who got new hearts put into me.” The chimera tapped his chest in revelation. “Things work beautifully. The Alchemist did a checkup on you when you entered here. And…” Pawn realized the awkwardness hanging in the air, and said, “It seems… he made us look alike. It’s an obstacle we’ll have to overcome.” He straightened his robes. “They say imitation is the best form of flattery. And flattery is a thing seldom drawn from the Alchemist.”

Argrave stepped a little closer. Pawn, as ever, didn’t act any different from a normal person. Indeed, most people found him quite likable. Likable or not, he was still the product of the most advanced necromancy in the world. He was powerful physically, possessing all sorts of superhuman enhancements made to aid in killing, like poison, acid, or simply nasty implements of bone and claw. These chimeras were no easy opponent, to say the least.

Argrave said, “If he’s brought you out, the Alchemist probably wants you to explain something to me.”

Pawn nodded. “Too true. It would give greater comfort both for the one conveying the words and the one hearing them. You can view me as a buffer between the Alchemist and yourself.”

Yes, because seeing a mirror image is very comforting, Argrave thought, but kept those words in his head. The Alchemist certainly lacked the finer graces he was attempting to display here, but an effort was made—a good sign for his health, to say the least. When Argrave looked back toward the towering figure, the Alchemist walked to them and placed something down.

It was a map—not of Berendar, but of the whole world. Argrave had seen it plenty of times before, and talked about it in forums discussing whether or not Heroes of Berendar might get a sequel on another continent. Berendar was a tall, somewhat narrow continent shelved away in the bottom right of the map, and relatively isolated. He saw Veiden—larger, but also mostly uninhabited—and all the other continents. The player never left Berendar. Instead, the other denizens of the other continents came to them, each in a grand crusade for whatever god or warlord had seized the continent.

“Where does Gerechtigkeit descend?” Pawn asked.

Argrave’s knelt down in front of the map, his finger tracing the parchment before landing on a spot in Berendar. It was southwest of Jast and northwest of Elbraille, right in a vast plain between the two. As soon as Argrave lifted his finger away, a needle pierced the spot he’d been holding. The Alchemist adroitly wielded various different instruments to measure things. He appeared to be doing some sort of arcane calculations, but Argrave didn’t pretend to know what they might be.

“Please, mind him not as he works,” Pawn explained amicably. “Now… we have a long series of questions.”

Argrave was asked the location of a vast multitude of gods. Some of them he could place, because they had consistent ties to the land like the elven gods. Others were left to the wind. A needle quickly stabbed each spot he pointed out, and then more arcane calculations were made.

After a while, Argrave finally mustered the courage to interject, “I can save you a lot of trouble asking. The one I brought with me, Ingo—the Alchemist must’ve seen the blessing of the god on him.” He pointed to Pawn. “And if your boss can take the blessing harmlessly, make his body whole again, do it without issue… we might be able to see right into the path to finding how to end the cycle of judgment.” Argrave tapped his chest. “I remember the Alchemist talking about my blessing last time. He said it was interesting, didn’t he? He said he wondered what would happen? That’s what I offer here, today. Or… perhaps something adjusted,” he said, still hesitant to bring Ingo’s point of view up. “Perhaps… since you know I come from Earth… you can cure Ingo, and give it to me.”

Pawn stared for a few moments of uncanny reflection. “It is true that a blessing from a god draws the Alchemist’s attention. For your other assertion, an argument: this power was bestowed on Ingo by a god. No one, god or mortal, has broken the cycle. Why would a blessing prove capable of spotting the key to end this cycle where all other gods before have failed?”

Argrave’s pointed finger curled. “But with the things that I’ve seen… the secrets I know…”

Pawn smiled bitterly. “I do not mean to offend, so please try and take this as objectively as it was intended. Factually speaking, you are one of many who have endured Gerechtigkeit. What gives you superiority over them in ending the cycle? It comes once every one thousand years. Gerechtigkeit does expend a great deal of effort in making people forget his existence, but reality and simple probability dictate that some exist like the Alchemist who know he will come. Foremost among those knowing when the calamity comes are gods, lest we forget.” Pawn paused, letting his point sink in. “Even supposing your alleged transplantation from Earth is not something arcane or divine in nature—an implantation of memories to explain foresight—would possessing Ingo’s blessing truly allow you to succeed? Do you have greater intellect, strength of will, than thousands of others before you?”

Pawn inhaled deeply as he finished speaking. “In summary, what convinces you that you have ability deserving of this blessing? Unless you know how to end the cycle of judgment now, you may never know. And Durran was clear you do not know. Despite that, he entered an arrangement with the Alchemist.”

Argrave took a step back and looked away, thinking hard. From the beginning, the Alchemist made that bet expecting Durran to die. His anger flared, but Castro’s words came to him, speaking of the importance of intellectual humility. And as he considered it more, Argrave finally realized why those words were so applicable to him.

“These memories I have aren’t divine or arcane,” Argrave looked not at Pawn, but at the Alchemist. “And there’s a reason I’m here, in Berendar.”

“What reason?” said the Alchemist this time, his splintering voice coming out once more.

“I don’t know. But I’m ready to find out,” Argrave stated firmly, finally admitting and seeking remedy for his biggest scar—his existence here. It was the greatest act of intellectual humility he could ever hope for. “And considering how urgently you came at me… I think you know my knowledge is more than mere delusion.” He looked up firmly. “I have my deal, Alchemist. I’ll cooperate with you, remedy both of our ignorance about the mystery that is me. Let us delve into what I am, and why I might be here. Get the white-haired elven woman—doubtless she’ll be interested in unraveling my secrets.”

The Alchemist stared down at Argrave for a few moments. Then, Pawn started walking away, heading for the walls. A stairway appeared to accommodate him, and he vanished.

“She will be contacted. In the meantime… let’s begin with your mind,” the Alchemist rasped.

“Not so fast,” Argrave held his finger out. “Let’s discuss the finer details—safety being the first among them.”

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