Mage Tank

The pair clashed through the air and sent new plumes of ash reaching for the sky when they landed. Varrin recovered quickly, standing to meet Hep, but found another bolt of lightning instead. It bucked Varrin’s chest like a ten-thousand pound horse, sending the man skipping back across the terrain, followed by orbs of flame that detonated all around him. When Varrin recovered, he realized that Kazandak was gone.
Hep swung his blade, deflecting and parrying attacks from Varrin’s second clone as he marched forward, the first clone having already expired. Kazandak was buried in the coals, its hilt sticking up at waist-height. Hep reached to pull it from the ash, ignoring the frantic attacks from the clone.
But Kazandak was an heirloom, and not one that could be shared with anyone other than a Ravvenblaq. Hep’s hand passed through the hilt, and he let out a growl as he pulled back from it. He turned and charged at Varrin instead, while Varrin’s clone grabbed the weapon from where it lay.
Varrin pulled a different sword from his inventory, an artless slab of dark iron. It was ten feet in length, heavy as a loaded wagon with mules included, and built entirely for killing spells. When he brought it out, the fire engulfing him was immediately extinguished.
Varrin chose this blade because he’d had a moment of insight about Hep. One that explained the man’s control over his Rage, and also his sudden shift away from pure techniques. The man had invested deeply into Wisdom. High Wisdom meant high mana, and ignoring that resource pool would have been foolish. Hep was a spellblade, although he’d waited until late into the fight to start using any skills that drew on mana as opposed to stamina.
Varrin mirrored Hep’s charge. The ruby warrior sent forth flaming orbs and bolts of lightning that Varrin struck from the air with his blade. When they drew close, the air before Hep’s helm swirled into a vortex, and the man breathed out a mighty gout of fire.
Varrin set his feet and swung the dark-iron greatsword through the inferno, cutting it down the center and sending a wave of countermagic back at Hep. The force struck the caldera’s master in the face, and the flames died as Hep stumbled back a step.
Varrin finished his charge with Hep recovering an instant before he arrived. The ruby warrior brought his sword up to block, but his position was awkward. Varrin made a split-second decision and changed his target, bringing the greatsword down across Hep’s unguarded wrist.
The man’s hand went flying, and his sword clattered to the ground. Varrin swept his blade around, carrying its momentum forward into another heaving attack, but Hep himself brought out a second blade as well, held in his remaining hand and glinting with myriad colors. The swords cracked against one another, and it was clear from the sound that neither weapon was Immutable.
Varrin’s anger surged as Kazandak fell from the clone’s fading hands, and though he was now alone and far closer to dead than he’d like, he still had a sliver of stamina and a man to kill.
Varrin ran at Hep, and the man turned to guard with his strange sword, but lifted his arms at the last moment. Varrin connected with Hep’s abdomen, the dark-iron sword sinking through the Immutable armor until the back of it had disappeared. Hep took the grievous wound in exchange for bringing his weapon down onto Varrin’s head.
The ruby warrior struck Varrin’s helm with a light tap.
All Varrin’s fury drained from the world, and his Rage dropped back down to ten. The Berserk status ended, and he blinked to clear his eyes of sweat and blood, and to clear his mind of confusion over what had just happened.
“You got me, kid,” said Hep. “You win. I’m about to bleed out, and I can’t fix it if we’re fighting.”
Varrin looked at Hep. His armor was unscathed, and one would be hard-pressed to believe he was nearly dead, but a glance down showed an alarming amount of blood pouring out from the man’s… everywhere. The blood pearled and rolled off the armor from between the plates, skittering to the ground as whatever unknown force kept the offending substance away. Varrin let go of his sword and nodded, then took a step back. Hep held the dark-iron weapon in place, likely thinking that removing it would make the situation worse, which it would.
Hep lifted the front of his helm and summoned a hefty potion, muddled and glowing. Varrin studied Hep’s blood-soaked face as he tilted the potion back and downed it in one go. He had ruby scales, matching his armor, but unlike a Geulon they covered his entire head. They also looked thick and robust, closer to armor than something one might see on a reptile.
Hep grimaced after drinking the potion, exposing a row of sharp, carnivore teeth. Varrin looked from the man to the enormous hammer and anvil nearby and felt a pit form in his stomach.
He was starting to think that Arlo was going to win their bet.
Varrin recovered Kazandak as Hep finished another potion, heedless of any toxicity it might impart. The ruby warrior wrenched the dark-iron sword from his gut and handed it back to Varrin, who stored it away.
“Nice sword by the way,” said Hep. “Ugly, though.”
“It is built more for function,” Varrin replied, without taking any offense to the comment. The dark-iron blade wasn’t a product of his grandfather, rather a backup Varrin had procured on his own.
Hep’s body was engulfed in fire for a moment, burning away the blood on his face and presumably handling the wound in his gut. He pulled off his masterwork gauntlets and clapped his hands together, also covered in scales and ending in lethal-looking talons.
“All right,” said Hep. “You’ve beaten the world’s most dangerous crafter.” He gave Varrin a predatory smile. “My Level 25 form, that is. This is my phase one build, so nothing fancy going on. Still, nearly twice your Level. That’s pretty impressive.”
“Crafter?” said Varrin. “I’d assumed Smithing was your support skill.”
Hep shrugged. “No, Smithing is my highest-level intrinsic, believe it or not.” Varrin glanced at Hep’s armor again. He
believe it. “Now that we’re done, I’ve got some questions for you.”
“Many do,” Varrin replied. “If it has to do with my build, I seldom answer.”
“Ah, don’t be like that, Lord Ravvenblaq,” said Hep with another smile. Varrin watched him from behind his helm, refusing to lower his guard or to play into the man’s ‘charm’. Hep’s smile faded and he turned to spit a wad of flaming… spit? onto the ground.
“Fine,” said Hep. “Let’s start with the critique, and you can decide where to go from there.”
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
“I am amenable to that,” said Varrin. He had no problem hearing the man’s criticisms. If Hep had committed to his final strike, Varrin would have lost. Whether the man would have died afterward was a matter of speculation. Varrin still accepted the win without questioning it, as was proper, but Hep was a superior berserker. There must be some lessons to learn.
“First, what’s your Physical Magic skill level? Wait, no, you said no spoilers. Okay, I’m assuming it’s under level 40.” Hep eyed him as though he could see Varrin’s face through the full ravenskull helm he wore. “I’m also betting your Spiritual Magic skill is higher. Or it was before you entered. If you really are Physical-attuned, then you’re slowing yourself down that way.”
“I was not aware that it mattered,” said Varrin. “An attunement is a starting point. It does not govern your talent for the adjacent schools.”
“It’s your fundamental,” said Hep. “The core of your magicks. The better you understand your attunement, the better you’ll be with your adjacents. Listen, they all bleed into the next, why do you think they’re arrayed in a wheel?”
“I am aware of the crossover,” said Varrin. “Regardless, your point is well taken. My recent trials have pushed me towards Spiritual. The drift has not been intentional.”
“Then you need to work on Physical. That’ll help with your Bleeding. You started serving me a whole buffet of pain once you broke out those clone things, but Bleeding is what won you the fight.”
“Truly?” said Varrin. “Each of my Spiritual strikes must have landed for several hundred damage.”
“I’m pretty tough across Physical, Spiritual,
Dimensional. Yes, Physical is my best defense, but Spectral damage isn’t some great weakness of mine. Also, I have a
of health.”
“I worried that the bleed was doing little,” said Varrin. “Your blood supply seemed endless.”
“I’m bigger than I look,” said Hep. “Lots of blood to lose.”
Varrin glanced at the hammer and anvil again. “A
bigger, I presume.” Hep nodded, but didn’t clarify further.
“Second, your Rage burns bright, but it’s shallow. Any good berserker needs Wisdom to temper their anger, and while it seems like you have
, you don’t have enough. Not with the stats you must be walking around with.”
Varrin grunted. “I have little use for the mana.”
“Why?” asked Hep. “There are plenty of spells that don’t need Intelligence or Charisma. My own build allows me to use Strength instead of a caster stat once I enter a berserk state.”
“That must be why you waited until late in the combat to deploy them.”
“You got it,” said Hep.
Varrin considered what to tell Hep on the matter. “I seek purity of purpose,” he said. “I am committed to the martial path, and I have a line of buffs that forbid the use of mana.”
“That’s a choice, but okay.” Hep raked a claw across his cheek, digging in between the scales to reach some unseen itch. “Do you have a passive slot open?”
“I do,” said Varrin.
“Try and grab a passive called Mana Void. It’ll kill your mana pool, but make Wisdom help out with stamina instead.”
“I glean many benefits from entering Berserk early on,” said Varrin. “Having a higher threshold would delay it.”
“Bleh,” said Hep, sticking out his tongue. It was forked. “More stacks of Rage means more power. If you’re dancing around the Berserk ‘debuff’ like you did with me, you’re leaving damage on the table. Besides, there’s a level 40 Wisdom evolution called Eye of the Storm. It’ll double your threshold
your Rage generation, plus it prevents stacks from decaying until you want them to.”
“That… sounds useful,” Varrin admitted. His Discerning Barbarian passive already effectively doubled his Rage generation. Another doubling would be potent indeed.
“I also saw you use Enrage,” said Hep. “That grants stacks of Rage based on your Spiritual Magic level. While it makes me sick to admit it, if your Spiritual Magic is good enough, the higher threshold won’t matter. And Wisdom buffs perception. Everyone needs good perception. I saw you coming from a mile out. If this had been a real fight, I’d have gone after you when you’d entered through the caldera’s flames. You’d have been fucked.”
“Perhaps,” said Varrin. “Any other pointers to share?”
“Bloodboil might be good, but you need Mana Void and I doubt you have
passive slots open.” Hep violently scratched between his scales again. “Hmmmm. No, I think that’s it. Your swordsmanship is incredible, your athleticism is fantastic–you must have nearly as much Agility as Strength–and your gear–” Hep spent a long moment looking at Varrin’s armor, and then at Kazandak. “I mean, it’s great. Really professional work.”
“I will deliver the compliment to my grandfather.”
“Grandfather? So you don’t have some ridiculous amount of wealth, you’ve got an inside man.”
“I have both.”
“Ah.” Hep frowned. “Oh well. Don’t let anyone ever tell you being rich is some kind of problem. It’s fucking great.”
“Yes, I am aware of its advantages.”
“Do
have Smithing?”
“I do not.”
“Any reason for that?” asked Hep.
“There has not been a need,” said Varrin. “It would take me decades before I can produce anything to rival my grandfather, and my current skill set suits me.”
“You’ve got access to a man with that much talent, and you aren’t going to milk it for all the training you can? Is your grandpa gonna live forever? Does he have a hundred hatchlings taking up the hammer for when he dies?”
This was the first of Hep’s criticisms that made Varrin flinch. Neither he nor his brother had followed in Papa Junior’s path, and neither had his father. Perhaps there was some true insight there. Hep must have sensed Varrin’s discomfort because he didn’t push it any further.
“Any questions for me?” asked Hep.
Varrin dismissed his guilt towards Papa Junior and focused on the inquiry. “What was that sword you used at the finish? It ended your Berserk instantly and dispelled my own at a touch.”
“One of my favorite side pieces,” said Hep, pulling out the glimmering blade. He tossed it to Varrin and granted him permission to inspect it. “I don’t have a great way to end Berserk, so I made that instead of wasting a skill slot.”
“A Brawling requirement?” said Varrin.
“Brawling has broad applications,” said Hep. “I figured out how to sneak in the Berserk dispel through that requirement. It’d be easier with Spiritual Magic, maybe a requirement of 20, but fuck that. I did it my way.”
“And it serves to handle any enemies you encounter that are immune to Physical,” said Varrin. “A fine weapon.” He held it back out to Hep, but the ruby warrior grinned.
“Best part of this Dungeon is that it makes it cheap to replicate my less valuable equipment,” said Hep. “Consider it a prize for the win. Ah, but you have to admit you have Brawling before I let you keep it.”
Varrin couldn’t hide his shock, even through his armor. The sword had to be worth at least sixteen diamond chips. It was a fortune, and it was one of this man’s
valuable items?
“I have Brawling,” Varrin was quick to admit with such a sword on the line.
“Figured,” said Hep. “Normally I’d give you my main weapon, but it wouldn’t be useful to you. Here, to make up the difference, I’ll let you pick one of these bits of jewelry I’ve got.”
Hep fumbled to pull a ring from his finger with one hand, then dug an amulet and two trinkets out from beneath his armor. He looked around for a moment until he spotted his other hand, then retrieved the severed limb and pulled another ring from it with his teeth. He handed (and spat) the items into Varrin’s palm. The amulet, both rings, and one trinket were made of different kinds of lustrous wood. Fireproof wood, apparently. The remaining trinket appeared to be made of bone.
Varrin was once again taken aback by the treasure that Hep so casually handed him.