Role

Chapter 2

There is more to the upbringing of Taltholnicus that is of some interest, but we will
come back to that later. It is time to talk about Magic, and the Battle Ragers.
Galtholnicus did not enter the Academy in Galadon expecting to become an applicant to the
potions and pills and the like. But he didn't hate those who used it, either. That changed, one
day.
Galtholnicus was stalking his prey, as usual, waiting for the right time to strike. He seized his
opportunity, striking the dark-elf with mithril in both hands, swiftly and skillfully. The dark-elf
turned an ran, but did not run well. The chase was quick, but frustrating. Fleeing instantly at
every turn, the magician seemed to be a mental midget. "Why is he not escaping via his magic?"
Galtholnicus pondered, as he chased again and again.
And then it happened. The mage turned to fight, finally. He slowed down Galtholnicus' movements.
He softened his skin. And then he disrupted his flesh. All the while parrying the mithril aimed
at his tender dark-elven flesh as if he were a skilled master of the staff, instead of a pathetic magician.

Galtholnicus was defeated, utterly. Humiliated, his anger toward the mage filled his blood to
a berserker rage. Feeling completely unworthy and unfit to be a fighter from his village, he
nearly took his own life. At great strength of will, he regained his composure. But the hatred
remained. How could he, a true master of the blades, be defeated so casually? More importantly,
how might he find vengeance and satisfaction?