Difference between revisions of "Varnae (Chapter 18)"

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Varnae (Act III)#Chapter 18

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-Dear Diary,
-Upon rising, I found that my old correspondent Mule visited me during the night.  Atop a pile of shining metal and bone was another of his precisely-scribed ramblings:
-"Congratulations, you're almost ready to really start kickin' butt!  Here's some more stuff you're finally big enough for.  The helmet takes 'Ort Sol' and the shield is 'Shael Eth', make sure you get the runes in the right order.  That's the most fashionable armor we could find, so deal with it bein' red.  Might even help against Flayers.
--- The Mule"
-The armor is indeed blood red, a side effect of its life-enhancing enchantments; not my best color, but I could do something with it.  Unlike most heavy armor, which is a combination of iron plate and chainmail, this suit is precisely shaped steel plates articulated by hinges and rivets, without a mail backing.  The result is less bulky and restrictive, though it is odd to look upon and seems fragile on first inspection.  There is also a ring, but the real prizes are the grim demon skull helm and the nest of bones which will serve as my new shield.  Four primitive-looking little rocks inscribed with mysterious squiggles must be the "runes" the letter refers to.  I'd best check the encyclopedia, which will give me the opportunity to ask him about the eye from the spider lair as well.
-The eye, according to dear old Deckard Cain, can only be a saintly relic.  According to the teachings of Zakarum, the remains of saints are incorruptible, proof against normal decay and even the ruinous touch of evil.  The belief is quite senseless to me -- if saintliness makes one incorruptible, angels should be inviolable; during the Sin War, Hell's forces should have been helpless before them.  It is altogether more probable that the myth of saintly relics is but one more way the church deludes and manipulates its followers, showing off some dried-out bits of meat and bone (which may or may not have come from anyone special, that's hardly necessary) to bleed "donations" from fools eager to save themselves from the eternal damnation they no doubt richly deserve.  However, none of my opinions can change the fact that I hold in my hand a disembodied human eyeball: it is slightly damp, flexible to the touch, and cannot be crushed or cut by any power I possess.  Also, unless I am mistaken, it is still warm.  At this time, reserving judgment seems the most sensible option.
-Fitted with the correct runes, the new helmet is not only lovely to look upon, but seems to improve my powers of recall.  The shield is also marvelous, light and quick in the hand.  Yes, these will do.  Now, to harmonize the ensemble.  Being made of disparate elements not chosen for each other, creating a suitable "look" takes a bit of doing, but with time and a few accessories, I manage something.  Black is ever so much easier to work with, but red and white aren't so bad, so long as they are blood-red and bone-white.  I wonder what Natalya will think?
-Devilish woman; can nothing I do impress her?  Her only concern is finding the Gidbinn, and arresting the wall of greenery creeping ever closer to the docks.  With all her watching and waiting, I should think she would have time to consider something besides her own needs.  Granted, tendrils of greenery have been winding their way around the outermost buildings, including Alkor's hut.  Given some of the things in his potions, it would not be wise to move his workplace closer to an inhabited area, nor to allow the jungle to take it over.
-When I was in the deserts of Aranoch, I longed for the soothing dampness of home.  Here, in a place very much like home, I long for the unbroken horizon of the desert.  I've always been difficult to please -- anyone with any taste should be -- but hacking my way through this great miserable swamp is nightmarish.  At one point, I paused to rest, and could easily watch the brush growing without being bored.  Cut stones and a few bits of crockery are all that remains of Kurast's suburbs.  The only reminders that this area was inhabited only a few short years ago are the dead, who have been pressed into service by their church and greet me at every turn.  The local zombies are so saturated with disease-ridden water, it splatters out of them on every strike, but they freeze well enough.  Those whose souls were stronger are now Wraiths, called "Will o' the Wisps" by the ignorant.  I understand these spirits tend to be those of dead children.  When they become visible, Wraiths are ethereal wisps with no identifiable form; I find ghosts more pleasing to the eye.
-A few living creatures find their way through this muck.  The waterways and stagnant pools follow a regular pattern here (perhaps they were streets and squares in happier times) and are frequently home to Tentacle Beasts, snake-like amphibians with two arms.  They must be very large, though I have not yet seen the body of one, merely its arms and long neck.  A large species of frog has been corrupted by Mephisto; they now weigh as much as a man and spit fire.  Am I the only one who cares about aesthetics here?
-Upon reaching higher ground, I paused to clean the mud off my boots, and a few tiny darts pinged off my armor.  The plate was tougher than it seemed, which was pleasing, but I could not find my enemy.  They were Flayers, of course, hiding in the greenery where they were nearly invisible, despite their flowered sarongs and enormous white teeth.  I stepped forward to dispatch them, and a few dozen of their closest friends scuttled out to join the fun.  The little things are not strong (a single strike will kill one, eventually) but they are so terrifyingly fast I hardly knew what to do.  Khaleel made himself invaluable with his explosions of chilling ice, I cannot doubt the value of my investment.  NEVER go cheap on a bodyguard.
-By all that is holy or unholy, these are desperate days.  When I spoke of a dislike for Flayers earlier, I really had NO IDEA.  These tiny freaks are EVERYWHERE!  I have tried everything to deal with them.  The curse of Attraction is only a small help -- the one I cast it on is torn to bits and EATEN(!) by its fellows almost instantly!  Decrepification only serves to bring their speed down to a brisk sprint. Any I kill, the shamans raise again!  Corpse Explosion forestalls that, but they move too quickly for me to catch enough of them in the explosion's radius, and it's so tiring...  No wonder Mephisto uses these, even an army would be hard-pressed not to be EATEN ALIVE by these land-based piranhas!  I have been surrounded and nearly bitten off at the knees more times than I can relate; I simply cannot change targets quickly enough to fend them off; the moment I turn, they are on my back in an instant.
-Very slowly, I have been working my way further and further into the jungle.  Looking behind me, it seems as though the jungle is paved with brightly-colored sarongs, there are so many lying on the ground.  I should mention that other creatures share the area.  Some trees and brambles have taken on a life of their own, uprooted themselves from the earth, and now stalk for prey.  This development is not unexpected, and even less welcome.  Whether they profit by devouring what they kill (again, it would not be unexpected) or act out of simple, wholesome malice is unclear.
-There is a waypoint, next to a large pond.  Bless the Horadrim!  (I hope no one I know ever reads that.)  With the effort I put in (three hours to cover a few hundred yards!) I deserve a short rest.  While Hratli is picking Flayer teeth out of the joints of my armor, he comments that when I finally meet the Zakarumites, I should find them much like zombies, but far less charismatic.  "I wish I'd said that," I replied; I admire a good insult.  He smiled thinly, and said, "You will, Varnae; you will."  As if I need to, though it is tempting.  Hratli, passive as he is, would never dare object.  Even old Alkor knows him: "Hratli is only good for making his silly magic weapons.  It's not like he has the stones to actually use them on anything."  Quite so!  And properly attributed.  Like many other irascible men, he shares the gift of seeing others as they are, with the curse that he honestly tells others what he sees.
-The pond by the waypoint has a small island in the center; a tiny wooden bridge leads out to it.  Did the Flayers build this?  It is appropriate for their size.  The bridge barely supports my weight; the island is empty apart from stone stairs leading down into the earth, obviously not made by Flayers.  Khaleel is fearful of the place; apparently, a few of Asheara's mercenaries went into these "Flayer lairs" in the early days, but none ever came out again.  I'd best be cautious.
-The first room reminds me of home -- the walls are muddy stone with water drizzling down them, and the fetid smell of mold suffuses my every breath.  The floor is littered with bones, most of them too large to be human.  Ah, here is a skull; it was a cow... an entire cow.  The image of a pack of Flayers stripping a cow to the bare bone with their teeth is one I shall carry with me to my grave.  It is good they are so small, or Mephisto might have tried to consume this land by having them go out and EAT the whole place.  As I
-I am lucky to be alive.  Gentle reader, I believe I have explained why I do not enjoy fighting the undead.  My feelings for Flayers should be clear as well.  When I tell you that a pack of undead Flayers came charging into this room, I am sure you can predict my reaction.  I was not happy.  The horror... without flesh to encumber them, they are even faster.  Poison has little effect.  And when they die, they do not simply fall down, oh, no... that would be too easy.  No doubt created by their shamans (who have given me yet another reason to hate them) these skeletal Flayers are held together by the most primitive binding spells.  Enormous amounts of energy are needed for even one, and when the spells are broken, they collapse explosively.  The battle was a frenzy of chasing the little monsters all over the room, and desperately trying not to be close by when they died.  Khaleel wanted to leave, and I actually considered it for a moment.  Then it came back to me: my people abandoned those binding spells because they are so costly, one can only make a few servants.  There cannot be many of these undead; in all likelihood, the worst is behind us.
-There are surprisingly few Flayers in this pit -- I dearly hope they were all outside.  Instead, we find Wraiths, Ghosts, and even a few mummies.  How the mummies survived the climate and their manic lairmates is anyone's guess; perhaps the Flayers prefer their meat warm and screaming.  Some tiny mummies, well-wrapped, sit in niches in the wall.  At first, I wondered if these beings revere their dead as men do, until the damned thing fired a cloud of poison gas at me.  A trap, from a rigged body.  Genocide sounds perfectly reasonable now.
-The pit is quite deep, leading down into an array of sewer-like tunnels; a familiar layout.  At no point do I meet any more skeletal Flayers; my guess was correct.  The Flayers converted the pit into a temple or relic storehouse; there is a great deal of loot.  In addition, Asheara is impressed by Khaleel's tales, and her estimation of my abilities seems to have grown.  To think that he wanted to run after our first battle... perhaps now, she can be convinced that the truly capable need not make such an effort of projecting an image.  I will speak to her of it when I've reached Kurast, there should be no further doubts in her mind by then.
-More of the jungle falls behind me, slowly and painfully.  According to Khaleel, we are near the city's outer walls, but it's impossible to see more than 5 feet through this growth.  Flayer ambushes are so constant, I cannot honestly say we are ever taken off-guard.  In a large clearing, we find a small village.  This is the Flayer's home village, I am certain: I don't think I could stand up inside the huts, and everything is covered with sharp spikes.  A few human bodies, growing mold with visible speed, lay before an idol.  This must be the Flayer deity, for them an awesome being of gigantic stature, capable of spitting spiky death high over their heads.  It stands nearly to shoulder height.
-On the opposite side of the village clearing, suspended over a small altar, is a small bronze dagger.  The aura of power it puts off is palpable -- even Khaleel feels it.  Of course, he calls it "evil."  Vizjerei... I'm tempted to take this thing for myself, though I have no doubt it is the Gidbinn I seek.  Once I'd cleared the village, I took the dagger; one last guardian appeared out of nowhere, but it was quickly dealt with.
-The dagger's power could be tapped by Ormus, to further power Hratli's spell.  There is an advantage to different magical traditions cooperating; while they lasted, the Horadrim were a powerful organization.  To congratulate me, Ormus presented me with a magic ring (useless to him, and to me) and a poem, composed in my honor:
-He hates Flayers, they really make him sick!
-Every time he sees one, he just goes "ick! ick!"
-There was more, but if I tried to write it down, my brain would explode.  The poem was a waste of time, air, ink, paper, and my patience.  I considered doing him an injury, but Khaleel would have none of it: he thinks it is bad luck to attack the mentally enfeebled.  Asheara was even more impressed, treating me to a manly punch in the shoulder (ow) and an offer to take me to some night spot called "The Slippery Fist."  She assures me I'd fit in well there.
-I went to speak with Natalya she said I was AMAZING!!!  I got the Gidbinn like she wanted and she smiled at me and she smiled at me and she said I was AMAZING!!! and then she said something about the church's midget minions but I forget she said I was AMAZING!!!
-I feel lighter than air!  Back to the jungle.  Hello trees!  Hello flowers!  Hello pile of severed human heads!  Hmm.  There is another Flayer lair here.  I'd best quit tripping lightly over the verdant greensward and get back to business.  The lair was empty and quiet when we first entered.  Dead quiet; there was nothing, not even the scuttling of rats.  I mentioned this to Khaleel; "Yeah, too quiet," he agreed.  Then, I will swear upon anything you care to name, I heard a tiny squeak of a voice say, 'what him-sa say?'  Another replied, 'him-sa say it too quiet!'  With a million psychotic shrieks, the horde descended on us, with skeletal Flayers along for good measure.  I do so deeply hate Flayers...
-This pit must be the Flayers' last stronghold, the site of their final, ultimate, very very last stand.  At least, that is my hope.  They have come in wave after wave; only the narrow corridors have kept them from simply burying us under their combined weight.  We have both avoided being blasted to bits by the skeletal ones (Khaleel is a good man, much more sensible than I gave him credit for) and dealt with the other occupants of this pit as well.  There are a few Tentacle Beasts, more watery zombies, ghosts (all green) and mummies.  Before the Flayers took this area over, perhaps these were catacombs under neighborhood churches; that would account for the sheer numbers of undead in both Flayer lairs.  I've even found an old funeral mask.  It would make a passable helmet, if I didn't have a better one.
-The depths of the pit is another layout of sewers, draining the upper levels.  I wonder how the water is ultimately removed; probably magically, there seems to be a lot of that around here.  It does indicate that, like my people, the Zakarumites did not originally come from a swampy climate.  It seems to me that people who live in watery areas would never have a cultural tradition for underground tunnels, or preserving things by burying them.  In the node at the back corner of the level, what must be the chief Flayer and his retinue have made their lair.  How very convenient.  The curse of Attraction confuses them wonderfully, and Corpse Explosion clears away any resurrectable minions.  Even Khaleel has a laugh, watching them kill each other.  The last dies of my venom.  His treasure is imposing: an enormous axe, a giant sword, and... a brain?
-Out in the light now, and that is indeed what it is.  A human brain, slightly damp, flexible to the touch, and unharmable by any power I possess.  I feel a sense of foreboding, as though some saint will soon bless my life with his presence, radiating beams of golden luminescence, thereby making it impossible to sleep at night.  Speaking of light, the day is quickly vanishing.  I have Khaleel climb a tree to see where we are; he says we are very near now.  A bit further upriver, and there it is: the holy city of Kurast, crumbling before our eyes.  Every tree in the jungle stands higher than those walls; the city looks wide open to any invader.  Perhaps that is what the Lord of Hatred wants us to think.  I will not be so tempted -- I am going to bed.

Difference between revisions of "Varnae (Chapter 18)"

Latest revision as of 17:27, 12 February 2017

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