Difference between revisions of "Varnae (Chapter 28)"

Latest revision as of 17:40, 12 February 2017

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Varnae (Act V)#Chapter 28

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-Dear Diary,
-<font size=1>Hey its Khaleel again.  I know why pasty hates Imps: they look just like him I swear!  They got the hair and the snotty faces but better tans.  I still do all the killing. </font>
-More scribblings; they look like chicken tracks, but the northmen do not keep livestock of any kind.  Must I have a lock put on this journal?
-I had not even time to take breakfast before old Malah was in my quarters, urgently insisting on speaking with me.  There is something horrible about the very old; where once greatness might have been, only simpering impotency remains -- though I doubt that of Malah, except for the last.  When I am to die, let it be at the height of my villainy.  That having been said, I hope it will not be soon: dying on this cold, rocky mountain would be most uncomfortable.
-But I digress.  Dear old Malah is absolutely apoplectic over the disappearance of her chief elder's (the eldest elder?) daughter, someone named Onion.  Ah, the quaint customs of these simple people.  This pungent "lily of the mountain" vanished from Harrogath shortly before my arrival, and suspicion for her unannounced departure has fallen on Nihlathak.  The women of the northlands, who seem to be cruelly-used slaves for the most part, remain indoors when blood-letting is called for.  Being more likely to survive battles balances out the fraction who are killed by their own husbands, and returns the gender ratio to equality.  The issue of sexual egalitarianism is a foreign one for these people, and foreign ideas (indeed, any ideas) are actively discouraged.  Should I ever bother to broach the subject, even those who stood to gain the most would greet the idea with hostility.  Mother, of course, felt that a woman willing to settle for mere equality ought to get what she deserved.
-But I digress again.  It seems my fancy will alight on anything but Malah's concerns, perhaps because I wish to dismiss them out of hand.  I do so dislike listening to old people prattle on, doubly so when it's an old woman humbly requesting aid for another.  Humility is not to be trusted; on the rare occasions when it is not a false front, it's a sure sign of religion.  Give me a self-interested woman, I'll know where I stand with her.
-The situation is worse than I feared.  When I spoke to Nihlathak of Malah's visit, he actually snapped at me!  Apparently, Malah is so convinced of some wrongdoing on his part, she has been spreading rumors everywhere her idle tongue can reach, and his reputation has begun to suffer.  All who have suffered under the slanders of a malicious old gossip will know of what I speak, and the anxiety created by the invasion has only made her work easier.  A self-righteous oldster with the respect of the community makes a formidable enemy.  It is no wonder his temper has grown so short of late.  As for the girl (Anya, not Onion) she seems to have been a headstrong young thing with more devotion than sense and more stubbornness than either, common enough traits among these people.  During a lull in the siege, she left Harrogath, seeking what remained of her kin elsewhere on the mountain.  Thoughts of her obviously trouble poor Nihlathak, and I can see her loss has affected him deeply.  I wonder if they were fond of each other?
-Unfortunately, words speak loudly among the northlanders, despite Qual-Kehk's insistence to the contrary.  It is saddening to see a great man who has already suffered so much brought lower still by a campaign of whispers.  Had he a share of my own warmth and charisma, I am sure Nihlathak could dispel the rumors, but the focused malignity of all those around him has left the man an unstrung and acrimonious wreck.  Even old Deckard Cain, who I hoped would be more sensible, finds him so disagreeable he is willing to believe anything which discredits him.  All over a girl!  If my understanding of the situation is correct, elder Nihlathak is one of the few inheritors of the north's Precursor people remaining.  Even if she had a face fit to launch a thousand ships, no girl is worth the loss of that knowledge.
-My exploration of the mountain continues.  Baal has massed more ground troops on the high plateaus, collecting crowds of Plated Demons and their overseers.  As yet, I am unsure what to call these creatures; even the resemblance to Toad Demons is slight.  Khaleel refers to them as "blubber bags" for their tendency to burst open like 10 pounds of suet in a 5-pound sack.  As they are ugly and not very dangerous by themselves, I am reluctant to devote much thought to nomenclature, but "Frog Demon" is preferable to "blubber bag".
-Plated Demons are a braver cousin of Fallen Ones, also not particularly dangerous except in numbers.  Packs of them can easily surround me if I am not cautious, especially near one of their huts -- an absolutely shocking number of them can cram inside those lean-to's.  The real danger comes when a Plated Demon is charged with life energy from an overseer's "Body Explosion" spell.  Judging from their expressions and the suicidal enthusiasm of their attacks, I would say the spell is extremely painful for the demon.  The final result, I can attest, is also very painful; twice now, the blasts have reduced my bony armor to splinters in an instant.  Happily, the remains contain enough energy to make a decent Corpse Explosion, a useful alternative to poison for creatures who no longer fear my blade.
-The natives were restless in this area, it is apparent.  Not only are there the anticipated walls, but hovels with fenced-off areas beside them.  In association with each structure is a pile of animated skulls and bones, reinforcing the supposition that they must serve some sort of religious function.  The presence of fenced areas is striking.  All are square or rectangular, between 20 and 40 feet per side.  Posts are set deep into the frozen earth perhaps 10 feet apart and cannot be easily removed.  Set across the gaps are planks, from the ground up to a height of 3 feet.  These are not temporary barriers, but permanent barriers.  Though they are now empty, and no signs of life remain (not even prints in the snow) I cannot help but feel these were used as livestock pens.
-To the unenlightened, this may not seem surprising -- after all, many primitive peoples have domesticated animals.  However, there is an order to these things.  The truly primitive keep no stock, just as they cultivate no plants.  Wandering without any restraining laws, taking from nature's bounty as they please, satisfies their meager wants completely.  We call these "nomads."  A more advanced sort has domesticated animals -- the "pastoralist."  Even these still drift from place to place with few attachments, taking their animals with them as they roam.  The most advanced "agriculturalists" have finally settled and devoted themselves to cultivating and improving their land.  It is to these last that we owe the existence of towns, cities, and civilization itself.
-Given this, finding evidence of domestic animals among a people reputed to be simple nomads is unexpected; evidence of permanent corrals is shocking.  A hypothesis comes to mind, that these corrals are no longer in use and may represent an older society.  It cannot be that the present inhabitants of the mountains domesticated animals, then abandoned the practice for a more primitive way of life.  However, the fencing appears too recently made to date from the Precursor age; even the cold, dry climate of Arreat's slopes could not preserve wood so well.  The only reasonable assumption is that these barbarians have something akin to an advanced culture, which the rest of the world is ignorant of.  Advancement from nomad, to pastoralist, and thence to agriculturalist, is as inevitable as the adoption of stone tools, then those of bronze, and finally iron.  My hosts have progressed further along this chain than they originally led me to believe; why, I wonder, was I deceived?
-Another peculiar discovery has come to light -- the Infernal Torch!  This long-lost wand was part of an ensemble given to my people in ancient times, when even we were entranced by the delusion that Hell might be our friend.  There is a mystery here, I can sense it, as though pieces of an ancient puzzle are falling into place.  The animated "temples" scattered across the mountain form another piece, and the animal corrals a third.  Far more has taken place here than my hosts are willing to let outsiders know.  Personally making inquiries in Harrogath would be time-consuming, but that is what Deckard Cain is for -- the old dear said he would try to ingratiate himself with the natives.  It is time to see if he can find some genuinely worthwhile information.
-Another pit of Hell pierces the tundra; within is another maze on the River of Flame, with more Imps, Plated Demons, and Minotaurs.  I am becoming very grateful to my ancestors for the wisdom of creating the Attraction curse.  If only Khaleel appreciated such subtleties... I have explained again and again, if they are frozen, they cannot kill each other, but he becomes bored so easily and cannot restrain himself.  No patience, no style; he wants it all now, by the simplest possible path.
-Ha!  I wish I had predicted it, but poor Khaleel has had a rather nasty lesson he won't soon forget from a group of Minotaurs.  As they stared across a gap at us, I cursed them, as was proper.  Khaleel moved further on, seeking a more advantageous vantage point, and placed himself near a bridge across the gap.  The result was predictable... to anyone else, that is.  The leader of this pack, a huge brute enchanted with lightning, charged across the bridge and Khaleel bravely stood his ground, blasting into the bull's face.  The sight of the lightning, the smell of a frying sorcerer, and the sound of those two enormous axes clashing their way though Khaleel's armor was such a delightful feast for the senses, I fear I was a bit slow in coming to his aid.  When Khaleel's bones knit, I'm sure he can find it in himself to thank me properly for his life.  On the good side, he doesn't have that silly little beard anymore, or any of the rest of his hair.
-After Malah reassembled Khaleel, we returned to the mountain.  His behavior has improved noticeably already.  Further up, I have found a waypoint, possibly an indication that this was once an important place, though nothing now remains.  At the top of the hill, a wall of ice blocks further progress, but a gap runs underneath.  Should I turn away and go elsewhere, I wonder, or explore under the ice?  Caves are favorite places for demons, and there should be plenty of time to investigate.  Curiously, a tall urn of a type I have no experience with has been left on the plain near the cave entrance.  It appears to be a funeral urn made of high-quality porcelain, completely different from the wooden ossuaries I have seen elsewhere on the mountain.  Opening it disgorges three large spiders, an odd thing for any sort of urn to hold.  Could this be a relic of the Precursors?  Might there be more inside the cave?  The hour is late, so any discoveries must wait.
-Before entering the caves, I feel I should tell Nihlathak.  He is the only leader these people have, even if they do not appreciate him, and if I am to enter a sacred area I should give him a respectful warning.  He says nothing, but I can see he is troubled.  What secrets lie in those caves, I wonder?  This is no time to speculate; I must wait for morning, and remember to tread lightly among those ancient ghosts.

Difference between revisions of "Varnae (Chapter 28)"

Latest revision as of 17:40, 12 February 2017

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