Tearlach (Chapter 10)

Template:Tearlach nav Ready for anything, Tearlach stepped out into the empty wastes outside Lut Gholein. Diablo wasn't in the sewers, but he might be anywhere out there, looking for his entombed brother. The demon lord Baal had supposedly been buried in "the deepest deserts." How can a desert be deep, anyway? Never mind; the tomb is far away, and would take time to reach. Nearer town, the dead had been planted all over the place; every hole in the ground was probably full of demons and darkness. Best to go through them all. Being a major demon lord, Diablo was probably smarter than Andarial was, and might hide somewhere less obvious. The sewers still would have been a good place.

The dry, empty deserts were the same as they had been on the ride in -- only now Tearlach was walking, instead of riding on a cart with a canopy to shade him. The canopies had stuck him as incredibly decadent at first; what harm can there be in a little sunshine? After falling off the cart twice, Warriv told him to stay under the canopy -- it was too much work to lift him back up. A warrior never faints, of course; he fell asleep, maybe, to the slow rocking of the cart, but that was all.

Anyway, it was damn hot in this country. There weren't even trees to shade yourself, just low sandstone boulders and the occasional statue. The statues were strange, giant heads of bearded men with conical hats and simpering smiles on their faces. If they wanted to make impressive statues around here, they'd better make the faces less idiotic. And then there were the insects. The land was cursed with them. In summer, the mountains' high plateaus were breeding grounds for biting flies, but the midges knew no season here. And what didn't bite stung with tail barbs that could drive through boot leather. According to his mercenary, every bug in the land was either venomous, unclean, or just plain nasty.

"And don't kick over rocks like that. If there's a cobra under one, it'll get mad."

"I care not for a cobra's moods, whatever a cobra is. Anything that hides under a rock is nothing I respect."

"They gotta get out of the sun too!" Emilio wiped his brow, squinting in the heat. "Yeah, smart critters get out of the sun..."

"If they can't take it, that's their weakness. I have demons to hunt."

"Huh. Yeah. Only demons and Barbarians go out in the noonday sun. Yes, sir. You know, maybe I should write that down. Might make a good title for a book. You don't read books much, do ya?"

"No."

"Didn't think so. You should, chicks dig guys who read books."

"No they don't. Books are for old men and wizards."

"No, I'm serious! They think it means you're smart and going places. You should know how to write, too. I'll teach you if you need to."

"No."

"I sell letters to the other guys so they can send them to their girlfriends. I don't think anyone's done as much as I have to make this city a happy place. I only got caught once, when I copied a poem out of a book and the girl knew it. She still thought the guy was great, though; he went for good reading."

"A warrior has no need for reading. Now shut up! Do you think I want to listen to your babbling all day? You're as bad as the Rogues."

"Hey, calm down! You getting hot? Should have brought some water, you know. Or wear something under that armor. Metal gets hot in the sun."

Tearlach looked appraisingly at Emilio for a moment. "Are all those cloths on your head to keep it cool?"

"Well, duh. Why are you wearing that weird helmet? It looks like your head's about to take off flying."

"You would not understand the beauty of sacred helms. Now shut up or I'll kill you."

Emilio sighed. "Don't blame me for trying to make conversation."

Half a day out of town, Tearlach found a tomb carved deep into the desert bedrock. The stairs down were cool and dry; the air smelled like dust and spices. Though the tomb was full of bodies, preserved for the ages and animated by Hell's evil, it was cool and shady, with no obnoxious insects. The preservation process these people use involves soaking the body of the honored ancestor in a foul combination of toxins, then wrapping it in swaddling linens like a mummer. Because of that, they were called "mummies", whether they were a mummy or a daddy or whatever. It also meant they let out a cloud of foul vapors when you cracked them open. All the more reason to let the dead be dead, and not try to keep them around once their time is done.

The tomb was big, with dozens of bodies, not all of which were ambulatory. Apparently, all the honored dead of a particular family were interred here. Shrines occupied side rooms, where the people offered their ancestors food and drink, like they were actually alive. At least, that's what the stupid mercenary kept babbling about. Tearlach wasn't interested in the tour; it was all madness and more madness. The dead were dead, and the living should concern themselves with living. At least the tomb didn't contain any big mummies like the sewer monster. If only Horadrim wizards got that treatment, there couldn't be many more of them, and with luck he'd never run into another one.

As deep and dark as the tomb was, there was no Diablo or anything like him there. He was probably even further into the desert. Tearlach pushed out from the city, into some low hills, where he found a rock painted like a waypoint. It probably was a waypoint; the mages who made the stupid things liked hiding them, so they made them hard to recognize. With some hesitation, Tearlach activated it. Ordinarily, anything that makes life easier should be discouraged, but time was running short and magic is occasionally useful.

Night was falling as Tearlach climbed the first hill to look around. That merc was whining about going home; apparently, he was tired and hungry. For his part, Tearlach was eager to continue. The nights were bracingly chill, and the clean winds felt good against his face. If the mercenary got cold, he could warm himself up again with fighting. Just in time, a fight presented itself as a glass pot shattered against Tearlach's armored chest. Pungent gas filled the air, stinging his nose and lungs. That must have been one of those alchemical gas bombs he'd find every now and then; better find out who threw it.

In the dark at the base of the hill, Tearlach found a bunch of cat people, wearing elaborate leather harnesses and fancy hats. Like everything in the desert, they were skinny, rangy, mangy things who desperately wanted to kill him. They were as good at it as everything else in the desert too. After they were all dead, Tearlach took a look at them. They had to be some kind of people, as they had clothes and weapons, even shields which had saved their lives until he got a second swing. Also, many of them were girl cat things. With more than one set of... girls shouldn't go around dressed like that! Especially on cold nights! Hmm... maybe all the fur helped.

The deserts were dotted with the ruins of old houses, now little more than low stone walls in the dust. Houses were a sign of farmers, which couldn't be right; there was nothing you could possibly farm in this wasteland. The kitty girls kept bombing Tearlach with potions from a distance, as though they thought it would do them any good. He suspected they weren't actual demons -- for one thing, they were a lot cuter than any demon ever tries to be. Even angry, they looked cute. Maybe they were some people from somewhere in the world, who sold their souls but hadn't been corrupted physically yet. It didn't really matter, but killing them took so little concentration Tearlach found his mind wandering.

Another tomb had been dug into the ground between two hills. This was a big one, with long tunnels extending in every direction, and huge temples and galleries. The columns looked like people with their arms crossed over their chests, and similar decorations were worked into the walls. They looked nothing like the giant heads outside; these people were severe in the face, and clean-shaven. Strange and senseless, all of it, but not as mad as what they'd done with their dead.

These tombs were for more important people, apparently. There were Horadric mummies, each with a crowd of smaller undead at its command. Yes, actual command; the big mummy would point and go "Aaaaroroooghha" and the little ones would charge forward at a leisurely shamble. It was almost funny. The big bastards remembered magic, which took a lot of the humor out of the situation. They cast death bolts of some kind, unholy energy Tearlach couldn't see except by their shadows. And when a lesser undead was struck down, the greater mummy would raise it again. That was annoying, but the tombs had high ceilings. Tearlach just leapt over the little guys and took down the big mummy first.

Some cat people were hanging around in the lowest part of the tombs, along with the usual crowds of undead. These ones tried to kill Tearlach with whips. Kittens with whips. Even the merc got a laugh out of that one. It did prove the kitties were people, and probably "civilized"; only the civilized think whips are to be used on anything but animals. After smashing his way through every corner of the tomb and not finding Diablo, Tearlach went through the loot to see what was there. Most items were easily classified - sword, spear, hat, jewelry - but one was strange. It was a box, maybe a foot and a half on a side, with a big button. Odd, but the old fart would know what it was. He'd ask later; the sun was rising, and it would soon be hot again. This was a good time to get some sleep.