Varnae (Chapter 10)
Template:Varnae nav Dear Diary,
This morning was even worse than I had anticipated. In addition to a growing contempt for myself - what was I thinking, risking my life in a sewer to please a woman? - there is the matter of Jerhyn. This morning, he came to see me, here at the inn. Needless to say, I was aghast. Any leader, if he is to have the proper respect and fear of his subjects, must remain aloof. Mixing with the commoners creates familiarity, and familiarity breeds contempt. If the boy absolutely must speak with me, then he must require me to make the effort to go to him, not the reverse. Who is master here?
He has to learn sometime, so after hearing of his presence I rose leisurely, taking all the time I need and more to prepare for the coming day, in the hopes that my insolence will remind him of his station. It has not; he is pacing back and forth in the street under my window, impatiently awaiting my pleasure with no notion that his time should be more important than mine. The position of sultan is hereditary, I understand; did his father not educate him in these important matters? Perhaps a bit more insolence will help, but I'd best not indulge my worse nature too enthusiastically; he has the larger force behind him.
The discussion began badly -- he actually said he was glad to see me. It is I who should be glad to be allowed into your presence, you puppy! But before I could think of a suitable way to express this sentiment, he distracted my mind and purpose most unfairly, by presented me with important information. Against all expectations, a man resembling Tristram's local hero came to Lut Gholein a few weeks before my arrival. Accompanied by a small man who was obviously feeble-minded, the stranger kept himself heavily cloaked at all times, despite the heat. Of everyone he met, he asked the location of Baal's tomb. No one still living knows the whereabouts of Baal (the Horadrim did one thing right) so the stranger left, with as little ceremony as when he arrived.
The implications of this are fascinating. One theory concerning demonkind states that they do not truly exist in a material sense, but interact with our plane by manipulating the astral connections associated with living minds. Being from a dimension beyond our own, the insensible matter which makes up our world is inaccessible to them except through indirect means, a way of explaining why demons use devices infused with native souls to interfere with our material world. More importantly, existing beyond our reality implies that any two demons will be able to perceive each other outside our plane using their native senses, and so could never be hidden from each other.
If that was indeed the Lord of Terror (and there is little reason to doubt it) it would seem that he is unaware of his fellow demon's location: Baal is lost to him. Jerhyn also notes that the assault on the city began within hours of the mysterious stranger's departure, no doubt emptying the surrounding area so Diablo's search would not meet interference. The desert will certainly be full of demons, revived corpses and corrupted animals until Destruction has been found, or even afterwards if Terror's malevolence has not been satisfied. I occurs to me that the Soulstones may be responsible for this strange turn of events; spirit traps of our own invention affect demons oddly, who can say what a Heavenly trap would do?
It also occurs to me that I haven't much time for dilly-dallying. As offensive as it may be, educating Lord Jerhyn about his title will have to be forgotten, if not forgiven. Finding Baal before Diablo has the chance to free him appears to be my only alternative; either that, or finding Diablo himself. The former option seems the least hazardous. Exploring that sun-blasted wasteland will not be good for my health or disposition; traveling across it was enough punishment for the sins of one lifetime. Lest the heat kill me before the demons do, I need a way to protect myself, even if it means giving Lysander my business.
There are many jolly merchants in the marketplace, all eagerly anticipating my patronage. Who's to say the followers of Rathma are not welcome wherever they go? Deckard Cain, who seems fond of sitting by wells, is very happy to have the decayed scrolls and tomes I brought up from the sewer -- it takes so little to please him. Ah, I've no need for Lysander after all! A fellow here is selling folding sun-shades called "parasols," which may be carried in one hand to provide cover for the head. Necessity is the mother of invention, so 'tis said. My armaments do not leave me a free hand, but that's what servants are for, and they're for hire. My only quibble is the colors and patterns available, all floral things in gaudy shades. The least offensive is a subdued peach.
The rocky wastes outside the city walls are absolutely impossible, alternating between small hard stones just large enough to trip over, and shifting sands which slide out from beneath one's feet. My hired man, one Zanarhi, is not being very helpful. I demand only one duty of him, but he seems to feel it is beneath his dignity. A servant has no right to dignity, but perhaps the only example of a master he has known is Jerhyn. I've had little opportunity to correct his misapprehensions, however, as almost from the moment we stepped out of the gates we have been beset. The spear he insisted on carrying along has seen enthusiastic use, and he will not remain close and give me shelter as I've instructed.
The creatures of the desert are, blessedly, living things one and all. Firstly, there are the Sand Leapers, extremely active reptiles with more eyes than is acceptable in a vertebrate. As their name implies, they are energetic runners and jumpers, forever bounding hither and thither to avoid our blows and attack when our backs are turned. Zanarhi finds them a terrible consternation, but a single dose of poison is all that's required. Second come flocks of four-legged birds, resembling a combination of the worst of vultures and jackals. Having two wings and four legs gives them a total of six limbs, which I have not observed before in any natural animal. Zanarhi says are new to the area. These birds weigh about 30 pounds each, but are powerful fliers capable of reaching great altitudes, though lacking the aerial grace to attack while on the wing.
Also inhabiting the area are cat people, like those in the sewers. Quick and agile, though perhaps not terribly strong, these are beautiful creatures who really should not be in league with Hell. Why any cat would care for Heaven or Hell is a complete mystery to me; sensible earthiness is one of the cat's most charming traits. Another reminder of the sewers can be found half-buried among the rocks: the bones of enormous reptiles. The sewer beast's old head may have come from a juvenile of this species.
Ah, a discovery! The local people do not keep graveyards; each family has a large tomb for the preserved remains of their honored ancestors. Zanarhi wishes to avoid the tomb, as it does not belong to his family, but my curiosity must be assuaged. Seeing how the dead are treated here is more than a matter of curiosity for me. As might be expected, the revered ancestors object to my adventurous spirit, but strenuous arguments convince them to lay down their arms... and legs, heads, etc. etc. etc. Being out of the sun has improved my mood somewhat, though it irritates me that now Zanarhi sees fit to remain close. He's also forgotten the parasol; if he lost it, a new one will come out of his pay.
The deepest part of the tomb conceals a couple of armories, as I suspected it might. This is news to Zanarhi; the family patriarchs must not share the knowledge of these holdings with their more rash and impetuous sons. He is an irritatingly efficient killer, even more so than poor Floria. The first armory is guarded by an especially revered ancestor; after Zanarhi kills it, it explodes in a blast of ice, injuring him severely. The mummy was obviously trapped, to teach anyone who violates its tomb to a fatal lesson.
The second armory has powerful guardians. The family whose tomb this is could not have placed them there -- they would never see their heirlooms again. These demons resemble beetles externally, these demons are the height of a man and walk on their hindmost legs. The forelegs are shaped like axes, and are used to attack. Being struck by one, though certainly painful, was not the greatest danger; that came when we retaliated. Bolts of electricity jolted up our weapons, sending sparks of brilliant lightning dancing about the room and giving us both near-fatal shocks. Every muscle in my body was trembling as I ran away, with Zanarhi not far behind me in any sense of the term. After some minutes, we returned to find the beetles dead. Poison is such a great gift.
The best loot in the tomb is a suit of chainmail. Perhaps its a measure of how far my steps have deviated from my intended path that I value this. The joys of nihilistic transcendence are far from my mind, now taken over by the crass concerns of material survival. Back on the surface, Zanarhi nearly "forgets" to pick up my parasol; as punishment, he shall have to carry it while we are in the city. I have no idea why it amuses the townsfolk so to see it, but carrying it embarrasses him and that is enough.
Finding for the tomb of Baal could take years, and it seems I must fight every step of the way. Up in some low hills, I have found the remains of monumental stone statues. In style, they are very different from the tomb sculptures, but seem more recent; erosion has touched them less, despite being more exposed to the elements. We are not far from the city, so I am sure they have been well described elsewhere and I will not waste my time on them. Were there anything else of interest to note, I would not have mentioned them at all. This land is a misery, hot and dry and plagued with blood-sucking insects. The only novelty I have discovered is an enchanted scimitar, which floats and attacks without human guidance. At least, it did before Z broke it in two.
The day has been an exhausting one. There is another tomb in the hills, but I will not go in tonight. On any exposed skin, I am burnt painfully. Sand is everywhere -- in my boots, in my gloves, my skin has been abraded to the point of blistering. My only desire is cool water and a soft bed, but know I shall find neither until I accomplish my goal and leave this desert far, far behind me.
Someone has been in my room. Nothing was taken; instead, things were left, along with an insulting note.
"Wow! Them lightnin' bugs are bad trouble, ain't they? Here's some gear to help you out with them, and don't you worry, there's more coming. You just needs to be patient.
-- The Mule."
My benefactor has returned. The gear will be useful: gauntlets, a sturdy belt, rare jewelry and a pair of steel boots with the name "Goblin Toe" written on the sole. What is a goblin, I wonder, and why should I value its toe? Never mind that; my brains have been simmering in the saucepan of my skull all day, I cannot trust my thinking. Perhaps rashly, I will write a letter of my own in return, and leave it on the floor to be picked up. Here is a copy:
"My dear benefactor,
Your latest gifts have been received, and let me offer my heartfelt thanks. Though I hesitate to inquire into what may be a personal matter, my curiosity has overborne my deference and I feel compelled to put a number of questions to you:
Who are you really, and why have you decided to bless me so magnanimously?
How do you come by these things?
In an earlier encounter, you mentioned companions, and a disk. Does your assemblage support the theory of our world being flat? Most educated persons align themselves with the spherical theory, being so much better supported by astronomical evidence.
In the hopes that I find you and any compatriots well, I remain
Yours sincerely,
Varnae C. A. von Rhus"