Varnae (Chapter 17)

Template:Varnae nav Dear Diary,

Oh, what a truly glorious day this is! I feel giddy as a schoolgirl! Her name is Natalya, an absolutely perfect name for a perfect creature of the night. What imaginings those three little syllables evoke... I could not put them to paper, mere words cannot suffice. Had I a year, I might succeed in crafting prose to summon up the cold curl of her sneer, but with the tiniest flick of mood, that disdain would break into the appraising grin of a predator spotting her natural prey and my puny efforts would be for naught. The tale of Tal Rasha's tomb had reached her ears. The ice in her eyes chilled me to my depths -- a thousand deaths could have sprung upon me, I stood frozen, I could do nothing! My trembling terror meant as little to her as my failure in the desert. She was impressed! With me! My heart might burst with joy! I feel as though I could stand astride the whole world; what terrors can Hell hold for a man in love?

Great Rathma's ghost, I'm beginning to sound like a poet. What does it matter? Splendid deeds wait to be done! I shall summon my servant and sally forth into the jungle, truly like a hero of ages gone by seeking his lady's favor. Granted, hers would not be a spotless white kerchief, but I wouldn't want such a thing and neither would she. Ah, what leather does for the right woman... say, where is my servant? The brute's scampered off somewhere. Come to think of it, did he ever get on the boat with me? No... no, I don't believe he did, and I was too upset to notice. Of all the cheek! I shall get another; I couldn't be seen without a servant, not now. My precious viper might interpret that to mean my financial situation is unsound -- women care deeply about that, if mother is any indication. Mercenaries are for hire from Asheara, which gives me an opportunity to speak with her again. If I accomplish nothing else here, I simply MUST do something about her.

As might be expected, Asheara rebuffs my attempts to reform her wardrobe. Honestly, I do believe that woman thinks herself more manly than I. Making such a huge overstatement of oneself does nothing to hide a fragile ego -- the flaw is only accentuated by the effort made to conceal it. Then again... the poor woman tries so very, very hard to impress, she could never allow anything to endanger her carefully constructed self-image, though only the naive would see her as she wishes to be seen. The Makeover of Asheara will be a long-term project. Incidentally, her mercenaries are all Vizjerei sorcerers. Mercenary and mage, wizard and poet, enchanter and smith -- this land must not encourage specialization. The most costly (and therefore my first choice) is Khaleel, a specialist in ice magic. Keeping a Vizjerei as a servant may not be so bad, so long as he recognizes his place.

With my new servant at my side, I sally forth into the wilderness, again. So much of my life is sallying forth into the wilderness now. This wilderness is more pleasant than others I have sallied into, at least -- while warm, it isn't so infernally dry and the sun is perpetually hidden by the canopy. Besides, it is good to have solid earth under my feet. I am simply not made for sea travel; I must find another way home once this business is done with.

Once on land, my first encounter was quite unanticipated -- a tall man in a concealing cloak, shuffling into the jungle. Of course, I instantly realized he was not what he appeared to be: an unarmed peasant, walking calmly into a demon-infested area? I gave chase, and blocked his path. His face was invisible, but a hellish red glow filled his hood -- all I had to see to know what it was. As I attacked, the demon vanished, leaving behind a quartet of fleshy worm-like things which tried to bite me off at the ankles. Here Khaleel demonstrated his usefulness for the first time, freezing my enemies into immobility.

I've made my way well into the jungle, and encountered a few new creatures, but never for very long. The reason is simple: Khaleel sees an enemy, blasts it into immobility, then applies his magic until the profound temperature changes shatter its body and it falls to bits. Should I wish to involve myself, I may or may not take a stab at something, but I need to be quick about it. The simple, dare I say "muscular," power of the sorcerer's art, though completely lacking in subtlety, is interesting to see up close. Vizjerei are well suited to the demands of a mercenary's life, being little more than walking weapons with no need for style or intellect. Oddly, though being deeply chilled may render a victim immobile, their metabolic processes continue unabated and poison has its normal effect.

Previously in this journal, I have made note of the demons and other creatures I encounter, and may as well continue now. Perhaps in the near future, I could publish a bestiary based on my discoveries. The jungles contains many new horrors. Here, mosquitoes are the size of large dogs. Those who call me "parasite" know nothing of what that word means. True, they come singly rather than in clouds, but given their size I cannot say which is more revolting. The jungle monkeys have been changed into large thorn-skinned apes, their fur so green with mold they blend into the bushes perfectly. And then... we have the Flayers.

Gentle reader, a short review of my adventures in the Rogue catacombs will acquaint you with a group of little rat-like men I found there. At the time, I thought them no more than an odd curiosity, but the error of my presumption has been driven home with overwhelming power. Imagine, please, a tiny creature with legs but a few inches long, far away across a clearing. Before one can raise a weapon, the creature has closed the distance and struck, leaping up to take hold of its victim and stab repeatedly with a knife nearly as large as itself. Not only are they appallingly numerous, but they are led by shamans, who can not only raise their followers from the dead, but breathe fire, a nasty little trick I would have thought them too primitive to master. Far more than with Fallen Ones or Horadric Mummies, it is absolutely imperative to destroy the shaman first, and a greater danger. Fortunately, they are easy to spot, as they are always carried about on the shoulders of a lackey. Perhaps this reinforces their social status; for all I know, it merely allows them to see over bushes. Khaleel's ability to freeze enemies is proving a great asset. He is becoming irritatingly essential, and seems to know it.

Paladin shields are turning up wherever I go. How many of those holier-than-thou blithering numskulls were there? This is their home territory; perhaps I can find a few and interrogate them. I have also found a set of claws, just like those my precious bears...

Oh, of course she would not want these claws! How stupid of me! Completely unenchanted, nothing worthwhile in them at all! I condemn the foul things to the river bottom. My servant catches her eye; yes, I visited Asheara. No, I am not impressed with her at all! She is laughable! Laughable! Indeed, a tough-talking mage who has never faced a real threat in her life, no doubt of that! You are flawless in every way, precious darling...

What a perfect day this is! One smile, and I feel lighter than air! It occurs to me that I have been lax in caring for my personal appearance. Over a week has passed since I last had new clothing. Hratli has a few suits available; perhaps I can find something that isn't too atrocious. How about a great helm? The "intimidating" look may -- UGH! The bone helm is superior in every way. Perhaps a suit of splinted armor? Hmm... not bad, not bad. Ah, field plate! Practical, yet fashionable: the suit comes in black. Much better!

A short distance from the docks, in a clearing festooned with spider webs, I have found a Horadric waypoint. Perhaps this was a place of importance, to merit its own waypoint when another is so close by. Structures once stood here; little remains besides foundations and an odd statue of a six-armed woman. Ah... a cellar, almost hidden by a flap of webbing, much like the lairs of certain hunting spiders. Gigantic spiders lurked in the Rogue catacombs as well; it seems the Flayers were not the only creature imported to the west.

So far as I know, spiders are solitary creatures, and do not relish the company of others of their kind. Finding groups of the horrid things, each larger than a man, is daunting. At least two species are present, one mainly green, the other red. These animals could not possibly have a use for treasure, yet one carried a worthless jadeite statuette of a scowling, barbaric warrior. The quality of the carving was dubious at best, and the subject bordered on the offensive. Why, oh why do many foolish men believe that ignorant tribesmen grubbing about the mud are freer and nobler than themselves? Even the most downtrodden serf enjoys a standard of life those primitives would envy, were they capable of comprehending it. Simple logic is lost on deluded romantics, I fear. Romance is the core of life... ah, Natalya... but the beguiling cliches of cheap novels are a poor place to seek it out.

As it turns out, the statuette does have value, after a fashion. Perhaps a century ago, when most of the "Barbarian hero" literature was actually written (the good old days weren't all good) these images were made and sold to the genre's undiscriminating fans. Our ship's captain is one such fan, and this particular degenerate was missing from his collection. Though he lacks the wherewithal to compensate me properly, in my kindness I allow him to persuade me to take another piece from his collection -- one made of gold. To my discerning eye, it resembles an ornamental funerary urn, and could be an antique of genuine value. Who would have thought that simple seafarer could have something so precious and rare, even if he had no idea what sat under his ignorant nose? I must show it to Natalya -- she will appreciate its beauty.

Ah, disaster... debacle... nay, a romantic catastrophe of nigh-mythical proportions! With a look and a word, my viper cut my triumph off at the knees. What could I have been thinking, cherishing a mere golden bird, when heroic deeds should occupy my attention? Love is a many-splendored thing; she lifts me to rarefied heights, then with a cruel laugh, coolly casts me down into the depths of utter despair! This is the most exciting woman I have ever met! I wonder if it's too early to set a date for our wedding?

As a side note, the urn contained the ashes of a renowned alchemist. Alkor, in exchange for certain spider parts that interest him, mixed a potion for me from the remains of that ancient sage. I've never honored someone by drinking him before, but when in Kurast... During our chat, I inquired after Ormus; is his madness a recent development? Quite the contrary: Alkor noted that he has been speaking in rhyming riddles for years, probably to hide the fact that he has nothing intelligent to say. I cannot dispute this.

There is some beauty to be found in this country. A few archaic shrines built of human bones remain, despite the church's zeal for removing all that offended its standards. How joyfully unorderly they are! These blessed skeletons are immune to the effects of the local climate as well; even bone could not normally survive long here. The power of the dome over the docks is beginning to concern me; it is visibly smaller every time I return from the jungle. My concerns are shared, of course -- Hratli has told me of another local artifact, the Gidbinn, an ancient dagger made to store magical power. This item was kept hidden from the church in Kurast's suburbs, though no one still living knows where. It was used in Skatsimi rituals, so the Gidbinn was doubtless a sacrificial dagger, and if untapped could conceivably be a great power source.

Deeper we go into the endless greenery. To think I found the desert monotonous! The few bits of art and architecture we find are rapidly being ground into nothing under the weight of the jungle's fecund growth; there is absolutely nothing to contemplate. In another patch of jungle given over to spiders, a webbed-up section holds more than spiders: Sand Maggots from the deserts of Lut Gholein live with them! To all appearances, the Maggots and spiders cohabit harmoniously, a prey species and a predator -- absolutely unprecedented. Were it not so late in the day, I would describe their situation better, but the light is fading and I am weary from my exertions. One of the larger red spiders has a well-enchanted dagger, but it is not the Gidbinn. Behind that spider, hidden in a chest(!) is an intact human eye, free of all corruption. The eyes, as we all know, are the first things to go; its state of preservation is truly remarkable. But sleep calls; more details on the morrow.