Varnae (Chapter 19)
Template:Varnae nav Dear Diary,
Glorious Kurast, city of saints and angels! With a god in every golden cloister, and a temple in every stinking tavern. Depending on the religion of the moment, there might have been a tavern in every temple as well. Zakarum frowns on anything enjoyable now, but in the past, who knows? Every conceivable form of worship has at one time and place been condemned, and at another been decreed the worshiper's most sacred duty. Despite this, the enormous skulls decorating the city walls are a bit of a shock. Perhaps my religious education was as inadequate as it was biased, but my impression was that the current lot of prelates rather disapproved of that sort of thing.
One last bunch of walking trees guards the only gateway; the gates themselves are absent. As I said, it is as though all the defenses have deliberately been left wide open. The city is in ruin. Corpses lie rotting in every hovel, never concealed by the ubiquitous greenery. The Zakarumites still inhabit the city, I am happy to say, and they come in droves to die. What pathetic ragamuffins these are! Given the number of Paladin shields I have found, I should think they could afford least one among them, or enough filthy clothing to make a single shirt. But no; they come at me with farming tools, almost naked, half-crazed with hunger, and seem happier after I've sent them from this world. If they believe dying while fighting me will guarantee them a place in Heaven, they will be unpleasantly surprised.
Besides Zakarumites and wild animals (should I distinguish them?) other creatures inhabit the city. Vulture Demons exactly like those in Lut Gholein's deserts feast on the dead here; did they travel here when I did, I wonder? Or have they been here longer? To spread their evil so far, The Prime Evils would need an enormous network of assistants. Ah, Hatred had the church to do his bidding; he must have sent minions to assist his brothers the moment he sensed their escape. No! How could he sense them? Diablo could not sense Baal.
If only we understood the nature of demonkind better! For now, I am stymied, though I must focus some of my attention on survival. The great apes which roam here may once have been mere temple monkeys before Mephisto took them under his control. They look quite formidable now, huge and muscular, with enormous fangs and spines growing from their backs and shoulders. Hatred did not devote as much care to their minds; they fight with neither enthusiasm nor skill, and would rather run.
After my frenzied battles in the Flayer jungles, Kurast is almost anticlimactic. Not that I mind the more leisurely pace -- oh, no! -- but my fellow denizens of the dockside still feel a great deal of concern for me. While in the jungle, my frequent lamentations and the quantities of broken teeth embedded in my flesh burdened their thoughts considerably. How touching. (I kept all the teeth, by the way; the pile is nearly seven and one-half inches high.) Old Alkor offered me something special in his own peculiar way: "I hope you survive, my pasty friend. Would you care to take a gander at my grimoire? I have a recipe that can pick you up and put you right down again." I declined; even my constitution, hardened by years of dedicated abuse, can only withstand so many of his concoctions in a day.
During our conversation, it also came up that Alkor is eager to peruse a book of prophecies confiscated long ago by the church. This book of "heresies" was not committed to the fire for some reason, but kept preserved in one of their high temples. The stupidity of Zakarum never ceases to amaze me, yet it is so inconsistently applied. The book is well known among my compatriots. Deckard Cain babbled a long and utterly irrelevant account of the history of Lam Esen, particulars of his historical period, etc. etc. etc. Ormus calls it "The Black Book," and jokes that it has much in common with a coffin: both are the shape of the future. Hratli speaks of it almost reverently, hoping the world can bear the prophet's revelations. I would have expected Hratli's comment from Ormus, and the reverse. In my experience, prophets and soothsayers are always better able to lighten one's purse than enlighten one's mind; nonetheless, Zakarum's singular treatment of the book intrigues me.
Natalya is wearing new leathers they're even tighter than the others and she said Lam Esen's Black Book of Prophecies is very important to her and if I find it she will be impressed! I will return with the book if I must gnaw down a tree and make it myself!!
My explorations have revealed something of the city's structure. Kurast was built in layers, but not upwards, as Lut Gholein was. The city grew outwards over the flat alluvial plain where her two rivers joined. The section I have been in, Lower Kurast, is the newest and the least pious, with no large temples or other devotional areas. Further upriver is the Kurast Bazaar, then Upper Kurast. Perhaps calling it "Middle Kurast" was too unimaginative even for Zakarumites, though simply calling it "Kurast Bazaar" is hardly an improvement.
One note of limited scholarly interest: when simultaneously frozen and envenomed, demons explode into toxic ice fragments which will kill any grass they land on. Would demon blood, enchanted with death magic, make a useful defoliant?
More Zakarumites occupy the bazaar, of course, but also some of their priests. Thank the earth and all that's in it, these "advanced" religious fanatics cannot raise their minions from the dead! They do heal them, as well as any other creature they see fit, which is nearly as bad. As with shamans, they merit a quick death. The Zakarumites are a bit better clothed; I've seen the occasional helmet, though others have human bones braided into their hair, which may offer them some measure of protection.
To my astonishment, the bazaar once featured ornamental trees arranged in aesthetically pleasing patterns, judging from the holes they've left. Nothing of Zakarum, not the temples, cathedrals, nor anything in Kurast, indicated to me any sense of beauty. The trees are scattering cherry blossoms everywhere they go, and are fairly dangerous if they manage to surround a victim. Worst of all by far are the swarms of biting flies, another horror I hoped I'd seen the last of. They are not dangerous; I refer merely to the sound of their many tiny wings. As a threat, insect clouds merit fumigation, not a battle.
More notes on the architecture: many larger buildings here feature giant skulls like those on the walls. Some have intact eyes of blood-red glass. Less commonly, a few have great gouts of blood and gore dripping from their jaws, though they are high up on the walls and apparently immobile. I do not linger by them. Zakarum's views were never balanced, but this is more unbalanced than expected, and in the wrong direction. Incidentally, the apes from the lower city seem to be in their natural form. Piles of skulls lie scattered about the bazaar, where their large teeth were used as a source of ivory. Mephisto has hardly touched them at all, so their reluctance to enter battle on his behalf is understandable. Why they fought at all is now a mystery.
Two temples grace the bazaar, a northerly and a southerly. Perhaps there is some meaning in their placement which is lost on me. The southerly one is closer, so I enter the temple's inner chambers by the poorly-concealed trapdoor behind the main (very bloody) altar. The interior is covered with murals, much the worse for abuse and the passage of time; a large number of "sanguinary events" has raised the humidity inside the building, and the plaster is beginning to molder. The only image I can clearly make out is a dark-skinned man kneeling before an unearthly being, offering up his own blood. How ridiculous! If one must make a sacrifice, make sure it is from someone else. That is why we have servants.
Just had a very messy battle. First came a wave of Sasquatch -- Sasquatch, here of all places! These were followed by a hordette of nuns, wearing even less than their men, and obviously freshly come from some very wicked activity. Gentle reader, if I may be permitted to offer up unsolicited advice, I implore you to leave wickedness to the naturally wicked. The good and pious, when they fall into wickedness, completely lose all sense of proportion and go far beyond where they ought to. Those born and raised to depravity know when to embrace evil and enjoy it, and when to put it aside. These nuns, for instance, while quite fetching in their gore-spattered lunacy, would have been much more dangerous had they not been quite so naked and unarmed. Tearing an enemy to bits with bare hands and teeth may sound like great fun, but there are other, more efficient ways to accomplish that end.
A stroke of luck! The Black Book of Lam Esen sits on display in this very temple! The tome is ancient indeed, by the look of it... bother! It's written in glyphs. While I have studied these symbols, I am not as familiar with them as I would need to be, especially if this is written in the vague style prophets are so fond of. Even with proper reference materials, I would not have sufficient time to attempt a reading. It seems Alkor will read it first after all. I will show it to Natalya first.
My heart is broken! I cannot believe it. She did not care at all! She looked disappointed I was even here! I quote: "Oh, you have the book. I'm surprised you made it. You must be very resourceful." THAT'S IT!?! Where is the kiss and the lady's favor for the conquering hero? Gave book to Alkor, and drank something from his shelves. Don't know what, he didn't look. Feel funny. Just like mother, I was never good enough for her. Grab something else; Alkor says don't drink, that's a slow poison. So who's in a hurry?