Thaddeus (Chapter 9)

Template:Thaddeus nav After this, at the Abbey of St. Maccabee,

A great multitude of the dead rose up, as the

Prophecy had warned. Baham died of his wounds,

None was there to save them. Ghrab Thaar

Was there, mighty weapon of the holy saint.

The hungering dead came there, despoiling all.

The blessed relic was kept by destroying it in fire,

With all who were there, to keep their bodies

From the corruption of the fearless dead. Faith

And their sacrifice lay waste to countless legions,

And the blessing went out into the whole world.

-- Chronicles of Zakarum, c. 30, v. 10-21

Where they emptied into the bay, the sewers' main outlet was at the bottom of a small catwalk. Thaddeus noted that none of the ships would moor near it, and the people on the docks wouldn't come close. One of Greiz's guards stood nearby, and even he didn't look happy. Looking down at the narrow entrance, Thaddeus thought he heard strange noises, but wasn't sure if it wasn't just the flow of filth washing out.

"You looking for something?" the mercenary guard asked.

"A monster. I have been told one is down there."

The guard laughed mirthlessly. "I'm supposed to stop you from going in, you know. If you want to, it's your funeral. Probably won't be one, though."

"Others have entered before this?"

"Every now and then, some idiot grabs a pigsticker and tries to play hero. Sometimes we find the bodies in the bay, with pieces missing."

"Eaten away?"

"Cut up with a sharp knife. One was skinned."

Thaddeus nodded. An intelligent monster, then. "Will you stop me?"

"Hey, anybody wants to be stupid, I figure: let 'em."

"A simple philosophy. Experience is the best teacher, and very harsh for students unable to grasp her lessons. I will see you in a little while."

Marching in against the flow of the city's ordure, Thaddeus wrinkled his nose in disgust. His usual habits of cleanliness were sorely tested back in the pass, but this was even worse. Deeper in the sewers, a platform beside the main stream allowed him to walk up out of the sewage. About this time, the first fiery arrow whizzed past his head. Up ahead, visible by the light of their own burning bones, was a group of skeletal archers, mechanically firing arrow after burning arrow. The Burning Dead are one of Diablo's favorite troops. Not very powerful, it is easy for him to animate many of them at a time. The Burning Dead are more dangerous than unenhanced Skeletons in combat, and by tapping into the primal fear of fire, even more terrifying to those who behold them. The flames that flicker over those dead bones grant them some resistance to extreme temperature changes, but they are still very vulnerable to being broken apart with a club.

The upper levels of the sewers were full of Burning Dead, as well as some strange tall man-like creatures with four arms. In each hand, they carried long blades made of some very sharp crystal, but they were quite cowardly. After clearing the sewers, Thaddeus found an entrance to a deeper level. While he was not an architect, he did wonder why a sewer would need more than one level. His equipment had also taken some damage from smashing through all those dry bones. As he took a moment to clean up, it occurred to him that he hadn't seen a smith in town. Surely, a city this size had to have at least one.

In the market square, in a section he hadn't looked in, Thaddeus found a smithy. All the excitement at Lysander's had distracted him, so he hadn't seen it. The smith wasn't there at the moment. Cain was standing by the square's well; the old man insisted on accompanying Thaddeus across the desert, despite the danger. If he was guilty about surviving Tristram's fall when everyone else died, he shouldn't have been, and the Rogues would have been glad to shelter him in their monastery. But Cain was sure he could somehow be of service, and Thaddeus didn't have the heart to refuse him. At least, unlike a hired bodyguard, Thaddeus could be sure he would stay in town where it was mostly safe.

"Hello, Cain. Is the smith out at lunch?"

"No, she left just before you arrived. A strange woman."

A woman? Almost all smiths are men; to find two female ones in short order was very strange. With Charsi, it wasn't so surprising; the Rogues are all women. Besides, she was the beefiest girl he'd ever seen. "She's like Charsi, then?"

"Not in any way I can see," Cain frowned. "A slender woman, with long red hair she does not tie back, and no apron to protect her clothing. I did speak with her; an aura of sadness hangs over her, deeper than I might expect from a lonely desert maiden."

Curiouser and curiouser. Not that Thaddeus suspected anything wrong; there just seemed to be a lot of inexplicable things going on in this city. "Is there another smith? I would like to have some work done."

"There does not seem to be. Most of the merchants here sell clothing, earthenware, jewelry, and other such things. Ah, there she is now!"

Thaddeus looked behind him. A red-haired woman was peering around the corner of the smithy. She startled when he looked at her, then came out into view; Thaddeus would have sworn she looked guilty. Or embarrassed? "Hello. Please, don't be alarmed."

"Hello, brother. I am not afraid. I was just... coming back from... where I was."

Brother? "I was hoping you would repair my worn equipment."

Fara nodded, and Thaddeus handed her the Umbral Disk, scratched from the impact of many fiery arrows. She obviously recognized it, and handled it with reverence. "This is an item of great power. You must be an important man."

Thaddeus watched as she went to work. She was far less bulky than Charsi, but her long arms were deceptively strong. So careful was her work, she never burned her clothing, nor did her long hair get in the way. "I do not think so, sister; I was in a place at a time when I was needed, and was able to rise to the task. How is it that you come to be here, I wonder? I notice you have not asked my name."

"You have not asked mine either."

"Your ways seem... familiar, sister. I do not feel I need to address you by name."

She stopped working, leaning over her anvil. "Is it so obvious?"

"You are a follower of Zakarum, I perceive. You have trained with sword and shield. Even in your craft, you work with care and precision."

She kept her back to him, staring at the filthy floor of her smithy. "My name is Fara. Once I was a Paladin, in the east. Your name is known to everyone in the city."

"You have come from Kurast?" Thaddeus asked.

"Yes. A few years ago."

"How fares the church, in Kurast? Very little has been heard in the west."

Fara paused before answering. "The church stood, when last I saw it. Any further word does not reach us here."

The Protectors split away years ago, objecting to the growing intolerance and brutality infecting the church. Khanduras might not receive news, but surely Lut Gholein would see travelers from Kurast. "You do not go to see the ships from Kurast?"

"Ships do not come from Kurast. Nothing does anymore."

Thaddeus slowly nodded. "Except a few who escape?"

Fara did not answer. As she went back to work on the shield, Thaddeus saw a teardrop fall on the iron. "Much has changed in the east, but it take too long to describe it all."

Pressing the matter seemed pointless, for now. Thaddeus had his things repaired, paid Fara, and went back to the sewers. In the third level below the city, groups of preserved bodies shambled about, and Skeleton Mages cast fiery bolts at him. They were joined by packs of cat people, wielding whips and curved knives. How did these creatures get into the sewers under the city? Especially the cat people; surely, they needed to eat. Hmm... it might explain why not all the "heroes" who went into the sewers came out again. He'd seen a body or two, here and there, but not many.

Outside an empty sewer node, Thaddeus ran across a pack of blackened Horrors. These are Skeletons so burnt and baked by heat and electricity, they are nearly immune to the natural elements. They're still vulnerable to being bashed to bits with a club, though. The first one Thaddeus took down brought faint laughter echoing into the tunnels. Dark tendrils of magic swirled out, the bones swirled up into their former shape, and attacked again. Something back there, probably the "monster" Atma spoke of, could resurrect fallen minions. Shamans can be so annoying. Thaddeus knew the drill; fade back, striking down underlings a few at a time, then move around them and charge the shaman.

Fortunately, the sewer node was well lit, with several lamps. Thaddeus saw the monster, and the rest of its entourage, well before he was committed to his attack. The thing was some kind of undead, made of a patchwork of parts. The bones were human, mostly, bound together with longer animal bones, increasing the thing's height. Dried flesh clung to the bones, except in places where the skin looked much, much fresher. Behind it were a dozen more Skeletons, including several mages. As one, they all began casting bolts of elemental energy, while the monster hurled bolts of black negative force.

Looking over the situation, Thaddeus decided a straight charge might not be his best option. Thinning the herd would be a more sensible approach. Turning around, Thaddeus stumbled back out of the node, loudly gasping with pain at every magical bolt. Retreating to a corner, he waited out of sight as the Skeletons came to get him. All shamans have to see their dead underlings to raise them. After a short while, Thaddeus felt the situation would be easier to manage, so he charged back in and hit the thing hard, smashing it back into the wall.

Despite its patchwork nature, the monster was surprisingly sturdy. Its leathery flesh was sewn together with sturdy wire and layers or reinforcing magic. In addition to spells, it could also gasp out the powdery remnants of its dried-up lungs; the tissue was full of poisonous chemicals. Even after snapping in half from many repeated blows, it kept moving; Thaddeus had to crush every bit of it to lay it to rest. This thing was like nothing Thaddeus had ever heard of from Hell; obviously, it was made from pieces of many dead creatures, joined and infused with unholy life. Perhaps it was something new to the world; he would have to write more letters to his order describing it.

In the monster's lair, Thaddeus found pieces of human bodies: organs, bones, and muscles all sliced out with surgical precision. Next to a worktable soaked with gore, a suit made from a haphazard collection of human skins hung from the ceiling, not quite complete. The sight was chilling, both for the materials, and the implications. This leathery covering wouldn't fool anyone into thinking the monster was a man; its height alone precluded that. Did the thing want to walk among humanity? Thaddeus looked around some more. It had a library, full of tomes from the era of the Horadrim. The owner had written his name on the endpapers of many of the volumes: Radament. Thaddeus took all the books and scrolls with him when he went back up to the city. And the thing's head.

Everyone was glad to see Thaddeus, and know the thing was dead. Jerhyn was pleased and relieved; the monster had obviously been a great worry to him. Atma was very glad, but Thaddeus tried not to pay her joy much mind. When something has to die, it is best to kill it quickly and not gloat; no good comes from that. Cain told Thaddeus that the Horadrim used to "mummify" their dead. Mummification was traditional in this area; the body was prepared with poisonous preservatives, and could remain inviolate in a dry tomb for centuries. Part of the Horadrim "mummification" process incorporated parts of animals and magical amulets into the body, to increase the power of the undead being they were creating. That way, Cain explained, the dead mage would be able to guard his own tomb against invaders. The sewer monster was probably Radament, an ancient Horadrim mage, but he was far away from his own tomb. Why he had come to the sewers, and what he was doing with all those body parts, was a complete mystery.

Thaddeus was deeply shocked. Deliberately making an undead creature was the sheerest folly; making it as powerful as possible only compounded the error. Yet, no one in the city seemed to think anything of it. Drognan even outlined his own mummification wishes in his will. In complete disbelief, Thaddeus even went so far as to ask one of the drunken sots in Atma's tavern his opinion of the old tradition.

"Oh, I dunno," the huge, slovenly brute said. "I don't like all that living dead stuff."

"Exactly! Why on earth do you make such creatures, and consider it an act of reverence for the dead?"

"No, you got it all right! All wrong, I mean. They're our anshest... our incestors... our foreborers... our parents. They're not gonna hurt us."

"The living dead certainly are attacking the living," Thaddeus reminded him.

The sot made a sputtering noise. "Scary, huh? Our incestors have fallen."

Thaddeus nodded. "They've been calling the monster 'Radament the Fallen.'"

"Dunno why. I've fallen lots of times, and they never call me 'Geglash the Fallen.' Maybe they say, 'Geglash! You've fallen!' But I can figure that out for myself. Sometimes."

Arguing against ancient, respected customs is rarely fruitful. Particularly when you try to argue with someone whose mind wanders this much. "Many ancient practices must have seemed harmless, in their day. I'll leave you to your drinking now. Try not to have too much, Atma may need you to throw someone through a window tonight."

"Oh, I do that better when I'm drunk! When I'm sober, I always remember to check if the shutters are open first, and sometimes they get away."

Talking with a fool is folly. They lower the conversation to their level, then outmatch you with their greater experience. The sewers were empty; clearing them took all afternoon and into the evening. Before long, it would be dark, and Thaddeus would rather start his search for Diablo in daylight. Besides, the books from Radament's lair intrigued him. Cain had quickly borrowed them; he'd read anything, but those dusty tomes practically made him salivate. Most of the books looked like the usual tomes of science and magic, but Thaddeus had seen a few that looked like religious texts.

The first was a Skatsimi text, with the references to the undead circled and notes made in the margins. Radament obviously had been looking for useful information, not enlightenment. The next was an early copy of the Chronicles of Zakarum; glancing through it, Thaddeus saw the text was not quite the same as the version he had studied with. Had there been errors of copying? He'd have to save it, and get it to his order for study. The third book was a real find, something he never expected to see; a book thought to be lost, all known copies destroyed. There, in his hands, was a copy of Saint Maccabee's Book of the Hammer. The text outlined the way of the Hammer, one of the most spiritually demanding paths a warrior of the light could follow. In ages past, Hammer Paladins were the mightiest of all who fought for the church of Zakarum, drawing on the power of Ghrab Thaar, Saint Maccabee's mighty hammer. Having this holy book come to him, at such a time, amazed Thaddeus. Could this possibly be a sign?