Tearlach (Chapter 5)

Template:Tearlach nav After a night's well-earned sleep, Tearlach breakfasted with the Rogues. They didn't seem to understand why he took two whole chickens for himself -- even while trying to be warriors, these girls were busy watching their figures. A fighting man needs his strength, and has no time to worry about keeping trim. Chickens were strange birds: they never tried to fly free, but scratched around under their master's boots their whole lives, even though every day some were eaten in full view of the others. It reminded him of the way southlanders lived, gathered up in cities under the "protection" of the powerful -- except that instead of a daily quick death for a few, all died slowly as taxation and slavery bled them their whole wretched lives. Foolishness and more foolishness, but they were blind to it.

The old man from the village was up and about now. The demons must not have been too cruel to him, he recovered quick enough. Nonetheless, he was a sad sight, balded and bent with age, with no better weapon than an old stick. As is common everywhere but the mountains, the old man knew nothing of war; instead of steel, he carried a huge book with him wherever he went. No wonder the demons hadn't bothered to kill him; even Tearlach wouldn't stain his hands with the blood of someone so useless. What a shame it was, to be so near death, yet unwilling to die in combat and ascend into the Heaven, where ancient warriors of renown feast all night and battle against Hell all day. Maybe he'd learn from his misspent life and do better next time, if he wasn't condemned to Hell for cowardice.

"I could not stop the horror that overtook Tristram when our hero left us," the old man muttered over his porridge. "All were slain to the last, except me. I don't know why I was left hanging in that cage."

"To grieve over the folly of your useless life, old man," Tearlach told him. "Anyone who's been as worthless as you should understand that before they're snuffed."

The old man blinked, and looked appraisingly at Tearlach. "Hmm. To judge by your great size and obvious vigor, I would say you're an inhabitant of the northern mountains."

"Damn right!" Tearlach shouted, spraying flecks of chicken into the fire. "You speak to Tearlach, son of Grignr, son of Gor! I have come from the highlands to rid the world of evil, and this is as good a place to begin as any."

"Your people's reputation precedes you." The old man flicked some crumbs of meat off his robes, and leaned closer. "By fortunate coincidence, you have come to the right place. The horror that overtook Tristram was none other than Diablo himself!"

"Ah! I knew I was on the trail of something worthy of me. It is my destiny to destroy the Brothers! Since he has taken the monastery, I will go there and destroy him."

"Excellent! I will assist you in any way I can. Now, from what the Rogue sisters have told me, the horror in the monastery is not Diablo --"

Tearlach had burst out laughing. "Old man, I'll take pity on your years and not make you fetch and carry for me. Wait! Did you say Diablo isn't in the monastery?"

"It is certain that the monastery is now the lair of Andarial, the maiden of --"

"Bah!" Tearlach threw the last of his chicken away. "Why are you wasting my time! I seek Diablo, or one of his brothers! Some minor demon is of no concern to me."

"Perhaps I have not made myself clear. It is my guess that Diablo has gone through the monastery, leaving Andarial behind to prevent anyone from following. He seeks the lands of the east, where his brothers lie imprisoned. Unless Andarial is defeated, no one can get through the pass, and you will not be able to meet Diablo!"

"Why not? These tiny mountains would be easy to cross. You southlanders may have to walk through a pass, but where I am from, men know how to climb a hill."

Nodding, the old man said, "Well, it is understandable that you might fear to face Andarial. According to what I have read, she is --"

"I fear nothing, old man! No man, beast, or the spawn of any pit! Who is this Andarial you think I fear?"

"Andariel is the maiden of Anguish, queen of the Succubi, and lord of Hell's legions of spies and corrupters. Though only one of the lesser four evils, her power is still great and terrible. Many have been destroyed by her, often without knowing it. Of all the seven evils, she is considered the most cunning, using deception and guile to her advantage. Flattery is her weapon of choice... which makes me wonder why she is here."

"Because deception and guile work on you. Among my people, none give sweet words any heed, and a flatterer's tongue gains nothing. That is why fat merchants do not come to the mountains... as if any would dare to. I will journey into the monastery and kill this Andarial, though. Traveling through the pass would be quicker than over the peaks, and if she stands in my way, that will be her sorrow."

The old man nodded sagely, smiling a bit. "You should know Andarial's venomous heart is her strongest weapon in combat. Though I have noticed you wear the Berserker's Arsenal, which grants near-immunity to poisons and drugs."

Glowering, Tearlach snarled, "You recognize this sacred armor? How is it that so many of you outlanders know so much of our ways?"

"Legends remain, of course... and that set is out of legend. May I ask --"

"No. This is no time for idle talk. My blood boils for action!"

With that, Tearlach ran out the gates of the fortress, with Visala right behind, asking why he didn't just use the waypoint for once. Watching them go, Cain scratched his head, then turned to ask Kashya, "Is that sort of thing common?"

"You have NO idea. As if losing the monastery wasn't bad enough, this place has been a complete and utter *HELL!!!* for the last three days."

"Surely, things aren't as bad as that!" Cain smiled. "Perhaps this Barbarian is not the most tactful or intelligent of men, but your lady Akara has told me he has been very helpful. Being overrun by demons must be worse than anything he has said, I am sure!"

Without warning, Kashya's arm shot across the clearing, grabbed Cain by the front of his robe, and hauled him in like a midget herring to stare right into her inflamed eyes. "You don't get it, do you? He LIKES me."

Cain blanched. "Oh... oh no, I'm very, very sorry..."

When they finally got back to the dark woods they'd left earlier, Tearlach stopped to look around. Visala was still asking about the waypoint... apparently, the poor thing was tired out from the run. He'd seen some of those magic transporters in the highlands. Some interloping mages built them. His people left them to rot. True men gain nothing from the magic tricks lesser men use to make their lives easier. Life is a struggle, as it should be; if you want to go a long way, learn to run fast and far like your ancestors did.

"My people are known throughout the world for stamina," Tearlach grinned. "Great staying power, can go for hours! That ought to pique your interest, wench."

"Yeah, right," Visala mumbled, plinking away at some skeletal archers.

"Ah, you like 'big boners', then?" He laughed, splitting a corrupted Rogue's skull in twain with a single blow. "The men of these lands aren't much meatier than those bastards!"

"Say, how do you know so much about 'these lands', anyway?"

"A simple tale, lass. In my land, all are told of the ancient ways. We had them pounded into our skulls while we were babes so we'd never forget. Our ancestors were the mightiest of men, the greatest in all ways, and so we are greater than any other race of man in the whole world. Tales of the weakness of your people, and your foolish and evil ways, survive among the true people, though you have tried your best to forget them."

With a snort, Visala dropped a shaman with an arrow through the eye. "And your teachers never left the highlands themselves?"

"Why? There's nothing outside the mountains. Nothing worth anything, anyway."

"So, how did you know what they told you was true?"

"Are you calling my clan elders liars, witch? Watch your tongue! Where I am from, there is punishment for a woman who spreads falsehoods!"

"Ah. Gotcha."

The nerve of that little outlander girl! Every word the clan elders said was true; that truth was a sacred trust from the Ancients themselves. If not for the beauteous Kashya, Tearlach would have beaten sense into that little wench then and there. The land was marshy above the woods, from a stream flowing through the pass. Goat-men and little blue demons were everywhere... not that their numbers saved their lives. When Tearlach came back to camp with things to pawn, the old man actually made himself useful. He knew almost as much about enchantment as the smiths of mighty Sescheron, and could identify spells at a glance.

"Not bad, old man! Almost worth the trouble it took me to save you."

"You saved him?" Visala asked.

"Aye! And a fine rescue it was. I'll have to save more people when I have the chance. Some wenches, maybe... fine, agreeable ones."

"Good luck finding any," she grumbled. "Unless you like horns and sharp teeth."

"The teeth are a problem, I admit. They'd prickle somethin' fierce on my --"

"Kashya!" Cain exclaimed. "Tell me, how are your scouts doing?"

"Eh?" Tearlach looked around. "Where is she?"

Cain scratched his head. "Hmmm, I thought I saw her."

"Ah, glorious Kashya! Even in her absence, the smell of her lingers delicately in the air, like the smell of Egtheow's best sausages. Only nicer even than that! With mustard, she'd be as heaven on earth! A saucy one, she is."

Looking a bit ill, Visala said, "I have to go over there for a while."

"What for?"

"Um... female problems."

Tearlach shuddered. "Ugh. Go. Do your business."

Meanwhile, Kashya was glaring hot blistering death at Cain from the tent where she was hiding. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Cain muttered, "Um... tell me, how are you getting along with Charsi? She's spoken very highly of you."

Tearlach shrugged. "Does decent repair work, I suppose. What of her?"

"I believe she has something she wants to ask you. Yes, she's looking right at us, rather expectantly. Perhaps Kashya would be impressed if you went to ask?"

More out of frustration than anything, Tearlach went to ask that stupid smith girl what she wanted. Nothing he did pleased Kashya; last night, he'd stood outside her tent for hours, flexing and showing off every muscle. He'd even oiled his whole body for the occasion, but she ignored him. Any other woman, he was sure, would have been driven mad with lust at the sight; what willpower she must possess! The thought of it enflamed his heart further; he would find a way, he had to! She could try to hold out against her destiny and his, but he could hold out even longer! It was inevitable.

The smith girl hemmed and hawed, looking up at Tearlach with big blue eyes. A strange color, really. "Um... I don't know how to ask about this..."

Growing impatient, Tearlach said, "With words, lass. Spit a few out."

She shifted from foot to foot. "Um..."

"Other words. That one means nothing."

"Well..."

"That's no improvement. Come on!"

"I was just wondering..."

"WHAT?!"

The shout could be heard from one end of camp to the other. Charsi jumped and nearly fell back across her anvil. "Oh! Um... I... just need a tool from the monastery."

"Is that all? What tool?"

"It's a smithing hammer, a malus. It's enchanted. It's power is to make other enchanted things. To make other things enchanted, I mean."

"Hmm... that's a good thing, then. Sorry to startle you, lass, but quit being so tongue-tied and stupid."

"Don't talk to Charsi like that," a Rogue behind him said.

Standing up to his full height, Tearlach turned around and stared down at the Rogue. "And who are you to tell me what I can say?"

"I'm Itonya. I'll be going out with you. Charsi's a great smith, and she's not stupid. Don't you call her that."

Tearlach laughed. "What happened to... the other one?"

"She quit. Actually, she begged for another assignment. ANY other assignment. I think she's digging a new latrine right now, and I've never seen her so happy. Don't think you can try anything with me, bozo, it won't work."

Itonya was a fairly tall, square-built Rogue with a hint of a moustache. She reminded him a bit of home. "Of course not, lass... wouldn't dream of it."

"Good. Now get your lumpy ass in gear. I've got an assignment to take care of."

A ruined building squatted on the marshes, its stones burnt black. A cellar door was set in the floor, and the stench of death wafted up. Demons love such places, so Tearlach jumped down with a fearsome war cry, ready to send them running in terror. Instead, he landed on a pile of unstable rubble and fell on his rear. Spitting out some of the floor, he looked around the cellar; good thing no one was there to see that. Itonya climbed down the ladder quietly, not even trying to keep the smirk off her face. He was starting to like this one.

Demons there were in the cellars, blood-red goat demons who sucked the life from you with every blow. Hordes of ghosts drained away spiritual energy; had Tearlach not been blessed with both in abundance, he might have worried. No ghost or demon could get the better of him in terms of precious essences. His new servant Rogue kept quiet during combat; it was a relief not to have to put up with any more annoying chatter.

The lowest cellar (this place had a lot of cellars) was a veritable treasure horde, something like barrows were supposed to be. Barrows came from before the time of the Ancients, if such a thing could be imagined; the burials contained much gold and silver, but no steel. Looting them was so profitable, Tearlach had never seen one that still had anything in it. If they were anything like this, it was no wonder! Gold and jewels lay scattered on the floor, with much more in the possession of the blood goats guarding the place. Slaughtering his way deeper in, he was surprised to find more gold... and women!

They were tall and shapely, with midnight-dark hair and the palest skin he'd seen. Though slender and vaguely ethereal, their lack of solidity didn't detract from their seductiveness. They almost floated towards him. "Your blood will boil..."

Tearlach leered. "It already is, wench!"

"Oh, puh-leeze," Itonya mumbled, and shot the nearest one.

The arrow lodged in the woman's chest, hardly seeming to bother her. For some reason he couldn't quite put his finger on, this bothered Tearlach. "Hmm..."

"Hey, stupid! Wake up! They're vampires!"

"Vampires? Stupid woman! They're..."

"Of course they look like that. They want to." She was firing arrows one after the other now, putting a few in each. The boundaries of their bodies seemed strangely undefined; he could see arrows sticking out of them, but couldn't see the wounds. Very strange.

"Helloooo! Oh Mr. Precious Bodily Fluids! Render unto me a fvcking break and KILL THE BITCHES!"

"Huh? AH! Unhand me, foulness!" He swatted away clawed fingers, and raised his axe.

"Dawn breaks over Marblehead," Itonya grumbled, putting an arrow through the lead vampiress' eye. She seemed supremely unruffled by the stick poking through her head, but decapitating her helped.

The foul vampiress' had quite a horde of treasure for themselves, which Tearlach had earned the right to take. Back in camp, Cain looked even more bent than usual. "What happened to you, old man?"

"Kashya had something of a falling-out with me... I believe the applicable term is a 'power wedgie.'"

"Huh," Tearlach grunted. "You need all the power you can get. Identify these things."

"How is Kashya holding up?" Itonya asked.

"Three feet off the ground, for over 10 seconds."

"Pretty good."