Tearlach (Chapter 6)

Template:Tearlach nav Gheed waited patiently while Tearlach looked over his wares. He couldn't help but smile; the idiot was developing a real habit for gambling. All Gheed had to say was that one worthwhile item was in there; the mark always ran out of money before he ran out of things to gamble on. The Rogues paid the Barbarian cheap, but all of it was flowing straight into his coffers... When he got to Lut Gholein, Cheed was going to buy the biggest bowl of Nharlem weed money could buy, and smoke until all earthly sense left his body.

"Erm... the helm."

"There you are, sir!" Gheed grinned. "A fine helm of light, with resistance to cold too!"

"Bah! Useless!" The helm went flying across camp. Gheed could retrieve it later; after all, it was just lying around without any sign of ownership... "Are you sure you have something good in that pile, you snake?"

With a dramatic sigh, Gheed cast his eyes heavenwards. "You wound me, sir! I will admit, not everything available here meets your high standards, but where's the fun of gambling if you know it's a sure thing? Oh, I know you're frustrated! Believe me, when my customer isn't happy, I'm not happy. Here's a hint: try the sword."

"My clan weapon is the axe. I will not take a sword."

Gheed threw up his hands. "That's not my fault, is it? Perhaps a nice bow for your girl there? If you want a sure thing, here's a helm with sockets. It's nicer than the pot helm she's got now, and I'll let you have it cheap! How's that sound?"

"What of all the money of mine you've taken already?"

"Well... what of it? You can always get more, can't you?"

Grunting in dissatisfaction, Tearlach took the helm and dropped some coins in Gheed's sweaty palm. He'd have to get some new gems; it's hard to get them out of their sockets without breaking them. Meanwhile, Gheed congratulated himself on a job well done. Milk the sucker (and you couldn't ask for a better sucker than him) until he gets mad, then send him out for more. Gives him time to cool off, and you time to set up the next round.

The tower marshes were small, an isolated dip in the gentle climb up the pass. Beyond them, the land rose steadily, and the huge dark wall of the monastery came into view, stretching clear from one side of the pass to the other. Tearlach could see it was solid stone, with a smooth finish; burning or climbing would not do. This was an impressive wall for women to hide behind; it would have been more impressive if it hadn't been built to extort money from travelers. Tearlach was considering the best way to assault the monastery when a ball of fire burst on his armor. Itonya was shouting and shooting arrows at some skeletons. Blast, does that woman ever intend to give him time to think?

The skeletons were throwing the fireballs. Strange -- Tearlach always thought that casting spells took brains, and these bones didn't have any. They had brains enough to run, though, clattering off as he came to smash them back into their graves. Damning wizard's cowardice even in death, Tearlach chased them up and down the hill; they in turn led him into crowds of skeleton archers and more damned quill rats. Soon, the air was full of arrows, fireballs, quills,even a few lightning bolts from a crowd near the monastery gate. The few hand fighters there were the little blue coward demons, who ran in terror at the sight of blood. All the running got to be really annoying after a while. What made it even worse was that damn Rogue just standing there, smirking and plinking away.

Kicking open the monastery gates, Tearlach strode in. Nothing came to challenge him; they must be hiding deeper inside. Judging by the size of the place, it would take some time to find Andarial, especially since she was probably cowering in the deepest pit the place had to offer. Unless... he just went straight to the deepest pit in the monastery, since this foul demon lordess was sure to be there!

Smiling, Tearlach said, "Wench, where is the deepest pit in your monastery?"

"Need to take a dump?" Itonya asked.

"No. Answer the question, woman."

"Sure you do. Maybe then, you won't be so full of sh!t."

"We are going there! Now where is it?"

"We don't have any 'pits', unless you think Andarial's hiding in a latrine."

"Damn it, woman! Where are the deepest tunnels under your monastery!?"

"Probably the catacombs under the cathedral. Dare I ask why you want to know this?"

"That is where I face Andarial." Tearlach grinned. "Where else would she hide?"

"Gee, how'd you guess that?" Itonya rolled her eyes.

"I have a sense for these things. You would not understand."

"Or maybe because we told you how the evil came from under the cathedral that night?"

"Of course not. I wasn't listening."

The outermost area of the monastery was a group of gardens. Southlanders do like natural things, but only in an unnatural setting. Maybe that way, they think they control it; pipes hold water, walls hold earth, and banks of tall trees keep out most of the winds. It is nature that controls man: the land shapes him, tests him, declares him fit or unfit. Let man shape the land, and he becomes soft and weak. The Rogues had a statue in the central garden, a heroically-proportioned representation of three archers defending a hilltop. Tearlach just shook his head; the vanity of these silly women, putting on such an ostentatious display to glorify their weakness.

Sasquatch and more Rogues filled the gardens. These Rogues bore more signs of corruption on their bodies; their skins were turning black like burnt wood. It made killing them easier. The sasquatch were a tougher breed than usual, though still not respectable. Itonya told him there was a shortcut to the cathedral, through "barracks" and jails dug deep into the mountain bedrock. Tearlach didn't know what a "barracks" was; the best she could explain was some kind of weapons storehouse. There were plenty of weapons there, but also cots lined up in side rooms, like people were supposed to be stored there too.

On his way through, Tearlach ran into a huge crowd of demons, advancing on him in a considerable horde. Past experience had taught him that they could be safely ignored until their shamans were dead, so he leapt over their tiny heads and started braining shamans right and left. Then a deep voice bellowed, "I shall make weapons from your bones!" A fat demon, taller even than he, shuffled out of a red-lit hall, shoving tiny demons aside as it came. Tearlach smiled; this foe might be worthy of him.

The first hit is usually the worst; it actually sent Tearlach reeling back into the wall. Blinking with surprise, he took the next on his shield and bashed the fat demon back. The horde of little demons closed in, hammering and cutting from all sides while Fatso came back for more. Every time Tearlach or Itonya struck a demon down, one of the half-dozen or so shamans in the distance brought it back. He was going to enjoy killing them. Fatso, to his great credit, gave at least as good as he got; Tearlach actually had to drink a potion of healing before the bastard went down. The little one scattered, squeaking in fear. After shouting of his victory to the heavens; Tearlach continued where he'd been so rudely interrupted, bashing shamans into little puddles of goo. And damn, it felt good.

The fat demon had some valuable items, including new armor for Itonya. She actually said thanks for it; Tearlach was almost disappointed she didn't spit in his eye or something. In the chamber Fatso came from, a forge burned brightly, accounting for the glow. One of the smithing hammers glowed with magic. A magic tool? Why waste enchantments on a mere tool, when weapons are what saves your life? There no making sense of these people, but money is money, so Tearlach stuffed it in his pack and forgot about it.

Under the "barracks" were the jails. Prisons and bars everywhere. No man should ever be caged; among his own people, those who were not killed for their transgressions were exiled to foreign lands. The latter was the worse punishment. Ghosts abounded among the cages and torture devices, with hordes of goat-men and skeletons for good measure. Tearlach did not like this place. The walls seemed close, and the torture machines were obviously much older than the demonic invasion. He drove in deep and fast, plowing through ghosts and goats and ghosts of goats until they reached daylight again.

The jails opened out, strangely enough, onto the gardens in front of the Rogue's cathedral. It was a big building, dedicated to the glory of the Light; in the middle of the gardens was a waypoint. Tearlach stared at it for a moment, then activated it.

"Wow! Amazing! He's actually using the waypoint! Three cheers for no-brains!"

"Silence, woman. This is too far to run."

"What do you have against waypoints, anyway? You've been using portal scrolls. Heck, I didn't even think you could read."

"That will be enough, woman! The scrolls are common and easily understood, our shamans make them all the time. Waypoints are a sorcery I know not, and are not to be trusted."

Itonya grinned. "You just don't want to go through the jail again. Don't try to deny it, I saw how nervous you looked in there."

"I disliked the air in there; it stank. Perhaps you mistook distaste for fear."

"Suuuuuure."