Tearlach (Chapter 20)

Template:Tearlach nav "Hmm..." Tearlach muttered, looking over Alkor's selection of gambles. "The boots."

"As sahib wishes. There you are: a fine set of Chain Boots of Remedy."

"Damn it! I've no luck with gambling games. It's a good thing I've so much coin on hand, or you'd never see me at all."

"You have plagued my house ever since you discovered my sideline. Now, I waste what little time and space I have tending to your material obsessions. Boots, boots, and more boots. This is quite a footwear fetish you have developed."

"I do not need them. The gods left me a message, asking for decent boots."

Alkor stared at Tearlach, squinting even more than usual. "What would the gods want with boots? Damn it, if gods need boots, then gods have feet, and that means they might step in something ungodly. I do it all the time, and I am not a god at all."

"Uh... right."

"A new religion could be founded on this. Speaking of religion... the mud you track into my house every day tells me you have entered the upper city."

Tearlach's eyes widened. "You can speak to mud? Damn, that's a gift! The other wizard thought you knew so much because you spy on everybody."

Alkor's eyes squinted shut completely, and he muttered something too faint to be heard. "Hratli must enjoy your company, you suit his bizarre sense of humor. Go and spend more time with him. Have you found the Black Book of Lam Esen yet?"

"Book... oh, yeah! Is this it?"

"You have it! Get your fat sausage-fingers off and give it to me. These prophecies will give us all some insight into the goals of the Prime Evils."

"What's to know?" Tearlach shrugged. "They're going to destroy the world, trying to deny me my destiny. If that book's any good, it'll all be about me."

"I am sure you are mentioned here somewhere. Lam Esen studied many lower forms of life in his spare time. Now be off! I need much time alone and unmolested."

"No one molests you, wizard. Who would want to?"

"Asheara. She is my best customer! She buys a potion of manliness from me every week, and is always interested in reducing the cost. It is good for me that my experiments have inured me to her violent charms."

Laughing, Tearlach puffed out his chest. "So, her man needs a potion to keep up with her. And only once a week, too!"

"No, no, lack-witted mendicant. She takes them. I wonder if they have begun to have any permanent effects yet?"

A look of horror crept over Tearlach's face, and he almost ran out of Alkor's hut. Normally, anyone who insulted him like that would pay with his life... whatever a mendicant is. But hearing that Asheara was... she was a... damn it, he looks just like a woman! No wonder she seemed so unnatural. Good thing Tearlach's instincts warned him away from her -- or him -- or whatever! -- in time. A scary thing, a creature like that wandering around, trying to seduce real men.

After diving back in the reassuring familiarity of combat to the death, Tearlach met a band of green, decaying vulture demons, very much like those in the desert. This bunch had hard, stony skin; he cut right through them in a berserk fury, never realizing how badly they were knocking him around. Vulture demons didn't seem that bad, back in the desert. His war cries frightened them a bit, but not nearly long enough, and all the noise brought more enemies. Not that it made any difference, in the end. One of the Zakarumites had a scimitar the old fart said was called Blood Crescent. Sparkly little thing. No one ever decorates a real sword that much.

The far edge of the city butted up against a lake. By the time Tearlach found a bridge, he'd worked out a strategy. While the blessed madness consumed him, he left himself open to all kinds of career-ending injuries. But if he could keep his head through the fit and retreat a short distance as his enemies approached, they would string out into smaller, manageable groups. The Zakarumites didn't fall for the trick; if they were dangerous enough to worry about, that might have been a problem.

Weirdly enough, the Zakarumites even built temples on the bridge leading into their holiest of holies. What's all this preoccupation with religious stuff, anyway? The temples were so full of demons and naked nuns, it just wasn't safe for Tearlach to let himself go -- he carefully chopped his way through, concentrating on his safety and well-being. If the gods didn't like it, they could get down here and kill these things themselves, boots or no boots. One of the nuns was in leather -- must have been the mother superior. The short leather vest vanished as Tearlach tore it from her body, and a note fluttered down in its place:

Brick Rockgroin,

The world is a scary place, isn't it? You just forget Asheara, she ain't the girl for you anyways. Thanks for Vidala's Ambush, we only had one of her items! Now get your little heiney into Travincal, you're late for a very important date!

-- The Mule

If he weren't a god, he'd kill him. Come to think of it, he probably wasn't a god -- what kind of god is named after a pack animal? The man to ask was probably Ormus, if he'd ever come out from wherever he's hiding. Tearlach asked his servant anyway.

"You ask Ormus how to kill a god?"

"No, how to kill The Mule. Not that I'm going to do it. Anytime soon, anyway."

"You now face the challenge of killing Mephisto, who is as much like a god as anything in this world. It understand that the great patriarch of the Zakarum, Sankekur, now embodies his spirit. Even the hatred we feel for him fuels his strength."

"Yeah, whatever. How do you keep them from popping in and out? I can't crush their skulls if they don't stand still."

"Ormus knows not how to slay gods and monsters. If you best Mephisto, you will usher in a new age. If not, Ormus will write an epic poem to commemorate your deeds. You need not worry about immortality, Ormus' words will keep your name alive forever."

Not even trying to hide his disgust, Tearlach said, "If it's anything like his last poem, he can keep it. In fact, you can tell that pontificating blowhard never to sully my name with one of his poems again! I'd tell him myself, but I'm in a good mood today."

"Ormus thanks you. Perhaps the words of a great Barbarian king will give you the answer you need: 'If brute force is not working, you're probably not using enough.'"

Tearlach smiled. "I see southlanders haven't forgotten *all* the wisdom of the ancients. There's hope for you yet. After I get rid of Mephisto, I'll have to make this my capital."

"All will welcome you. Asheara has told me she always wanted to be the commander of a great army of men, and will eagerly come to your side."

All the color drained from Tearlach's face. "Uh... er... ah... no sense making plans this early. Still have to whack Mephisto. And Diablo, and... uh... the other one. Until then, I'll just have to... um... whatever it was I was doing."

"Your words are wise," Ormus intoned. "In the holy city of Travincal, the High Council of Zakarum guards Mephisto's tower. His durance is locked, but the head councilor holds a key that is not a key."

Tearlach frowned. "What the hell's a 'durance'?"

"A restraint, from those who know none to one for whom it means nothing. This vile durance has been sealed by those meant to guard it, that none may enter but his brothers."

"Ha! Like any door could hold me back. Never mind, you know nothing worth listening to. I'm off to the city to kill some more priests. I'll see you again by sundown."

Travincal was full of temples, which were probably once made of white marble. The stones were now stained with dried blood and burnt flesh; the zealous guardians of Zakarum were likewise blackened. They moved quickly, and under the oversight of their priests proved a difficulty even for one so mighty as Tearlach. He had to move with care, leaping from low causeways to the tops of pyramids, striking swiftly, precisely, and with punishing force. Cantors and paladins fell in droves, along with the vampires and tentacle snakes they shared their "holy city" with.

The ruined tower in the center of the city reminded Tearlach of that tower back at the Rogue's pass. It was in ruins, and burnt completely black. While he was killing the poison spitters in the watery pits outside, the Zakarum council came out. They were in even worse shape than the corrupted Rogues. Killing them was a mercy, like stomping on an especially gruesome bug. As weird as they were, they had a lot of loot: fine armor, powerful weapons, even a nicely enchanted ring. But no boots. Still, it wasn't a bad haul. He'd have to visit the big city more often.

Inside the tower, someone had put a glass globe on a little dais. Nothing else, no keyhole or anything. The globe was probably the "compelling orb" thing the old fart mentioned. Bashing it to pieces should take care of it, but the thing wouldn't break; his fiercest fury couldn't even scratch it. For once, the old fart had some useful advice: the flail one council member used belonged to Khalim, who'd been head of the council before Sankekur. He resisted when Mephisto took over the rest, and they killed him for it. His flail, combined with the saintly relics from around the city, made a new weapon that could smash the orb. The floor of the tower opened, and Tearlach fell into Mephisto's Durance of Hate. Right on his heiney. Damn, the gods will have their way no matter what he does.