Varnae (Chapter 15)
Template:Varnae nav Dear Diary,
As might be expected, for their own convenience the Horadrim built a waypoint in the Canyon of the Magi. I took it back to Lut Gholein. Inside Horazon's sanctuary, there was no way to track the passage of time, but my adventures so exhausted me I was not surprised to see the pale light of dawn peeking over the canyon's edge. The idea of exploring a dark tomb late at night had lost its characteristic appeal for me. After a hearty meal (hunger is the best spice) and a nap, it is now nearly noon on a new day. I am tanned, rested, and ready for the task of destroying Destruction, and Terror as well, should the need arise. (The tan conceals the aristocratic blue of my veins; unwelcome, but unavoidable.)
The steep walls of this little valley must make access difficult from the outside. Both ends were blocked by avalanches of rock, obviously to seal it off further. The effort was useless; burial urns, chests, and boxes lie scattered on the canyon floor, the remains of many past tomb raids. Perhaps half are as yet unopened. Fresher bodies -- resembling local nomads, and none more than a few weeks old -- also decorate the sands. These people must have been coming here for years, dragging easily-ported valuables out into the sunlight, away from the Horadric Mummies who no doubt guard the tombs. What a shock they must have had to return one day and find their treasure cache inhabited.
Terror's demons are here, though they keep close to the canyon walls. In this high desert, only mad dogs and priests of Rathma go out in the noonday sun. The first sign of them was the roaring of Sasquatch. What could induce them to come here? The poor things were obviously suffering horribly under their heavy coats of fur; as angry as they were, the heat rendered them powerless. Did Diablo bring them from the mountains, then abandon them in this wasteland? How like him that would be. Additionally, there were javelin-throwing Cat People and more Sand Maggots. I have no idea what their presence here signifies. It is known that demon lords summon their minions to themselves, which may mean that the Lord of Terror has been here. On the other hand, it is doubtful that he could have visited every tomb I explored; all were inhabited to various degrees, which implies that he scattered his minions far and wide across the land, and may not yet know of this place.
All seven tombs are intricately and uniquely embellished, with monumental columns, carved lintels, and other adornments hewn directly from the rock of the canyon wall. Judging from the lesser tombs I have raided, all contain dozens if not hundreds of burials. The statuary in the canyon is all of the older, more severe style, and substantially less weathered than the surviving examples outside. Some of these statues and columns are still erect, their glyphs faintly legible -- if only anyone knew how to read them anymore.
The seventh tomb, at the lowest end of the canyon, is the correct one. In the entrance chamber, I find a large chest; a tomb raider must have dragged it this far, then abandoned it, for its former owner is still guarding it. I have the feeling that, by the time I've explored this tomb, I will be thoroughly fed up with Horadric Mummies. Perhaps that's why cursing the Mummy to attract its own minions is so amusing -- the look on its face as its own retinue of Burning Dead slaves comes back to carve it to bits is just priceless. Self-willed dead, though inherently troublesome and difficult to discipline, are fascinating creatures. They will even run (well, shuffle at above-average speed) away from danger if their circumstances warrant it; this one is doing so as fast as its dried-up legs can manage. The chest is empty, except for two of those flying scimitars. Beautiful things, but the way the chest was being guarded, I expected more.
Other than ghosts, the Mummies are the only creatures here, and I am becoming thoroughly sick of them. This place is a veritable warren of tunnels and rooms, all positively crawling with the pestiferous things. The Canyon of the Magi was in use for a very long time; either that, or the Horadrim were more numerous than I knew. The tomb's decorative elements are all of the old style: standing or seated human figures with rigidly straight postures, beardless faces, impassive expressions, and plain garments with no visible pleats, folds, or seams. I may call this the "Kingly Period" for their regal aspect. The newer smiling, bearded men are almost absent; only a few coffins feature paintings resembling the style. In addition, there seems to be a third style of sarcophagus, elaborately decorated on lids and sides, but not with human representations. Most feature a black basalt jackal reclining on the lid, though hawks, lions, and strange chimeric hybrids are also portrayed. This hard stone is difficult to carve, but the figures are executed flawlessly. The tomb has preserved its decorations very well, and their absolute age is impossible for me to determine; the dead refuse to answer my queries. I suspect the "Animal Period" lies between the "Kingly Period" and the modern.
As befits the rich and powerful, these tombs are riddled with traps. I've had 3 Frost Novas go off in my face in as many minutes, all from canopic jars. If they were a significant threat, I would worry more. I suppose I am looting, something these ancient fellows do find rather objectionable. Is it any wonder that we're not on speaking terms? Before Terror corrupted the dead, the logic of traps was quite sound. Most thieves dare not approach, and those wealthy enough afford protection should not need to go raiding tombs. I do it for curiosity's sake. "Archaeologist" sounds so much more dignified than "thief."
I have found the seal on Baal's tomb, intact. For a time, I was afraid all my suffering would be for naught. Now, I must make a decision. Dare I wait here for Terror, and ambush him in this chamber? Or should I enter the tomb, dispose of Baal (little will remain of Tal Rasha) and then ambush Terror with less risk of his brother aiding him? Ah... sometimes, simply stating the problem correctly reveals the solution. After rejoining shaft and headpiece in the cube, I insert the completed staff into a receptacle on the floor. After a pretty little light show and an earth-shattering blast, the rear wall of the chamber is split asunder, opening the tomb. That display of raw power was portentous, pretentious, and unforgivably pompous. It must have been designed by a sorcerer.
Oh, what a horrible place that rent in the wall led to! I'm still trembling. In my haste, I went through the door first instead of sending Zanarhi. Beyond was a deep pit, full of the most horribly indescribable FILTH imaginable! I FELL IN IT!! FACE FIRST!! A horrible maggoty mass launched itself out of nowhere and landed on me!! I think it said something, but I was not listening. Good, faithful Zanarhi came to my rescue, stabbing the thing until it retreated, dribbling ichor all over me. It was huge, it was horrible, it STANK and slavered and had axes for arms and was COVERED in FILTH!! oozing out of every possible orifice and more besides! Only my natural fortitude kept me from fainting dead away.
Dear Zanarhi and I were in a pit of ordure, full of maggots and worms and roaches and all manner of filthy manure-eating bugs. The thing, like a giant larval queen with a face, arms, and a dozen caterpillar legs, was grinning malevolently. For once, I could not stomach slow death; I pulled out the scythe, cursed the thing with Decrepification, and fell to hacking away it its obscene bulk like a common soldier. I could feel THINGS crawling in the muck covering me, wriggling into my armor and over my body. Midway through the battle, some small, sane part of my mind reminded me that this creature fits the description of Duriel, the Lord of Pain. Lord of All that is Slimy and Disgusting might be more appropriate.
After enormous exertions, the thing lay dead, its horrible form burst open, spraying its ropy intestines and foul internal jellies everywhere. Blessedly, I had almost nothing in my stomach to lose. Murals of a chained man with a large red gemstone graced the chamber. Duriel had two quivers of crossbow bolts, and nothing else. Toothpicks? Hors d'oeuvres spears? I spent no more time there. If only there were a way to scrape off this muck.
Oh, joy. Oh, goody goody. My life is now complete. Not only did the Lord of Terror bypass the seal, it seems angels can do so as well. One of them was waiting for me, his dainty feet floating ever so gently above the scorched and blackened filth of the tomb. Allow me to describe the setting: beyond Duriel's pit is a short corridor, full of crawling worms. Past that is an enormous chamber with a central pit, in which stands a natural stone column which can only be reached by a narrow wooden bridge. Hovering placidly over said bridge is the Angel, perfectly polished, unblemished, not a hair out of place, everything in perfect order.
"Greetings, mortal," the angel intoned in that perfect-peace-and-sublime-snobbery voice they are so well-known for. "I congratulate you on coming this far... though I did expect you earlier."
When dealing with a pompous ass, it is my habit to let them do the talking, but I could not bear to do so this time. Gentle reader, you must realize that my nerves were frayed and my normally mellow temper at a low ebb. Even under ideal circumstances, who could speak with an angel and not feel at least a little insulted? "Oh, my dear SIR," I began, "please lower your expectations and allow me to beg forgiveness for my untimely entrance! Or should I kill myself right now and spare you the embarrassment of my presence? Had I but known that you might be even slightly inconvenienced, I would have let that corpuscular blob on your doorstep run me over a few more times, in the hopes that my dead spirit might find its way back to you more quickly. How stupid of me! Please, please let me humble myself properly in your divine presence, o great fluttery dustmop! Your most contrite servant awaits your word, suitably chastened that he could not do that which could not be done, though he had to slog through hell to not do it!" With that, I "accidentally" flicked a bit of filth on him. It slid off. I find that I DESPISE angels.
As peaceful as ever, glittering in that oh-so heavenly way, the angel replied, "What you did not do here must be done. Diablo has fled with Baal. I was unable to stop them, and the energies that tie me to your reality were weakened by our battle; I cannot stay to help you. You must travel across the seas to Kurast, where Mephisto, Lord of Hate, was imprisoned. Beware, mortal; that land was overrun by his hate, and the church of Zakarum corrupted by his lies and deceptions. If the Three Prime Evils reunite in your world, it will be your doom; you know this to be true. As I aided your cause in the past, I will do so again. Until I am able, you must face the minions of darkness alone. Hurry, mortal -- time is running out for all that you know."
What was I to do? What could I possibly say? Every word was true; angels may conceal the truth, but they never lie. I was at a loss for a response. Requesting more information would be pointless. Arguing would be pointless. Spitting on him would be pointless. Following his instructions... was the most galling thing I've ever done in my life. I feel like my tongue is dripping venom -- I could SPIT bile right now. Like a good little minion of Heaven, I'm getting on a ship (arranged by Jerhyn, who will NOT suffer the painful death he so richly deserves) to sail across the Twin Seas to the holy city of Kurast, bastion of divine Order, highest home of the high and mighty church of Zakarum. I DESPISE ANGELS. If looks could kill... this boat would fall to pieces and I'd poison the entire sea. I UTTERLY... oh, bother.
Concluding thoughts:
- The Necromancer looks cool with a scythe, and isn't quite as slow as I'd feared. He also looks good holding a staff. In the Barb's hands, a staff looks like a pool cue.
- Bone Helms look good on a Necro, and no one else -- I'd say they were made for each other. Circlets would be all right, letting his hair flow free.
- Attract is a very nice curse. I'm going to have to play more "converting" characters, sowing confusion in the ranks of my enemies to bring about their timely demise. Usually, I don't like minions, but if I have to mix them up fresh for each battle it could be fun.