Varnae (Chapter 32)
Template:Varnae nav Dear Diary,
Despite my exhaustion (or perhaps because of it) I fell asleep quickly and awoke refreshed from a deep and dreamless rest. My manservant has not defiled my journal yet, so he must still be unconscious. For the first time in days, Destruction's armies cannot be seen from Harrogath's walls. The sky is an icy, unclouded blue, and the weather unseasonably warm and sunny, though not enough so to melt the snow and ice. Happy little flop-footed bunny rabbits gambol about outside, perhaps thinking that spring has finally arrived, with all its attendant glories, after a harsh and horror-filled winter. The sight is enough to raise one's gorge, until the alternative is considered. Without those fluffy happy bunnies, we would have no breakfast. Ah, life! Necessary antithesis of death, the light which casts that cool, comfortable shadow. Even life at its lowest is worth preserving, though I do not entrust my morning repast to the locals' culinary skills -- as I do not wish to visit Atma's this morning, I prepare my bunny myself.
Off to the frozen steppes of the northlands! My infernal foes appear to have retreated during the night, concentrating themselves around the mountain peak. When I return home, I will have to ask father why the older generation ever used Imps. Perhaps as a servant on its best behavior, one might be tolerable, but I find the wretched little things an unendurable nuisance, worse even than Flayers. A few Plated Demons man the walls. The northlanders built so many of them; I wonder if the world will ever see a greater example of wasted effort. Unexpectedly, some local warriors have come out of the city to attack the walls. Why, one may ask, have they decided to spring into action so late in the game? Jealousy is the obvious explanation, very satisfying to see in those who once laughed in my face.
At one point, we had to cross a flow of smooth ice, which afforded a moment's amusement when Khaleel slipped and fell. I should have thought he would be accustomed to ice slicks. Doing battle on ice was an interesting challenge. The Imps, perhaps thinking we could not move freely over so slick a surface, lay in wait for us there, but their plan was foiled when I discovered that sliding over the ice was quicker and less tiring than running. Maneuvering was a bit touchy at first, but I soon grew accustomed to the tactic and gave them a sound thrashing. I could grow fond of winter sports.
At the top of the ice field is another cave, with a few urns unceremoniously thrown outside. None were trapped. Inside, I meet the standard combination: earth and ice demons, with a few Minotaurs. Ho hum. Even the caves themselves are tedious, long hallways with very little branching, and only a few trapped urns which summoned angry earth demons. In view of past experiences, I should count my blessings -- on previous occasions when I complained of boredom, my enemy obliged me with battles for my life. It is only natural that I should be watched from afar; what else could my enemy possibly find to interest him here?
A lower set of caves is guarded by a group of Frozen Creepers. I fear Khaleel may be jealous of them, he took it upon himself to close ranks and attack with his sword. As a fencer, he is a capable sorcerer. After a time, when they began to genuinely threaten his life, I took him by the collar and removed him from harm's way before killing the beasts myself. Envy, as an acknowledgement of one's inferiority, should be encouraged in the lower classes, but not to the point where it becomes spite. That leads to contumacy, insurrection, inefficient battle tactics, and other pointless rebellions against wisdom and sense.
The first thing I see in these lower cellars is a dead woman, tied spread-eagle to a wooden frame and skinned alive by someone who knew what she was doing. This means Succubi. They will be accompanied by either Yeti or Minotaurs. Ah, there are the Yeti. My foe is so predictable. Some legends speak of battles with the lords of Hell as fascinating contests of wits; those ancient heroes must have been very stupid.
The strongest creature in the cellar was a Frozen Creeper, strong enough to be immune to Khaleel's cold spells despite all my efforts on his behalf. While my servant dealt with his servants, I went at him with the sledgehammer; I do wish the crudest stratagems were less effective, but c'est la guerre. The creature wore a hideously unstylish old helmet Deckard Cain said belonged to some long-ago adventurer named Sigon, which vanished from my pack as I made my way over to the smith.
In the highest part of the caves, natural stone and ice suddenly gives way to broad steps and carved passageways. At the very top, a sharply-rising stairway leads to daylight. So steep are these steps that we are both forced to literally climb, going on hands and knees to get over the risers. Beyond is nothing but space... cold, clear, indigo-blue sky in which stars are faintly visible, even at noon. Accustomed as I have become to rarefied air, I feel giddy and unsteady on my feet at these dizzying heights.
Where is everything? Perhaps I expected something different, and am due for yet another disappointment. The northlands have already given me so many, despite the fact that my expectations were never high. The peak is a flat area, perhaps 50 yards at its longest. The entrance from the ice caves is on the west. On the east, another entrance leads down into the mountain. In the center is what I can only describe as an "open air" temple, a circle of carved monoliths surrounding a small, simple altar and three statues. The statues are the greatest disappointment. Completely representational, each depicts a mighty warrior, large and strong, fitted with the finest armor and weaponry. In fact, these "gods" look exactly like the boobs in Harrogath, only slightly larger and with money. It has been said that man has rarely conceived a god truly superior to himself. These monuments display nothing but the northlanders' lack of imagination. I wonder how they made them.
Once again, events did not go as expected, and it was a disappointment. The altar, as is to be expected, is the center of the temple. Approaching it released the temple guardians: the statues, of course. I really should have known. Perhaps I was clinging to a faint hope that the Precursors might do something unexpected, not subject me to a straightforward trial by combat against three muscle-bound louts with brains the size and quality of walnuts. But no; I am guessing that these buffoons were Precursors themselves, willingly petrified to serve as eternal guardians. They couldn't even pronounce their own name correctly -- everyone knows the name is "Nephilim." How could such a stupid people be responsible for the great things I have seen? How could their modern descendants have slid to such a low state of civilization?
If you are curious about my trial by combat, gentle reader, nothing noteworthy occurred. The Precursors were strong, durable sorts who depended on their heroic constitutions to survive battles -- like their descendants, slightly magnified. Each had some "trick" maneuver he was fond of. One was armed with stacks of light axes, and threw them from a short distance. Another was fond of skipping across the field of battle like a spinning top, slashing weakly at anything within reach. To think others have accused ME of unmanly behavior! The third may have had a signature attack, but never used it; he merely lumbered from place to place with a great axe, and might have hurt me badly if I ever let him strike.
Wait a moment, they just mentioned Tyrael! As I write this, the three defeated Precursors have re-petrified, and declared me worthy, to no one's surprise but theirs. It seems Baal is inside the "Keep of the Worldstone" and preventing Tyrael from entering, and...
Oh, blast, bother, that DAMNED angel should roast in Hell! The Nephilim have told me the Worldstone's function: its energy suffuses this dimension, preventing outside spirits (like the lords of Hell) from drawing power for themselves. With the Worldstone, only powerful demons and angels may even enter our world, and none operate at full strength. The Worldstone is, in fact, the main reason our world has been free of outside interference for so long. Tyrael did not see fit to inform me of any of this. The angel must have supposed I would be happy to charge into battle like some Paladin, knowing nothing of the cause but willing to risk my skin without a second's thought just because he told me to. That damned celestial idiot... FOR THE LAST TIME, I AM NO ONE'S SERVANT!!
That having been said, I go into the keep now. Not because I am ordered, but because I care so deeply about humanity and myself. Blindly following instructions, especially from a supposedly "wise and incorruptible" source, is the mark of a fool. I do this because I want to, and because I know I must. That, I am convinced, is a far purer and stronger form of "goodness" than anyone else will ever know.