Varnae (Act IV)

Template:Varnae nav Dear Diary,

What an extraordinary place Hell is! And so nicely presented as well: who would have known that the lords of Hell would favor classic Early Gothic? White marble and antique bronze are excellent choices for materials; ethereal arches and graceful buttresses give the space the perfect air of elegance, dignity, and understated strength. Even the spikes atop the walls are pleasing to the eye. Though I did imagine Hell as being a bit larger.

Oh, I should have known. The same minds that conceived Mephisto's fortress and Andarial's throne room could not have built this. Perhaps my anticipations had too firm a hand in guiding my thoughts -- the common man believes Hell to be terrible, so I fully expected it not to be. The star of divine order, subtly worked into every surface of this fortress, marks it as an outpost of Heaven. Dear old Deckard Cain, who I was sure I had finally abandoned to his fate, is here; he's such a devoted old thing, I doubt I'll ever be rid of him. Before I could do more than express astonishment at his presence, he began babbling in a frenzy. From his excited ravings, I gleaned that this is not quite Hell, merely Pandemonium, a land between the earthly realms and Hell. Supernatural battles were fought here for ages, earning the locale its noisy name. This fortress is the most distant outpost not abandoned to Hell. Cain arrived before I did because the archangel Tyrael brought him here; the angel was patiently waiting to speak with me.

Gentle reader, it may seem incredible that I did not notice the angel when I entered, given the extraordinary presence such beings are known to project. I cannot fully account for it myself, except to say that in that fortress, the archangel did not stand out. Every stone (if they truly were stones) radiated much the same aura as he; we mortals took on an air of otherworldliness, our very earthiness a stark contrast to the surroundings. Nevertheless, I am not unhappy to see the angel. Open intrusion is far more tolerable than meddling from concealment; this way, I can give him a piece of my mind whenever I like.

Of all the impudent, irritating people! Our conversation went thusly:

As I approached, the archangel intoned, "It is good to see you again. I hoped your quest would end in the mortal realms, but Diablo has fled into Hell and must be pursued. During the dark journey you must face, this fortress will serve you as a place of rest."

"Splendid!" I replied. "When I knew I was going to Hell, the first thing that passed through my mind was how beastly difficult it would be to find a good hotel. Bring my luggage up immediately, there could be a generous gratuity in it for you."

"Your possessions are here, and I have brought mortal allies to aid you, such as your friend Deckard Cain. That is all the assistance I may offer."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," I said most insincerely. "I should have realized proffering aid would be beneath your dignity; like the Horadrim, I must do everything myself lest your hands be soiled by taking action. Or do you fear another beating at Terror's hands?"

"I have been forbidden from aiding you," Tyrael droned on, unruffled. "Humanity has taken shelter under Heaven's wing for too long. It is time you met the forces of Hell on your own. This must be the hour of mortal man's triumph -- your triumph. You must face Diablo alone."

This, of course, was unacceptable. The extended folly of the Sin War should not be dismissed so lightly, especially by its biggest fool. "Noble archangel Tyrael... it is well known that you guided... or I should say, misguided... the Horadrim during their pursuit of Diablo and his brothers. Your actions created a disaster worse than anything they could have devised on their own. Now that the full consequences of your actions have come to light, you say you will do nothing?!"

If my words had any impact, the angel's infuriating serenity concealed it. "None may know all ends; there are things concealed even from Heaven's light. The Brothers' reign of fear over your lands called for action; none could foresee what might come. This is not the time to regret past decisions -- the entire future is at stake, and you must act. Your order recognizes the importance of humanity taking control of its own destiny; it is necessary that you defeat the forces of Hell without my aid."

Of all the... "Of course, yes. I wouldn't want your help if you offered it!"

"All I can offer is a few bits of wisdom, and the help of mortal allies. By the fortress gate, two great heroes of the Light stand ready to see to your needs. Diablo has hidden in a Sanctuary of Chaos just within Hell's border, and summoned the greatest generals of his old legions to himself. You must journey down to the River of Flame, where the Sanctuary lies, and destroy the Lord of Terror at his strongest."

"Sounds peachy," I muttered. Could he hear my teeth grinding? Did he care?

"There is one thing more..."

"Oh, just one?!" I snapped. The sincere regret and perfect humility radiating from the angel's divine countenance were driving me mad.

"Just one. A dark, tortured soul roams the plains of Pandemonium: Izual, my lieutenant and friend. Many centuries ago, he led a failed assault on the Hellforge, but was captured by the forces of Hell. Under torture that slowly destroyed his physical form, Izual surrendered some of Heaven's most precious secrets. As punishment, he was imprisoned within the body of a powerful beast of the abyss. I believe he has suffered long enough. If you find Izual, I ask you to destroy his prison of a body, and free him from his agony and sorrow. But beware; he has some strength left, and may not know friend from foe. May the Light and the powers of Heaven shine on your path, even if you do not welcome them."

That was... he requested... he... AAHHHH! To think that I, who have long maintained that we should be free of Heavenly "aid," will be receiving no aid in the time of my most desperate need! HOW DARE THAT FLUTTERY DUSTMOP AGREE WITH ME!! Topping it off, Deckard Cain is naive enough to congratulate me on gaining his confidence! "Tyrael must have great faith in your ability" indeed! That is just what I need right now, an admirer! A passive admirer to stand by admiring me and do nothing!

The Pandemonium fortress has a Horadric waypoint, of course, so I take a short trip back to Atma's tavern for a spot of tea and a light luncheon. It does me a world of good, as do all my new admirers in the town. Word has gotten out, apparently, and I am now famous. I always knew I would be either famous or notorious someday. Adulation is something I could easily grow accustomed to -- what more could a man want than a crowd of beautiful idiots to praise and flatter him as he slides headlong into well-earned debauchery? Ah, Natalya... there will be a special place for you there too. Khaleel introduces himself to the joys of the Black Mushroom. Soon, he is no shape to face Hell; I won't be going anywhere, so I have one myself. Ah...

Dear Diary,

What would Hell be without a hangover? If I'm going to Hell, I ought to sin a bit first. My order has always been diffident on the subject, but it is well known that many human souls migrate to Hell after bodily death; those summoned back to our realm unanimously describe their time spent here as unpleasant. So: is it for punishment, as Zakarum claims? Is this a refuse heap where undesirables are disposed of? Or do Heaven and Hell compete for the energy of human worship? An inquiry would be problematic, given the difficulty of obtaining reliable information from either demons or angels. With any luck, Diablo will boast about it, though I expect him to lie, or use those parts of the truth most likely to deceive me.

The "great mortal heroes of the Light" by the fortress gate are nearly as serene as their angelic master. They do not introduce themselves, and take even less interest in me than I in them. Snubbed by servants! I must not meet Heaven's standards of respectability; good.

The fortress actually hovers over the vast steppe of Pandemonium, floating much as Tyrael himself does. There may be a valid reason for this: the soil of Pandemonium is pulverized volcanic glass, and gets into everything. After ten steps, I am itching over every inch of my body. I am sure that after a few hours out here, my skin will be rubbed raw.

After my first encounter with Hell's forces, I am fully prepared to go back to Atma's and not come back. Two horrid things, four-legged lumps of loose flesh, approached me and began expelling little worm-like terrors from openings on their ventral surfaces. They seemed very familiar, and not merely as a misogynist's least-favorite nightmare. As I was swarmed by the hungry young (they were nearly as quick as Flayers) behind them came Corpulent Demons, stomachs on legs made by Hell to destroy the bodies of their enemies. They can eat most creatures whole in one gulp, even things larger than the Corpulent itself. In addition, the Corpulent's muscular gut can expel a partially digested corpse with enough force to knock a man over, and the fleshy spawners insured they would not lack ammunition.

Leaping reptiles like those from Aronach abound here; I knew there was something unnatural about those things. The curse of Attraction helps me somewhat, dispersing the crowds who would otherwise overwhelm me. Exploding the corpses is a better strategy, as it denies the Corpulents their favored mode of attack. Neither approach works very well; my enemies are too numerous and too quick.

All across the steppe, the shattered remains of structures stand, cyclopean confirmation of the wars of ages past. Thick chains of some unguessable metal predominate, strung around and between tall pillars and cages full of eternal fire. Certain architectural elements remind me of Mephisto's lair. Scattered about are a few human souls, in bodies seemingly formed from the scratchy soil. A few attack me ineffectually; others lie wailing on the ground; some writhe in the cages, burning away forever. It is all quite senseless: no demon benefits from this pointless pain, and these now-mindless things cannot comprehend their suffering as a punishment. Pointless, senseless, devoid of reason -- I cannot ascribe anything but madness to what I see here.

Frequent trips to the healer have kept my skin on my body; I pity anyone trapped in this place without such a service. And to think, this isn't even Hell proper... what tortures await me there, I wonder?

Once again, I am lucky to be alive. Five of the fleshy spawners, faster than usual, with a dozen Leaping Lizards and 4 Corpulents, all at once. If the powers of Heaven really do shine upon my path, they must have been horribly embarrassed by all that screaming and running about. Their chosen champion (or should that be dupe?) may be ill-chosen.

Though I have no idea how much time has passed, it must be very late, as I am weary beyond all words. With no sun to guide me, it is impossible to gauge time's passage; I could have been out there for an hour or a day. Hell's forces seem endless, and constantly replace themselves. There is nothing for it, I must rest. If Tyrael disapproves, he can go to Hell. Of course, he won't -- that might help me, and we can't have that.