Difference between revisions of "Tearlach (Chapter 18)"

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(Created page with "{{Tearlach nav}} "So, how's Yatiraj working out for you?" Asheara asked. "He's pathetic," Tearlach said with a smile as he casually flexed his massive biceps. "A more useles...")
 
(Created redirect after moving content to Tearlach (Act III) page)
 
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#REDIRECT [[Tearlach (Act III)#Chapter 18]]
"So, how's Yatiraj working out for you?" Asheara asked.
 
 
 
"He's pathetic," Tearlach said with a smile as he casually flexed his massive biceps.  "A more useless mercenary I've never seen.  About the only good thing I can say about him is that he learned to stay out of my way, after I had to crack his skull a few times."
 
 
 
"Huh," Asheara said, turning away to look at her roster.  "Ice mages are more popular.  You can trade up to --"
 
 
 
"Hell no!" Tearlach spat.  "I've learned ice is more destructive than fire.  It's amusing to see the enemy shatter and melt into nothing, but too much is destroyed with them.  Why do you stupid mages use ice?  If you wish to destroy an enemy's spirit, it's better to tear their still-beating hearts out and eat them before their dying eyes.  Has more style, too."
 
 
 
For the first time, Asheara actually looked appalled, and more than a little ill.  Guess she's not as tough as she thinks she is.  "Yeah.  You found any spellbooks up there?"
 
 
 
Tearlach smirked. "You mean your mighty mercenaries haven't penetrated the jungle as far as I have alone?  No, I've found no books or scrolls.  All the soft things have rotted."
 
 
 
"Magic doesn't rot, barbarian.  It's the only thing keeping your stuff from rusting away."
 
 
 
Oh, so she wants to fight, does she?  "Steel is king of the world.  All bow to it.  Magic is a convenience for the strong, but a crutch for the weak to stand on."
 
 
 
"Then I guess you don't need the merc," she said.  "Yatiraj, you're off."
 
 
 
It was bad enough that she was trying to take his merc... then he had to give that huge sigh of relief and mutter "thank God" as he left.  "Hey!  I paid good money for --"
 
 
 
"How much did you pay?"
 
 
 
"Er... nothing."
 
 
 
"That's right.  You get what you pay for.  The Iron Wolves don't volunteer often, it's bad for business.  When we do, you treat us with respect.  You hear me?"
 
 
 
"I'm not deaf, woman.  But there's nothing to respect about any of you."
 
 
 
More shards of ice and sparks of lightning burst out of Asheara's house.  Shortly thereafter, Tearlach left, clutching his groin again.  By the blood of the Ancients, he was going to have to teach that woman a lesson someday.  A woman should know how to control her temper!  But then, there's something about her that's just not natural.  Maybe it's the voice, she's got a really deep voice for a woman.  And she keeps trying to blast his goodies off, which is the last thing any natural woman would want.
 
 
 
By the time he got back to the jungle, Tearlach had pretty much recovered the feeling in his extremities, which was just enough to put him in a really foul mood.  Next to one of the ever-present waypoints was a swampy pit, leading down to a series of catacombs.  Undead were everywhere: almost waxy-looking mummies, wet and bloated zombies, lightning ghosts, and those annoying exploding Flayer skeletons.  The only good thing about them is that they don't have lungs, so they can't blow darts like the living ones.  And, of course, there were Flayers.  It took hours to clear the place, but they had some decent loot.
 
 
 
Continuing through the jungle, stomping little squeaks right and left (they burst like pimples if you do it just right,) Tearlach came to the towers of a city gate.  An impressive edifice, to be sure, but what's with all the skulls?  Huge death's-heads were sculpted into the walls, one with blood and gore splattered all over its teeth.  Hmm... lifting someone up that high to feed them to a wall?  Weird.  A crowd of lightning-blasted trees guarded the gates, but once they were disposed of, nothing held him back from the city of Kurast.
 
 
 
Ruined buildings, large and small, were laid out in an orderly grid behind the city wall.  Jungle growth overwhelmed everything, but there were few trees, so long grasses with sharp, saw-like edges to their leaves covered the ground.  Unlike the buildings down-river, these were mostly intact, much easier to search and loot.  He got right to business, only stopping when interrupted by the Zakarumites, Paladins of Kurast.
 
 
 
The Zakarumites are worth mentioning.  Being southlanders, they were pathetic excuses for warriors and men.  In addition, they'd been starved down to skin and bones, and given rusty axes and scythes to fight with.  Mephisto would have to do better than them if he expected to hold this land.  Maybe he was thinking of relying on Flayers and killer trees, but starvelings armed with sticks and farm tools wouldn't be a threat to anyone.  The wimps fought single-mindedly, at least, with no sign of fear or any whimpering for mercy.
 
 
 
While repairing his stuff, Hratli asked, "Have you met the Zakarum yet?"
 
 
 
"Yes.  Miserable dolts who don't know when to quit.  They die in droves."
 
 
 
"You will find they are much like zombies, only without the warmth and charisma.  This is because they are being controlled by magic.  In the inner heart of Kurast, the high council of Zakarum has set up a compelling orb, which forces their followers to do their will."
 
 
 
Tearlach laughed.  "You'd think they'd be smart enough to at least give them swords.  Or did they sell all their arms to enrich themselves?"
 
 
 
"For many years, I watched the high council, and their decisions baffled me.  Their minds seemed set on destroying their own city.  Now, it seems they were nothing but the voice of the Lord of Hatred, and it is his decisions which baffle me.  I am not as well-versed in the ways of evil as I ought to be."
 
 
 
"How about that Ormus guy?  He's too shady to come out in the light and be seen."
 
 
 
"The confusion Ormus leaves behind him is of an altogether different character.  So far as darkness and despair go, Alkor explains things much more clearly than Ormus."
 
 
 
Tearlach frowned.  "Who's Alkor?"
 
 
 
"At the north end of the docks, you will find a small ruin.  Near it, nothing green can grow, but not because of magical power or any kind of goodness.  Alkor dissipates himself there, when he is not spying on his fellow man.  Go and see him.  It might cheer you up."
 
 
 
There was a hut up there, in the center of a strangely clear pool of water; when Tearlach first saw it, he was sure no one would choose to live there.  When he opened the door, there was someone inside, a tiny old man with a face like a dyspeptic monkey.  "Damn it, I told you people to leave me alone!  Wait, you're the new one, aren't you?"
 
 
 
"New enough.  Pfaugh, how could anyone live with this stink?"
 
 
 
"Funny, that is what everyone says about you!  But you never listen.  You would not even stay to listen to Ormus' poem about you."
 
 
 
"Huh?  What poem?"
 
 
 
"I will recite it for you.  Try not to lose interest and wander away before I finish."
 
 
 
 
 
Kurast is full of despair;
 
 
 
Grief and sorrow fill the air!
 
 
 
Happy children on the street
 
 
 
Are now barbecuing meat.
 
 
 
Those of us who Death bypassed
 
 
 
Won't look back: she's gaining fast.
 
 
 
Well-disguised, a savior came,
 
 
 
Seeking only wealth and fame.
 
 
 
Hear the women wail and weep
 
 
 
While he looks for one to keep --
 
 
 
If demons don't kill him dead,
 
 
 
I am sure he'll die in bed.
 
 
 
Pray his deeds with mighty axe
 
 
 
Equal those with sheep and yaks,
 
 
 
But there's something he must learn:
 
 
 
FIRST you plunder, THEN you burn!
 
 
 
 
 
Rage burned in Tearlach's heart.  If he ever found Ormus, the bastard was dead.  "Just so you know, my people do not keep sheep."
 
 
 
"And I suppose you were just standing behind the yak."
 
 
 
"Forget the yak!  There's no truth to those rumors.  How'd he know about that, anyway?"
 
 
 
"I am sure it was nothing but an educated guess.  So, you no longer bless me with your absence.  It pains me to waste time with you, so what do you want?"
 
 
 
"Um... what did I come up here for?  Oh, yeah!  Why is Mephisto destroying his own city?"
 
 
 
"You think I should know?  For the fun of it.  When you are a demon, what other reason is there to do anything?  If you are unsure, find the Tome of Lam Esen, a book of prophesies connected with these unhappy times.  The Zakarum hid it away long ago."
 
 
 
"Why didn't they just burn it?"
 
 
 
"Again you ask me his mind.  My own mind is enough of a mystery to me!  Now, go out and slaughter the Zakarum, if you please.  I have a great love of morbid excess."
 
 
 
This guy might be even weirder than Hratli.  Nothing in this country made any sense, not the people, not the demons, nothing.  Tearlach returned to Kurast, and drove into the city.  It was easily the biggest he'd seen, a huge place full of temples, houses, little market stalls and big empty halls.  There was plenty of loot, some of it quite rare.  One Zakarum had an amulet with a picture of a winged heart on it.  The minute he picked it up, the amulet vanished, and a note appeared in its place:
 
 
 
 
 
Buff Vanderhuge,
 
 
 
The Angelic Wings!  I've been lookin' for this practically forever!  You've completed the Angelic Set!  You'd think it'd be easier to find.  Keep going, you're doing just fine, you'll start finding good stuff from here on out.
 
 
 
-- The Mule
 
 
 
 
 
Hmph.  He would have liked to at least look at the amulet.  Considering how much he owed, he couldn't rightfully complain about giving up things, but he should at least have a chance to give them, rather than have them taken away.  Exploring further east he found... another wall, inside the first one!  With more city beyond it!  There must be a demon in charge of this place, who else would like cities so much that he'd build such a big one?  Clearing it was going to take forever!
 

Latest revision as of 16:07, 12 February 2017