Difference between revisions of "Tearlach (Chapter 3)"

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(Created page with "{{Tearlach nav}} The moors were empty of Hell's creatures. Maybe more worthy prey lurked elsewhere, higher up in these sad excuses for mountains, so Tearlach strode upland. ...")
 
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#REDIRECT [[Tearlach (Act I)#Chapter 3]]
The moors were empty of Hell's creatures.  Maybe more worthy prey lurked elsewhere, higher up in these sad excuses for mountains, so Tearlach strode upland.  Fencing surrounded the moors (the "civilized" love fences and walls), but at a gap he found a Rogue plinking away at a few walking dead with her bow.  One, at least, had the guts to stand alone in the open; there might be hope for these people yet.
 
 
 
"Hail, lass.  Good to see someone here who isn't afraid."
 
 
 
"Hi there.  Don't try anything, I've been told about you."
 
 
 
Smiling, Tearlach stood a little taller.  "I see a reputation is earned quickly here.  A pity it's so easy.  You must be waiting for me, since you're the only one in this lot with any courage.  Let us advance on them!  Don't worry, I'll protect your fair and tender skin -- I like it in one piece.  And afterwards... maybe I'll show you one of the other ways I've made a reputation among the ladies."
 
 
 
After a moment's silence, she replied, "I'm under orders to guard the fence."
 
 
 
"Why?" he guffawed.  "The fence has suffered no harm from the demons, they just walk around it.  It is in no danger."
 
 
 
This resulted in a longer silence.  This girl must not be very smart, she look so long to reply to the simplest questions.  "Those are Kashya's orders, and I'm sticking to them."
 
 
 
"Lass, this is absurd.  Kashya may be the first among you, but her reach is no greater than anyone else's.  You need not fear her in her absence!"
 
 
 
Now she stared openly at him.  She must be weighing her fear of the fiery Kashya against his overpowering personal magnetism.  "My orders are to protect the camp."
 
 
 
"From here?  The camp is far away, and has plenty of protectors."  Shaking his head, he sighed, "I thought you had some courage in you.  It seems I was mistaken."
 
 
 
The insult hit home -- Tearlach could hear her teeth grinding.  But it did not goad her into action.  Instead, she replied, "This is a defensive position, to keep demons out of the Bloody Moors.  I am protecting the camp."
 
 
 
"A defensive position is useless.  The enemy is slain by attacks, not defense."
 
 
 
"Then why are you carrying a shield?"
 
 
 
Laughing, he sneered, "So that hand has something to do!  I need only one weapon for these creatures.  Two would be a waste of steel."
 
 
 
She grinned.  "Then you shouldn't need me.  Look out there.  Our sisters are out there, corrupted by the power that took our monastery.  What can steel do against something that can corrupt your very soul?"
 
 
 
Tearlach snorted. "Kill it, of course."
 
 
 
"Fine.  You go do that.  I'm staying put."
 
 
 
No further appeals would change her decision.  Tearlach could almost respect her resolve, if it wasn't a resolution to be a coward.  It was drier on the plains beyond as he got higher into the pass.  Little red demons and the walking dead were abundant here, but the Rogues were what got his attention.  What man could ignore naked women running up to him out of the darkness, even if they did have horns and fangs?  That priestess spoke of the "sisters" being corrupted, but he hadn't expected such a profound change.  There must be a great evil in this land... maybe one of the Prime Evils.  It was a good thing Tearlach was here, to teach that devil a lesson he'd not soon forget.  Whoever it was would think twice about invading Sanctuary again while he still drew breath.
 
 
 
Naturally, all his battles brought him copious piles of loot.  These lands were rich in movable goods, with no rightful owners to be found.  None were as valuable as what Tearlach brought with him, so he was glad to let the Rogues redeem them at pawnbroker's rates.  This display of generosity impressed them, especially the blacksmith... whatever her name was.
 
 
 
"So, like, I'm really grateful to you for bringing so much of our stuff back, a lot of us kind of fled without anything, and we can really use it."
 
 
 
Gazing across the camp at Kashya, Tearlach sighed.  "Aye, lass."
 
 
 
"You know, it's hard to fight when you don't have any armor, or the decent bows... some of us had hunting bows, but the long bows were in the armory."
 
 
 
It seemed Kashya was ignoring him, as she should.  A fine woman like that would have very high standards; he would have to fight harder to meet them.  "Aye, lass."
 
 
 
Charsi bit her lip, and shifted from foot to foot.  "I... don't know if you've thought about me at all... I hope you've been all right?  Have you needed help?"
 
 
 
Now Kashya was glaring at him.  Such a fierce look... she will be a right hellcat when she's finally been won.  "Aye, lass."
 
 
 
"Really?  I could help!  I got my armor, and I've got a sword, or a hammer!  The scouts say skeletons are walking out of the graveyard, a hammer would be good on skeletons!"
 
 
 
"Aye, la... what?"
 
 
 
The smith was already excitedly pulling her armor on.  "Oh wow, I'm so glad I'm going with you!  I always wanted to do something, but I was never any good with a bow!  Everyone's talking about the horrible things the demons are doing, and I --"
 
 
 
"Now you hold on there!"  Remembering that he was trying to be kind to Kashya's troops, Tearlach spoke sweetly.  "You need to mind your place.  A warrior is born, not made.  To go out there would mean your death."
 
 
 
"But I..."
 
 
 
"A smith is not a fighter!  If you are not born to it, you'll never succeed.  Mine is a glorious destiny, but yours isn't.  Don't even try."
 
 
 
Tears welled up in Charsi's eyes.  "But... I..."
 
 
 
"But what?  None of us can choose our fate.  Mine is to travel the world, destroying evil wherever it lurks.  Yours is to be servant to a bunch of women trying to be warriors.  That's the way it is, like it or not."
 
 
 
"But..."
 
 
 
"There's a girl," Tearlach clapped her on the shoulder and shook.  "You go back to your anvil.  Leave warrior's work to the warriors."
 
 
 
On his way out of camp, a strange man Tearlach didn't recognize stopped him.  "Whoa, hold on there, Mr. Meatybones!  Excuse my impertinence, but these are for you!"
 
 
 
The pale, skinny man handed him a pair of blue boots.  "What's this?"
 
 
 
"That's Gorefoot!  Don't ask me why they call 'em that, I think they should be Gorefeet or Gorefoots or somethin', but they're yours all the same!"
 
 
 
The boots were powerfully magical, Tearlach could tell.  "Why should you give me these?"
 
 
 
"Cause that's what I do, Mr. Slabchunk!  I help all kinds of heroes out by holding stuff for 'em.  That's why they call me The Mule!"
 
 
 
"You have so little honor, you do not even bear a proper name?"
 
 
 
"Sorry, no Honor here.  Don't have any 5-socket weapons on me yet.  The boots will do you good, and that's why I'm givin' 'em to you.  Later on, when you find somethin' worth having, I'll come by and take it off your hands."
 
 
 
"Like hell you will.  What I win in battle is mine by right, and I'll have your head if you try to take it from me."
 
 
 
The Mule laughed and laughed.  "That's the spirit, Mr. Beefbrisket!  Now, some advice: Shamans can't raise their friends if you rip the bodies up.  Get potions out of the little guys.  When you can search them for more stuff, that'll work too!  Ta ta for now, big guy!"
 
 
 
Hmmm... tearing the hearts out of the little ones might be a good way to keep them down.  Not that he needed to, they were no more than an annoyance, but one less annoying demon is... one less annoying demon.  The art of making healing draughts from the organs of Hell-influenced creatures was not known to these people.  Even Akara, the "healer" here, had to make her potions from flowers and herbs.  He was about to interrogate this honorless "mule" further, but the little bastard had scampered away, and was nowhere to be found.
 
 
 
Out on the plains, Tearlach found a cave where evil lurked.  The light of the sun is a terror to these creatures; they prefer dark places, even when the sky is overcast.  The boots were a fine gift, enabling to jump great distances and run into the fray more quickly.  Nonetheless, he did not like being in debt to a lowlander -- he had to give a gift in return, and Mule vanished before he could do so.  Giving splendid gifts may put a man in a debt he can never repay, a typical lowlander's trick; the debt could be ignored if repaying it would mean losing honor, but it was still galling.
 
 
 
After emptying the cave, Tearlach moved on to a secluded hollow beside the pass.  It was a quiet place, sheltered from the rest of the pass, and mists seemed to collect in the deeps.  A group of skeletons attacked him immediately.  Some still wore fragments of clothing, Rogue's leather breastplates and the remains of their high boots.  All were much less flattering now.  In the deeps of the hollow, behind a high iron fence, small carved stones had been set in the earth in rows. The fencing told Tearlach this must be an important place to the Rogues, but the stones did not form a circle, or even an avenue. They were arranged like tally marks, not an enclosure.  Southlanders enclose everything but the places that should be.
 
 
 
In the center of the hollow, a hanging tree had several Rogues dangling from its gnarled limbs.  Next to it, the ugliest demon Rogue he'd yet seen was calling another skeleton out of the ground.  Ah... the rocks were tomb markers!  The ancient ways were unheard of in these lands, and these stupid people never learned how to purify their dead; they just buried them.  No wonder there were so many out walking now, plaguing the place.
 
 
 
Tearlach leapt over the bowed heads of the shambling dead, and fetched the demon Rogue a tremendous blow from his axe.  She shrugged it off; fairly tough, this one.  Streaking away with demonic speed, the Rogue called more dead from the ground, between shooting arrows of fire.  As though arrows were any danger to him.  Ignoring the fire, Tearlach jumped over the zombies, a mere distraction when their mistress needed killing.  This Rogue was quick and durable, difficult to catch and hard to hurt, but when he caught her in a crowd of her own walking dead, the end was inevitable.  She had nowhere to run, and Tearlach chopped off her head with one mighty blow.  Bolts of lightning shot out of her body, all the dead in the tomb-yard dropped, and a translucent soul floated up to the sky.  That was an unusual way to die; perhaps he'd better speak with someone about it.
 
 
 
When she heard, Kashya looked stunned.  "That was Blood Raven."
 
 
 
Momentarily lost in her cleavage, Tearlach looked up.  "Eh?"
 
 
 
"Blood Raven, my closest friend."
 
 
 
Oops.  Now she'd probably start crying, the way women do when you hack their closest friends' head off with an axe.  "Wait... she was a demon!"
 
 
 
"She fell when the monastery did... I don't know how.  My scouts reported she was in our graveyard, raising the dead to make an army!  I am glad you killed her... I hope her spirit has found rest now."
 
 
 
"Ah," Tearlach relaxed, and nodded wisely.  "I am sure her spirit has gone to its reward in Hell.  That's the kind of rest she deserves.  Why are you all so foolish as to bury your dead uncleansed by fire?  It is no surprise you have so many stalking the land now."
 
 
 
Kashya's eyes narrowed.  "The graveyard is sacred ground.  Only the most unholy would dare to violate it!"
 
 
 
Tearlach threw his head back and laughed!  "Lowlanders!  'The most unholy' is what you should have been on guard against all along!  Did you ever understand the true ways of the ancient ones?  Or have you forgotten it all in your mad dash for riches and power?"
 
 
 
As he waited for a response, Tearlach noticed that facial tic of hers had returned.  There are many get upset when they hear the plain and simple truth; perhaps honeyed words would soften the blow of realization.  "Fair Kashya... beauteous one... grieve for the friend you lost, but think on this: you may partake in the wisdom of the ancients through me."
 
 
 
For some reason, Kashya did not look pleased with this.  She stood rigidly upright, arms crossed, fingernails digging into her own arms, with her eyes clenched shut and her teeth grinding together like millstones.  "Go... see... Akara!"
 
 
 
Tearlach was confused. "What should the priestess of a lesser goddess mean to me?"
 
 
 
"GO!!!"
 
 
 
With a shrug, Tearlach strode off.  Perhaps Kashya was not what he thought her to be.  The truth of her order's unfitness was before her, but she could not see it.  Some people, even among his own kind, simply will not listen to reason; what should he expect?  But she was so beautiful.  Look at the way she punches the wall.  Masterfully aimed blows, all of them!  He could hear wood splintering from here.  At the sight, he was overcome with emotion; in his deepest heart of hearts, he knew she was meant to be his.  It was destiny.
 
 
 
Akara was pleased to hear of his success in the graveyard. "Blood Raven was Kashya's most direct competition for commander.  Had she not gone to Tristram, she might be in this camp today.  I wonder if that town had anything to do with our troubles."
 
 
 
"Corruption does not make its home in a town," Tearlach replied impatiently.
 
 
 
"Anyway, you deserve some new reward.  I shall assign one of Kashya's scouts to accompany you, as a guide through the wilderness."
 
 
 
Sneering, he shook his head.  "I have no need.  Instinct will bring me to my prey."
 
 
 
"Then let her accompany you, to observe your fighting technique.  Will you not humor an old woman, in what may be her final days?"
 
 
 
"As though a woman could learn the path of a warrior.  I will let your girl trail along, but do not expect me to distract myself for her life.  If she cannot survive on her own, that should tell you she did not belong in the battle."
 
 
 
"Thank you, young man.  Now, there is another matter I must speak to you about."
 
 
 
"Then speak, woman.  I itch to be fighting again."
 
 
 
"We do not know how our monastery was taken from us, but there is one who might.  In the town of Tristram, the sage Deckard Cain dwelt.  Our sisters described him when they returned from that cursed place; he was the last of the Horadrim, and had access to all their ancient knowledge."
 
 
 
"The Horadrim are known to my people.  Cursed sorcerers and wizards, prying into every corner of the land, seeking demons.  Our mountains were visited by them many times; they were difficult to kill.  I have no need of a sorcerer's knowledge.  Steel is the answer to every question regarding demons."
 
 
 
Akara sighed.  "I feared you might say something like that."
 
 
 
"Of course I do.  It is the plain truth, as any fool can see.  Now, I have better things to do than stand about talking.  Send your scout after me if you must; I go to war."
 

Latest revision as of 15:51, 12 February 2017