Difference between revisions of "Varnae (Chapter 2)"

Latest revision as of 18:12, 12 February 2017

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Varnae (Act I)#Chapter 2

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-Dear Diary,
-Rosy-fingered dawn has made her presence known to the world, and to me.  Nature has her enthusiasts, but I am not to be counted among them, and the sun is not a welcome novelty.  I fully realize all life owes its existence to that brilliant orb, but it is much too hot, far too bright, and rises a great deal earlier than is acceptable. At least clouds obscure it now, and I feel it is safe to wander the earth once more.
-On my way to breakfast, I noticed Gheed.  The poor fellow nicked himself while shaving this morning.  Naturally, I let my gaze linger over the injury... eyes widening... then slid the tip of my tongue along my upper lip.  The effect was immediate and most gratifying.  I really could grow to love that man.  Once, father seriously considered having him executed on some pretense and raised as a Zombie, just to see the expression on his face.
-My quest for victuals has come to naught.  My niggardly hosts, concerned for their material survival, will not provide for my needs without some form of compensation!  It seems I am not in polite company, and my cash reserves are at an ebb.  There is my wealth of goods, of course, but parting with family heirlooms in exchange for chicken-and-turnip surprise would be unconscionable.  I have not eaten for some days, and would be willing to set aside my normal feelings for turnips, but all the same...
-Many would simply continue on their way when dispensed such ill-treatment; I do not feel I was entirely wrong in giving voice to my complaints.  After all, I have been having a very difficult time.  Entirely unsympathetic, the Rogues informed me that while they are out in the wilderness, their resources are limited and necessity forces their hand.  Some sort of revolt within their ranks has led to their present exile, and a general pall has settled on their land.  They blame these things on demonic influences.  It is common for monastic sorts to blame any sort of trouble on demons; the alternative is to admit that their lives are dull and empty, and any sensible person would rise up in revolt.
-With effort, I held my tongue, and over the growling of my stomach gently inquired if some other means might be found to reach a mutually satisfactory arrangement.  As miserable as these people are, they represent the best this land has to offer.  I am unlikely to find nobler or more interesting company; as sad and frightening as that thought is, I must face facts.  A deal was struck.  In exchange for a cot and all the turnips I should like, my services will be accepted in lieu of gelt.  To wit: I must hire myself out.  Oh! that outrageous fortune should place me in such a predicament!  And for such meager wages...
-My first task is to empty a nearby cave of its denizens.  This "den of evil" which strikes such terror into their delicate hearts lies out on the local moor; reportedly, the dead walk there and demons roam freely.  The dead would be less of a difficulty than the living, I am sure, but it may be best to wait and see what lies in this cave.  For all I know, these bumpkins have mistaken some local family of inbred cannibals for demons.  Meeting such people could make for an entertaining evening.
-The moors are a dreadful place.  Knots of sepia-colored grass and brush alternate with pools of standing water, breeding grounds for all manner of pestilential insects.  Even worse, loose soil and tendrils of greenery cover much of the water; it is almost impossible not to step into stagnant pools and splash into the mud.  My shoes are an absolute disgrace, and I nearly turned an ankle.  Despite my initial misgivings, I must admit the local fauna are behaving oddly.  Large hedgehogs with extraordinarily long spines crawl about in the bracken.  I killed one with difficulty, and my examination of the corpse was not encouraging.  The creature's forelimbs are greatly lengthened, so much so that it can no longer crawl on its paws, but must hobble with the entire forelimb on the ground.
-My search for the cave continues, but more distressing revelations have come to light.  The hedgehogs can throw their spines with a flick of their tails... and they are not alone on the moor.  The dead do walk here, and do not respond to the spell which should send them to sleep again.  You must understand, gentle reader, this is the first thing any member of the order of Rathma must learn.  Priests often raise servants who resist the spell, but the priest must be very skilled indeed if the Zombie's only reaction is anger.  I was forced to beat it down with my wand, a use for which it is most unsuited.
-An abandoned house on the moor provided me with a moment's respite, to clean up and consider my course of action.  Well, father... it seems you were right.  We first learned from demons how to raise the dead, though we turned the knowledge against them.  Only a fool refuses a weapon.  Now, someone or something is raising the dead and altering animals.  In all likelihood, that unknown is infernal in nature; celestial powers disdain our arts, and our own order is unlikely to be involved.  Also, it is not likely that this is disconnected from the revolt in the monastery.  A serious investigation is called for.
-The house's kitchen supplied me with a large knife.  Raising my own servants to combat this great unknown might be viable, but it seems to me that a subtler approach may be more likely to succeed.  Any being powerful enough to raise these servants will be powerful enough to dispel mine, and then where will I be?  Instead of leading an army of the dead, the quieter path of the lone assassin, striking alone with an envenomed blade, may be more fruitful.  Our science is well advanced in discerning the ways death works in nature; how fitting it will be to destroy the infernal with the mundane.
-A short distance from the house, my destination became apparent.  No charming savages met me in the cave, only Zombies being corralled by little red demons.  I identified them as Fallen Ones, the weakest of demonkind.  Evil souls of the common type, the sort one sees walking the streets every day, are torn to pieces when Hell takes them.  Each shred, barely even demonic, becomes a Fallen One.  They vaguely recall their former existences with equal parts of resentment and shame, and react to the living with spiteful hostility mixed with embarrassing cowardice.  Their resentment is perfectly understandable, but if they had done anything truly worthy of shame, they certainly would have risen higher in Hell's hierarchy.
-Searching the cave thoroughly yields a large crop of Zombies and their tiny masters; perhaps Zombies are the only things Fallen Ones can master.  One dead strongman gave me a goodly clout to the head before returning to the earth, but I am reluctant to wear a helm.  It is so dreadfully difficult to keep a good hairstyle with any kind of helmet, though a bloodstained bandage doesn't look fetching either.
-Somehow, Akara found out I emptied her cave before I returned to camp, though I used a portal and arrived instantaneously.  Then I remembered, these charming ladies worship an aspect of the orderly heavens.  In the ages-long battle between Heaven and Hell, both sides have developed complementary methods.  As Hell delights in hiding and deception, so Heaven has developed skills of spying and forcing truth.  The "Sightless Eye" these ladies refer to is doubtless some aspect of that.  Our conversation was uninteresting, but I shall record it here for the edification of future generations.
-"You have cleansed the Den of Evil," she said as soon as I appeared.  "You have earned my trust, and may yet restore my faith in humanity."
-Please recall, I was still somewhat taken aback.  "Perish the thought, dear lady.  Humanity and I have as little to do with each other as possible, to our mutual benefit."
-This seemed to puzzle her.  "No matter.  Take this ring as our bond of friendship."
-"A trifle, I am sure."  Then I looked at it.  "Yes, a trifle.  Mind you, I have many friends, all of whom have grown to despise me.  None love me more than my enemies -- they go out of their way to provide me with amusements.  Now, so long as you're willing to trust me, I have a fine property to the south I'm anxious to sell..."
-Sadly, we were interrupted by the war leader, whose name has slipped my mind.  "I've just gotten the report from my scouts!  There's been a violation of our graveyard!"
-Now, why do you suppose she looking at ME like that?  "I beg your pardon?"
-"One of our sisters, Blood Raven, is in our own monastery graveyard!  She's raising our dead for an army!  Someone has to stop her!"
-Hmm... were the local servants being raised by one of these women?  What a fascinating idea.  "Worry not, ladies.  I shall go and see her forthwith."
-"Don't be stupid.  She's one of the most dangerous priestesses in our monastery."
-"Oh, I do hope so."

Difference between revisions of "Varnae (Chapter 2)"

Latest revision as of 18:12, 12 February 2017

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