Varnae (Chapter 29)
Template:Varnae nav Dear Diary,
Rather than face Roast Rodent, I dined at Atma's; she has gotten a lovely claret in, lacking structure but with a heady robustness that complemented her Lemon and Orange Beef's zest grandly. While thawing out, it occurred to me it would be entirely sensible to stay there for the night. Not only would I sleep easier (a night spent shivering is not a restful one) but the opportunity to partake in a civilized night life again would be a pleasant one. Being a trading center, Lut Gholein is full of amenities to soothe away the weary traveler's cares. I can only imagine how things were when the harem guilds were operating. Khaleel's new hairstyle has garnered him sympathetic attention from the local mercenaries, a few of whom sport similar scars. If I cared to listen, I am sure I would hear all manner of overwrought tales of my harsh cruelty. Small men tell large tales. Of myself, the barest facts suffice.
Ha ha its me again. He thinks hiding his diary under his pillow like a girl is gonna work! Just so you know, I took down that bull guy, he just stood there then ran around and said he was killing when he was just running around squealing like he always does. I still do all the killing, still.
My ruse worked beautifully! That vituperative Vizjerei never noticed, but staying the night in Lut Gholein was all part of my plan. I knew perfectly well someone was writing their own notes in my journal, but my unwelcome co-author's horrible penmanship concealed both his intention and identity. There is only one person who had the opportunity this time: my own servant, Khaleel! I have confronted him, and he has confessed. For his punishment, I have been forced to go out of my way and find a child's book of letters. Every night, he must present to me three full pages copied from this text, in his own execrable hand, until he has achieved legibility. Not only will this irritate him, but the patience and effort required may improve his mind, something even he cannot consider detrimental.
On returning to Harrogath, I noticed Nihlathak was not at home. Word about town is that he left during the night, though they presume too much based on this. In all likelihood, he has had enough of their chattering behind his back and taken his leave of them. I would have done so long before now; his people's mood is so foul, everything he says or does is viewed in the worst possible light. There is no point dwelling on it -- just contemplating their ungrateful attitude towards this superior man raises my bile. Besides, I wish to leave this icy wasteland behind me as speedily as possible, and staying in Harrogath to argue with fools does none of us a service.
The ice caves are a remarkable formation, but one I suspect is not entirely natural. Lighting is provided by torches and bonfires, but even these merrily burning blazes do little do dispel the bone-clutching cold. Even directly over fires, this ice will not melt. A few jars, all crude pottery and basketry, sit in the corners. These contain bones and some valuables, but nothing like the elegant urn can be seen. Ah, there is one, as beautiful as the last!
By all the earth and all my ancestors, I must be more careful! As I examined the urn, a large group of Minotaurs came from behind me! So completely was my attention occupied, I saw and heard nothing until they were upon us, and an aura of freezing cold caught me in its grip. So convulsive were my shivers, I could barely move! A few of them distracted themselves with Khaleel, who was in no better shape than I. Their leader and his favorites devoted all their attention to me. The curse of Attraction confused them temporarily while I took the better option and ran for my life. Khaleel sensibly followed, and there commenced a running battle, from the urn to the cave entrance and back again several times. Whittling their number down slowly with curses and poison, they went from six, to five, to three (two fell nearly simultaneously) and finally to two. At that point, nearly exhausted and in a great deal of pain, we stood our ground and met them face to face. Well, face to navel; Minotaurs are very large. It occurs to me they might well represent everything a northlander could want to be: huge, physically powerful, full of animal savagery and mindless bloodlust. If any of the local warriors ever made it this far, they might simply die of envy.
Once that was over with, I was much more cautious. It shocks me that nothing else came during the battle, we all certainly made enough noise and these caverns are full of enemies. Besides the Minotaurs (again, blessedly rare!) I have come across Frozen Creepers, an odd name for an odd beast from Hell's frozen mountains. Not all of Hell is fire and blood; rings of mountains separate the outer territories from the inner, all populated by demons suited to high, jagged peaks. In addition... mmm, yes, how shall I describe this... suffering away in the icy cold are some of Hell's least capable combatants, Succubi. And I thought using Imps as troops was a desperate measure. Or does Destruction think their crude charms can delay or forestall my purpose? For one who has known true love, these harlots mean nothing. My Natalya is... was more beautiful and more dangerous than the lot.
Perhaps these caves are natural, though the lack of meltwater even above fires compels me to believe otherwise. The local people use the caves for burials of their cremated relatives, in the aforementioned baskets and pottery jars. I never imagined I would see earthenware as primitive as this: simple coils of clay are piled up in a rough shape, then squeezed with the fingers until most of the gaps have closed. Even the simple idea of the potter's wheel eludes them. The contrast with the much-older porcelain urns I still find occasionally is shocking.
Of all the luck, another group of Minotaurs surprised me as I was examining an urn! Have these creatures been informed of my tastes, and devised a scheme to lay in wait near art objects? This one was enchanted with lightning, and our battle was heard in the surrounding caverns. Before long, they were joined by four more Minotaurs, along with a harem's worth of Succubi and a dozen Frozen Creepers. What could we do? Even Khaleel had to behave sensibly at that point. From our hiding place in a corner, my Attraction created a riotous pell-mell of confusion, while he concentrated on maintaining a wall of frozen beef between the chaos and our tender flesh. Oh, how fiercely the sparks flew! As did the blood and bones; Corpse Explosion is ideal for situations like this. When our barrier finally fell, all that remained was two Creepers and the Minotaur; soon, there was only the Minotaur, and alone he stood no chance. The greatest danger lay in slipping while running from his bolts.
Discoveries I have made in this maze of ice: either local warriors have penetrated the caves, or some were imported from the steppes to amuse the Succubi. Twice now, I have found bound and helpless men obviously killed by slow torture, as well as one poor woman whose fate I shall not elaborate on. My second discovery is that the ancient urns I have found are the cause of my misery, for they are trapped. A simple experiment confirmed this: when I touched the next one, I watched in one direction while Khaleel faced the other. Sure enough, a group of Creepers appeared out of thin air. I suspect the urns were enchanted to summon guardians long ago, in the antediluvian days when they were made. The spell has been twisted slightly to summon Baal's servants instead.
I should note, the Succubi cast curses. Their choice is a poor one, a simple aim-enhancing curse my people abandoned ages ago in favor of Damage Amplification. The effect is barely noticeable.
Another note: some the axes the Minotaurs use, one to each hand, are actually halberds. Should I tell Qual-Kehk and his mighty warriors, or would that break their little hearts?
Brackish water has formed pools in a deeper part of the caves, and a sharp stench pervades the area. For a short time, I wondered what had died, before I met the Zombies. Always, there must be Zombies; all three of the Brothers are so fond of them. These carry weapons and wear the remains of armor, and will occasionally work themselves up to a fairly speedy charge. Having so much rotting meat slam bodily into one is disconcerting, and unusual for a servant. Obtaining any level of enthusiasm from a dead mind is next to impossible.
Very well, I admit, I am impressed! The Zombie I killed rose again! I killed it, it was as dead as any dead creature had a right to be, but it got back up and tried to kill me again! In all honesty, I must confess I did scream fit to wake the dead (two more, in fact) when I saw that, though more from surprise than fear. To one such as I, seeing a servant drag itself up from its own destruction is both alarming and exhilarating! How did Destruction do that? How can I obtain the knowledge without being forced into some bargain? Nothing can stop me from killing him... no, nothing will, truly. I must maintain my focus.
Another new creature has appeared, relatives of the Sasquatch of gentler climes. In their honor, I hereby designate these "Abominable Snowmen." There are also Succubi, but they do not hold my interest. Such common creatures. The Snowmen are shaggy and so inured to the frigid environment that Khaleel's efforts against them are nearly fruitless, even with the help of my curses. I order him to keep his eye on the Succubi, something he seems inclined to do anyway.
Another side note: when flailing about in the midst of combat, take care not to upset any burial urns which should happen to be close by.
Here near the water, the ice formations take on strange shapes, perhaps from repeated thawing and re-freezing. Some look humanoid, enough so that I wonder if they were carved into human shape long ago. Or is my imagination playing with me? The twists and turns of these caves are monumental; without the foresight to sketch out a map, I surely could be lost for the rest of my life in these tunnels. For any who travel in this area after me, please remember that pencil and paper are not a luxury. Do not use ink, it will freeze solid.
Another wonderful discovery! And one I thought would be beyond Destruction's talents! He is known to use curses, but never to use the Ice Curse! This curse, like the Stone Curse, is one of the great forgotten spells of eons past, known to no one living... or so I thought, before I came upon this huge block of ice with a living person embedded within! I can see the victim is some young girl, plainly alive and unharmed. I know I simply MUST find some way to interrogate Baal before I kill him. This knowledge must not be allowed to pass out of mortal experience again. The ice block, as unyielding as legend insisted it would be, will give up none of its secrets; I must find Baal! Hmm. I wonder why this girl was cursed? Perhaps she knows something. If so, I should like to know as well.
Questioning the girl will be difficult without freeing her; unlike the Stone Curse, the Ice Curse prevents all harm from coming to its victim. Sadly, I have neglected certain aspects of my education, and the ice resists my attempts to dispel it. Dear old Malah is a good hand at dispelling curses, as all healers tend to be... but going to her would mean speaking with her, and I'm not in the mood. Ah, but I should. There is so much to be gained.
The meeting with Malah left a bad taste in my mouth. She is sure the girl is Anya, and that Nihlathak has done this. It is entirely possible that the girl is this Anya, though I attach no importance to the fact. As for Nihlathak... everything this old harridan sees becomes more grist for the mill in her open war on that man's reputation. If the foragers catch a skinny rabbit, it's Nihlathak's fault. If she dropped dead, it would be Nihlathak's fault. Actually it might be, but I attach no importance to that, either. While railing against "that snake" with all the pejoratives her limited experience could summon up, Malah mixed one of her anti-curse cure-alls for the ice. Such a waste... but I must get to that girl.
Events have taken an unexpected turn. The girl is Anya, of the same slender racial stock as Nihlathak, and presumably all the other elders. Nihlathak was indeed the one who cast the Ice Curse; my respect for his knowledge grows by leaps and bounds. When I began to question her about the curse, she told me that Nihlathak obtained his knowledge as part of a bargain with Destruction. In exchange for the Ice Curse and other ancient Rathman rituals, Nihlathak has given Baal some sort of relic. She gave some description of it, but I'm afraid I was no longer listening.
That moment, gentle reader, was when I felt the first presentiment of doom in my heart. How could anyone with any respect for knowledge not know what comes of bargains with the lords of Hell? How could anyone who felt the deaths of his people so acutely deliver them into the hands of humankind's greatest enemy? Have I been deceived again? The girl had to be lying, but I knew she could not be. What I saw with my own eyes precludes that.
This Anya is, despite her age, already knowledgeable in the ways of magic. As a token of thanks, she has given me a totem, the head of a Horadric Mummy the blacksmith forged at her request. How in the world did these people get the raw materials for one of those? Or was it made from scratch -- as sweet Charsi joked, forging a head? Ha ha! So sorry. She has opened a portal to Nihlathak's home. That is good, I would like to visit him. Perhaps we can discuss this and clear up this whole business. He really should not have stayed away for so long, it's starting to look suspicious.