Tales from Sanctuary
An Emerald Hell
"I am looking forward to seeing my homeland again," Meshif enthused from aft, both of the helm tillers in his capable hands.
Meshif ran a square-rigged cutter with his crew of two. Along with the fore course, the sailboat also carried an outer and inner jib rigged from the collapsible spar. As Suki would have been able to attest, passengers on Meshif's boat were required to help tend to the fifty-six foot vessel. This frugal use of sail and crew ensured that his sailboat could not only outrun any of the bigger sailboats and ships, but also most other cutters and even some sloops.
Caesar, tending to some of the rigging just forward, asked, "How goes our journey?"
"At last measurement, about twelve knots," Meshif stated proudly, "I would think that if this wind holds, we shall see the light from Kurast's splendid lighthouse just before dawn tomorrow. We should probably be able to dock sometime during tomorrow morning."
"Are you still concerned about the lead our quarry has my friend?" Deckard Cain asked, looking up from where he was splicing some rope.
"The wait at Lut Gholein was insufferable," Caesar replied, "We lost a full two days to Jehryn's bureaucratic bungling. One would think that after all we had done for his city, and due to the seriousness of our quest, we would have been one of the first ships to leave the harbor."
"Jehryn is above all else a businessman," Waheed commented, from where he was preparing lunch on the small galley amidships, "That is something you need to remember. By allowing the merchantmen to leave first, he not only assured a profit for his city, but also got rid of quite a few mercenaries in the process."
"I know," Caesar conceded, "It just galls me to give Diablo and Baal any more opportunity to escape our hunt for them."
"Do not forget," Meshif reminded him, "my boat is one of the swiftest runners of the Kurast run. Already we have passed half of the merchantmen in the single day we've been at sea. Also, how do you think the Two managed to get to Kurast? Did they simply wish their way across the Twin Seas?"
"You mean to tell us you suspect they are actually aboard one of the ships ahead of us?" Waheed asked incredulously.
"I don't think so," Cain replied, "but they would have had to cross by some form of ship. Even at the height of their power, back when the Horadrim first captured them, the Three could never teleport over vast distances. After your conversation with the Archangel Tyrael, I spoke at length with Blood Witch about their initial crossing from Kehjistan and I think I know what route our quarry likely took. As Meshif knows, there is a narrow strait between the southeastern most part of Aranoch and the Kehjistan coast. If they had gone straight from Tal Rasha's tomb to this strait, they would most likely have found a sea-worthy craft to use for their own crossing back to the Kehjistan coast. They would then be able to use their powers to either teleport or travel at great demonic speed in order to reach Kurast."
"A likely theory," Meshif concluded, "Given the time that has passed since the Dark Wanderer first came to Lut Gholein more than two months ago, I do not think they are simple stowaways on one of the merchantmen ahead of us."
"That is true," Caesar said, "and that is exactly what dismays me. Even the two hundred or more leagues of jungle from 'The Pinch' to Travincal, had they taken such a route, would not have delayed them by much more than a fortnight. At best we are a month behind, at worst six weeks. A cold trail indeed."
"Don't let that dismay you my friend," Cain soothed, "When you and young Pamela started off from the Rogue's Camp you could never have expected a smooth pursuit of Diablo. His use of Andariel, then Duriel, and all the other monsters made sure that you would be delayed as much a possible. Rather think of all the good you have achieved and reflect on the sure knowledge that Diablo knows he is being hunted."
"Small solace," Caesar sighed, "when I think that the trail was but a fortnight old when I met Pamela and now it could be more than six weeks until we catch up to Diablo and Baal."
"Speaking of Pamela, how is our young Amazon?" Cain asked.
"It seems she still has a touch of seasickness," Caesar replied.
"Ah, that would explain her leaning once again over the foredeck railing," Cain smiled.
"How are you feeling?" a concerned Elly asked, helping her friend up from where she was unceremoniously draped over the railing.
"Like a squeezed Skovic sponge," Pamela grimaced, then bent to the task of feeding the fish the last of her breakfast.
"It is fortunate then," Elly smiled, "that Waheed's cooking is happening amidships, and that the foredeck is mostly screened from the smell."
"I think I'd rather fight Duriel again," Pamela grinned, coming up for air once more.
"Does he know yet?"
"Know?"
"You forget our inner sight, sister," Elly admonished.
"Ah, I see," Pamela frowned, "So you suspect it too?"
"When last was your monthly cycle?"
"Three weeks ago," the young Amazon answered.
"Then I can suspect as much as I want, we'll only know for sure in another week's time," Elly said, "Are you strong enough to face Waheed's cooking now? I can see him dishing up lunch."
"If you can call it that," Pamela grinned, "Let's go, before the others get worried."
With that the two women climbed down the steps leading to the galley and inevitably Waheed's lunch.
"Well, I gave you my word and brought you here as promised," Meshif said, his shoulders slumped like someone defeated, "but by all that's still holy, I wish I'd never returned to this accursed place. This fetid jungle can't be the fair Kurast I left behind."
Meshif has first suspected trouble when no sign could be made of the light from Kurast's lighthouse. Most of his crew was of the opinion that it was simply to close to dawn for them to see it, or that the fires burning in front of the massive reflecting mirrors had simply been extinguished a little earlier than usual. However, when they later sailed past the crumbling ruins of where the lighthouse used to stand on the banks of the river Argentek, Meshif's suspicions had turned to dread, which now voiced itself as they drifted to mooring place at the dockside. Most of the dockside was overgrown or submerged and overall crumbling into oblivion. Wooden shanties had hastily been constructed on every available area still above the waterline, while a myriad of different walkways connected them. Stench and fear rose from this dock town in equal amounts and seemed to engulf the boat as its crew hastened to secure its moorings.
"Have faith my friend," Cain consoled, "I am sure that Caesar and these other three warriors here will find the reason for this. I've not set foot in glorious Kurast for many years, but even I could not imagine that it would be so… corrupted? Certainly, this must be Mephisto's work."
"Welcome to Kurast, travelers," a man, dressed in a dark brown robe, hailed them from the pier, "Few come willingly to this 'city' anymore."
"You must be the local doomsayer," Elly quipped as she stepped from the boat, followed by Caesar, Pamela, Waheed and lastly Cain.
"I see you brought at least your wits with you," he replied, "Sadly, sanity is in short supply here. My name is Hratli."
"I'm not so sure we're pleased to meet you yet," Caesar greeted.
"On the contrary," Hratli smiled, "I am a Sorcerer, skilled in metalwork. Judging by your equipment, I will at least have the pleasure of helping you. I don't have many customers these days."
"I wonder," Pamela mused, "if that is due to your workmanship friend?"
"As you can see," the Sorcerer continued, un-phased by the verbal barbs aimed at him, "the populace has been brutally decimated by the forces of Mephisto. The canals run red with blood and demons roam the land. The wretched jungle hell has already reclaimed much of former Kurast and the only safety you will find is here at the dockside where a magical ward holds the jungle evils at bay."
"If you could call it that," Waheed grimaced.
"I don't know how long it will last," Hratli acknowledged, "To make matters worse, the Children of Zakarum are in league with the forces of Mephisto. It is true, their zeal is still unmatched, but I say the so-called Warriors of Light are nothing more than the twisted puppets of a hidden hand."
"Ordinarily I would consider that blasphemy," Caesar nodded, "but I know what you talk about. It would be my pleasure to at least help root out the corruption in the church."
"Such righteousness in a Paladin could only mean that you and your party are those responsible for the banishment of Andariel and her brother Duriel back to the burning hells that spawned them," Hratli guessed, "If this scholarly gentleman is indeed the fabled Deckard Cain, I have a message for you."
"I am him," Cain replied, "My companions were among those who fought against Duriel and helped to lift the trade embargo from Lut Gholein."
"There is a rather unsavory character," Hratli informed them, "a Necromancer if Alkor's enthusiastic gushiness is to be believed, looking for you. He can mostly be found in the Long Hut, no doubt drinking himself into oblivion along with Asheara and her Iron Wolves. He arrived here on the first ship from Lut Gholein, late yesterday afternoon. Perhaps he may be of use to you, perhaps vice versa, or in the case of Kurast, his vice is worse."
"I see you still have your wits about you too," Elly smiled.
"A Rogue by any other name would smell as sweet," Hratli grinned, "Perhaps I could buy you a drink, Sister?"
"I'll take you up on that offer," Elly acceded, "if Kurast is still proud to produce its world famous wine, I'll let you buy me a bottle. We can then also see about this Necromancer while we're there."
"Hello there," a muscular woman, dressed in little more than a leather loincloth and brassiere, greeted them. Draped around her neck, like some kind of scarf was a live snake, most likely a type of constrictor native to the jungles of Kehjistan, "You must be great adventurers to risk coming here."
"Actually," Elly replied, "we're just here to see about a Necromancer. From what he tells me, Hratli here, is not an adventurer, but a great weapon smith, so I guess we're risking even more than most, aren't we?"
"You have a quick wit, Rogue," the woman laughed, "I'll give you that. My name is Asheara and I lead the mercenary band of mages, known as the Iron Wolves. We've been hunting down demons in the jungle out there for months, but it seems that no matter how many we kill they just keep coming, hey Jarulf?"
"I dunno," the mage addressed as Jarulf smiled, raising a tankard, "I think most of us just stay here to keep you out of trouble, Asheara."
"I think," Asheara smiled, her eyes hardening, "you should inform the Necromancer that there are people here to see him."
"Way to go, Jarulf!" laughed another mage seated next to the unfortunate one.
"Oh, and take Flux with you," Asheara commanded, watching the laughter disappear from Flux's face, "Perhaps the two of you together can manage to get past that gruesome Golem he keeps as a bodyguard."
"I only keep my Blood Golem around because your rabble can't keep their spells under control when they're drunk." a reedy voice rasped from behind her, "Besides, its odor is preferred to that of the rot in this town and it keeps the flies away from my drink."
"The fact that it also repulses most of my customers makes no never mind to you?" Asheara accused.
"If your 'customers' were half as battle hardy sober, as they claimed in their drunken stupidity, a mere Golem would not put them off much," he replied, "Take this bunch here for instance. Just looking at them, I'd wager they must be Caesar's party."
"What gave it away?" Pamela grinned, "The fact that we're here with Hratli, or the fact that Deckard Cain's Horadrim aura is hard to miss by anyone used to dealing with the arcane."
"Ah, you must be Pamela, the young and illegitimate Amazon," he smiled, "It seems that history will soon repeat itself."
"What do you mean?" Pamela asked, shocked.
"Later," the Necromancer replied, "Or would you care to discuss your… ah… situation in a tavern full of gossip whores?"
"You seem to know a lot about us," Caesar mentioned, his hand moving towards Knell Striker.
"Forgive me my manners," the man replied, "It's just that the rabble here in Asheara's Long Hut brings out the worst in me. Hratli, old boy, bring us a bottle of Kurast Green, no, make that two, and join the rest of us at my table."
"I'm not your…" Hratli began, but Elly stopped him.
"Kurast Green sounds good as long as you're paying."
"Of course," the Necromancer smiled, "I did invite you here after all."
The Necromancer expertly uncorked the first of the bottles, placed in front of him by a fuming Hratli, then muttered something arcane, causing small flashes of fire to erupt inside the clayware mugs serving as wine glasses in Asheara's establishment.
"A variation of the exploding corpse spell?" Elly asked, her sharp eyes once again noticing things missed by others.
"Indeed," the Necromancer smiled, "By causing the mould or bacteria growing on almost anything in this fetid place to explode, I manage to clean any cutlery or crockery I might want to use for a while."
"No wonder Balor was so disenchanted with this place," Waheed smiled.
"You have met him?" the Necromancer asked.
"We have," Caesar answered, "but have yet to be acquainted with you."
"Ah, forgive my manners," the Necromancer sighed, "or lack thereof, rather. My name is Derek Graves, 'Digger' to my friends."
"Now that we know who you are," Pamela pressed on, "Why have you invited us here?"
"Some wine first," Graves motioned, "then some news and then I shall discuss my intent."
"What do you wish to know?" Cain asked.
"Oh, I know most of the news you already know regarding the Three," Graves smiled, "and may even have some additional tidbits for you, but first a toast."
Having had their mugs filled with the rich, ruby, Kurastian wine, they all raised them, involuntarily.
"To the demise of the Three!" Graves saluted, draining his mug in one gulp.
The others sipped from their mugs, perfunctory at first, then finding the liquid to their liking, drank more deeply.
"A good wine," Waheed commented.
"Congratulations, you have all passed my test," Graves commented, "I shall now speak freely with you."
"Test?" Caesar asked, still slightly suspicious of the Necromancer.
"A silly little idiosyncrasy of mine," Graves answered, "Let us move on. I am called a Seeker by my order. When the first rumblings of Diablo's reawakening surfaced in the nether realm, many of Rathma's followers volunteered or were asked to volunteer to seek out the cause of the disturbance. My brother and I were some of those. Balor, the Great, was another, but at the time was a lot less skilled in our arts. His rise to prominence has been cause for much wonder in our ranks if all the rumors about him are to be believed. Anyway, as this part of the tale does not concern him directly, let me move on. My brother has disappeared and I wish to find him."
"How does that affect us?" Pamela asked.
"I have reason to believe that another has been accompanying Diablo up to now," Graves answered.
"Another?" Caesar asked.
"Oh, not one of the Lesser Evils," Graves corrected, "I suspect it is a human, known only as Marius, if my research is to be correct. I suspect it is this Marius who freed Baal, causing the defeat of Tyrael in Aranoch. Did he not mention it to you when you spoke with him?"
"Tyrael said nothing about the encounter," Caesar replied, "but Balor was at the time not happy with any of the explanations given by the Archangel."
"Balor has indeed grown wise since his death," Graves smiled.
"How do you know about this human companion?" Cain asked.
"Perhaps I should explain a little about our art," Graves mentioned, "There are some of us that can not only raise the dead to serve our purposes, but can also interrogate these 'undead' once they are under our command. I am one of those, therefore my commission as a Seeker. You see, a Skeleton, dusty and cobwebbed, lying in a dry, desert tomb may very well be or become one of my spies, lying in wait, collecting information until I wish for it to return and impart that knowledge to me. Thus it was that I managed to 'speak' to the butchered patrons of a small tavern in Khanduras, close in fact to Tristram, and find out about this companion of the Dark Wanderer."
"Does he not realize whom he travels with?" Caesar asked.
"At first, I believe not," Graves replied, "although he surely witnessed the death and destruction caused by the Wanderer in that tavern. I believe he was somehow compelled to follow Diablo, to fulfill his task."
"The task to free Baal?" Hratli guessed.
"Hratli, old boy, should you not be concerned with rumors about you and that other Amazon?" Graves suddenly asked.
"What do you mean?" the Sorcerer asked.
"Oh, something about… 'A Rogue by any other name would smell as sweet'."
"How?" Hratli began, gasping for command of his tongue.
"Have you not been listening to a word I've said, old boy?" Graves smiled, "I'm not so sure Runai would forgive this little dalliance."
"Runai?" Pamela asked, more than a little shocked.
"Dalliance?" Elly asked, looking sharply at the Sorcerer.
"Yes," Graves replied, "I do believe that is her name. She is traveling with a small party that landed here yesterday. And yes, 'dalliance'; apparently, she is well known to our friend here. One might even say 'intimately acquainted'."
"Do you know where she is?" Pamela asked, glancing first at the Necromancer, then at the Sorcerer as if expecting an answer from one or both.
"She is at present probably somewhere in the southern part of the Flayer Jungle, perhaps even approaching Lower Kurast," Hratli replied.
"That quick?" Caesar asked.
"If I may explain," Hratli motioned, looking at the Necromancer before continuing, "Most of the warriors and mercenaries to have accompanied the merchant fleet from Lut Gholein have learned from their experiences in that city. While most now know just whom they are pursuing, they have also learned that teamwork often pays off, as was the case with the search for the real tomb of Tal Rasha. Different parties have been combing the jungle, fighting back against Mephisto's armies and combining knowledge each time they arrive back here at the dockside."
"As it now stands, those parties closest to the outskirts of what was formerly the thriving suburbs of Kurast are probably approaching Lower Kurast as we speak," Graves continued the tale.
"Making use of the waypoints in this area, located mostly by Asheara's Iron Wolves, simultaneous sweeps of the Spider Forest, Great Marsh and Flayer Jungle could be made in the last day and a half since the first merchantmen from Lut Gholein docked. Granted, the death toll has been high," Hratli added, "but already the Gidbin has been recovered, allowing Ormus to strengthen the ward placed on this area."
"But what about Runai?" Pamela insisted.
"We have told you already," Hratli replied, "What concern is she of you?"
Recalling their conversation with the beautiful, but enigmatic Amazon, Myrina, Caesar replied slowly, "We have reason to believe that an Amazon, named Runai, may be Pamela's mother."
Hratli stumbled drunkenly into the ramshackle area of the smithy he liked to call home, turned around and after the third try, managed to bar the rickety door. Unseen by prying eyes, or at least those belonging to the still living, he straightened, spoke a word of command and turned around to face his guest.
"And?" a female voice enquired.
"The Necromancer may be a problem," Hratli conceded.
"How so?"
"He uses the dead to spy for him," Hratli fulminated, "and the stupid fool blurted out your name in front of everyone."
"So she suspects?"
"She will soon know if you passed any corpses on your way here. That meddler will see to it."
"Even so, it will be too late. When I heard of their victory over Duriel in Lut Gholein, I knew my time was getting short. It helped that I also knew Jehryn and could depend on him to create a delay of some sort. I will take leave of my companions tomorrow and sail west."
"Will I ever see you again?" Hratli asked, his eyes reaching out in supplication.
"Perhaps when this war is over."
"If we both still live," Hratli added sardonically.
"Yes."
"What of your progress then?" Hratli asked, wishing that by attending to business, he could stave off the inevitable parting.
"We reached, and activated the Upper Kurast waypoint, but lost the two Paladin acolytes in the process."
"That is good," Hratli confirmed, "and will help your escape."
"How so?"
"Deckard Cain seems to have the answer to our Zakarum problem. He is of the opinion that a Compelling Orb is the reason for their unstoppable devotion to their corrupted leadership. He has asked our heroes, and fortunately also that confounded Necromancer to search for Khalim's relics. He believes that by creating the fabled Will of Khalim can this Compelling Orb be destroyed and its hold over the Children of Zakarum broken."
"That will not stop them for long, especially now that the waypoints are all operational."
"It will be long enough for your purposes."
"What of that Assassin, Natalya? She knows me and will more than likely recognize me when I leave."
"I have taken care of that," Hratli replied, "Fortunately, a fellow member of her order, sent to Lut Gholein under orders, was a not so insignificant part of our heroes' party for most of their time there. They have some news to give to our Assassin and I have arranged a meeting with her for around noon."
"Are you out of your mind? Have you had too much of the Necromancer's Kurast Green?" came the incredulous enquiry.
"Not at all," Hratli smiled, "I have sent a message, asking Natalya to join me here at ten. That should give you ample time to make your escape."
His visitor cracked a smile, "Hratli, old friend, I shall miss you dearly. None the least for saving my hide once again."
"So you say," he grinned, "I still don't see what you ever saw in that silly merchant."
"Like you, he was extremely charming and witty."
"Flattery is lost on me," he smiled, and then frowned, "You best be off. With the trouble stirred up by the Three, magic wards don't last as long as I'd like."
"One last thing old friend?"
"Name it."
"Make sure she spends time with Athlunea. I no longer care that she finds out about me, but she must be made to understand my reasons for doing what I did."
"I'll make sure of that," Hratli said, then turned and unbolting the door, held it open for his departing guest.
"Thank you, Hratli."
"Athulua guide your path," he replied, before turning away, sighing deeply.
"Why must you leave so suddenly Aunt Runai?" Athlunea asked, "Why now?"
They had been consolidating their position in Upper Kurast from sunrise that morning and were in fact ready to cross over the infamous Kurast Causeway on their way to Travincal, the place they had been seeking for the three days since their landing at Kurast.
"Athlunea, my dearest niece, one has to know when to leave," was her simple reply, "It is now my time."
"We are so close," the younger Amazon pleaded, "Won't you reconsider?"
"Close to what?" Runai asked, "Death? Like poor Portos yesterday? Or that other boy before him, the one whose name we didn't even know?"
"This is unlike you Runai," the Paladin mentioned, "but you are right. We cannot face the whole might of Travincal alone. Perhaps some of the others at the docks have found a way to deal with these Zealots."
"Yes," Runai affirmed, "I have heard of a party landing late yesterday, rumored to be the ones that slew Duriel himself back in Aranoch. Perhaps you should ask their aid in this matter."
"But you could still stay with us," Athlunea asked, "If they are who you say they are, so much more reason to stay."
"Athlunea, listen to me," Runai replied, "I have legitimate and urgent reasons to leave. You know me well enough to realize I'm not some flippant girl running away from battle when the going gets too hot. If this party is indeed who they say they are, you'll understand soon enough."
"I suggest we all return to the docks then," the Paladin suggested.
"A good idea," Runai agreed, "You should go and see Hratli. Whatever you do, just don't tell him I've left."
"That disreputable Sorcerer?" the Paladin asked.
"Pally," Runai challenged, "I don't care if you approve of my relationship with him, even if you're blinded to the truth in the matter, but Hratli is one of the most helpful people I know. If a solution to this hell can be found, he will be a part of it. If the slayers of Duriel have indeed come to these shores he will know about it."
Runai turned around, and without waiting for her two companions walked purposefully towards the waypoint back to the dockside.
"Where are they, Hratli?" Natalya the Assassin asked while watching Hratli work his craft at the forge.
"I expect they've been delayed out there," he replied, indicating with a wave of the hand the jungle at the shore of the river Argentek, about twenty yards behind him.
"You know, my order could use a man of your talent," she mentioned.
"Is that a compliment, mage slayer?" he asked.
"No," Natalya said, "It's a warning that you're a bad liar. Unfortunately my order doesn't appreciate liars or others of initiative."
"Is that why you are still here?" he asked, looking up from his work.
"Let's not go into that," she replied, "It seems you have some guests."
With a word of command, Hratli's forge cooled, as he stepped forward to meet his visitors. He recognized them as Athlunea and Runai's Paladin companion.
"Good morning," he said, "Have you come to relieve me of some of my wares?"
"Don't be coy, Sorcerer," the Paladin warned, "I know you recognize us."
"Ah, yes," Hratli smiled, "You are Runai's companions. Where is my old friend this morning?"
"She is visiting Asheara for some arrows," Athlunea lied quickly.
"She wanted us to ask you about some newcomers," the Paladin continued, quickly.
Hratli smiled inwardly, thinking how difficult it must be for the great and noble Paladin to go along with his companion's lie.
"And what may you be wanting to know?" he asked instead.
"I suspect they may be referring to our late guests," Natalya quipped.
"Ah," Hratli smiled, "You are seeking the great Deckard Cain, last of the Horadrim and his companions."
"That would be them," the Paladin replied, recognizing the name that was bandied about by most of the assorted warriors and mercenaries in Lut Gholein.
"They are late," Natalya informed them, glancing at Hratli with meaning.
"As my other guest, Natalya, just mentioned," Hratli explained, stressing the guest aspect, "we are expecting them, but they seem to have been somewhat delayed. Why don't you make yourselves at home? If Natalya will be as gracious as she is lovely, I am sure she can offer you some green wine, while I just finish this work I am busy with."
"Hratli, you old dog," Natalya laughed, "if you weren't such a shameless liar, I'd have blushed at your heady compliments." Turning to the two newcomers, she asked, "Shall I pour for you, while we all wait?"
"Thank you," Athlunea said, while the Paladin also nodded his consent.
"Graves!" Hratli called, as the expected party approached over the rickety wooden walkway connecting his smithy to the rest of the small bazaar. It was all located on the largest part of the docks not yet submerged under the swirling waters of the Argentek.
"Hratli, old boy!" Graves greeted in reply.
"The Golem stays there," Hratli warned, "We would like to have a conversation here without having to lose our lunch."
"You've provided lunch, old boy?" Graves asked, as at his command the Golem dissolved, dripping into the waters below.
"Some fruit, and enough green wine," Natalya called, stepping forward to have a look at the party.
"Where is Cain?" the Paladin asked, as they neared.
"Oh, he's observing Ormus performing a Skatsim ritual with that Gidbin dagger," Elly replied, "Have we met?"
"I don't think so," the Paladin replied, recognizing Caesar, "but with my student here, I'm well acquainted."
"Master Nobicum," Caesar nodded in greeting and respect.
"You seem to have fallen from grace," the Paladin continued, "much as I warned you, you would."
"You have ever been judgmental, Master," Caesar replied, "Perhaps that is why it took you so long to realize the corruption in our very ranks."
"A corruption you are here to combat?" the Paladin enquired.
"Our comrade, Deckard Cain, seems to think so," Graves answered, then turning to their host continued, "Hratli, my man, you have not introduced us to these lovely ladies yet. Were you wishing to keep their company to yourself?"
"Ah, yes," Hratli replied, "I did not wish to interrupt Zakarum zeal. This is Natalya, spirited and disowned Viz-Jaq'taar."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Natalya smiled, "I've heard of your exploits and ah… I'm quite impressed. Very few mortals are capable of dealing with the Three and their minions as you have. I am a hunter of evil, sworn to hunt down corrupted Sorcerers. Fortunately for Hratli, his level of corruption only borders on charging too much for his smithing work."
"For a large part of our quest in Lut Gholein we had the help of one of your order," Caesar smiled, "Suki sends her regards, and this."
Caesar stepped forward and placed a bundle in Natalya's hands.
"She has failed through death?" the Assassin asked.
"On the contrary, she sends word that her mark is met," Pamela replied, "She came close to corruption herself, however, and wished her gear returned to your order."
"Am I to take it that this chain mail is the fabled Cathan's Mesh?"
"You know your artifacts," Caesar smiled, "but our tale can wait until further introductions are made."
"Thank you," Hratli intoned, "This here is Kethrenai tsa Kethras na Hvarto, from Skovos, niece to the noble Runai tsa Tsokoro, former matriarch of that powerful clan. Athlunea, as she is more commonly known, is matriarch of the noble Kethras clan."
Hratli savored the look of surprise on Pamela's face, but didn't miss a similar look on the face of the Rogue.
"Athlunea, companion and rival of Sister Lienen?" Elly gasped.
"Do you know Runai?" Pamela exploded.
"You forget you manners," Athlunea scolded, her inner sight telling her both much and very little about the younger Amazon, "Is it not customary among the Amazons to first greet one of higher stature?"
"My apologies," Caesar soothed, "We are honored to be in the company of one of such noble stature among the Amazons."
"Do you always speak for this clan-less one, Paladin?" Athlunea asked.
"Only when I make a fool of myself, aunt," Pamela replied, remembering her conversations with, and instruction from Myrina.
"In that case," Athlunea smiled, "you are both forgiven. It seems our host, while knowledgeable about Amazon customs has forgotten to introduce you in turn."
Hratli, cut from his reverie, spluttered, then quickly, and often floridly, introduced the newcomers. During some lunch, which to everyone's delight also included the smoked meat of one of the endemic giant frogs, and lavish plying of green wine, Hratli's assorted guests got to know each other a little, as well as deciding to join forces for the search for Khalim's relics and the assault on Travincal. Much as expected, talk flitted mostly from topic to topic concerning the war, not allowing for much discussion regarding his fleeing friend, allowing Hratli to congratulate himself on yet another perfectly executed machination. He smiled at the irony of his own plans coming to fruition amidst the greater plan of the Three unfolding in all the lands about them.
With Nobicum and Athlunea having already secured the Horadric waypoints earlier, travel time through the jungle, searching for Khalim's relics was shortened somewhat. The waypoint in a clearing in the Spider Forest was unfortunately not very far south from Kurast Docks, but did allow for a quick, but thorough search of the subterranean cavern it contained. Poison Spinners and Flame Spiders, jungle versions of the species they had first encountered in the Rogue Monastery Catacombs and again in the Halls of the Dead in Aranoch infested the Arachnid Lair, as it was known. Also found in this lair were Giant Lampreys, the Kehjistan version of the giant Sand Maggots of the desert, but alas, no sign of any of Khalim's relics were found.
The party had to then progress west along a narrow jungle trail, then turned south, moving along the small tributary feeding into the river Argentek, but away from the docks. Here they were met by resistance from Jungle Hunters, another type of baboon demon, and also Cloud Stalkers, a similar creature to the Black Raptors they had found in the Far Oasis. New enemies they encountered were the corrupted Thorned Hulks, treacherous Swamp Dwellers and the ever-hungry Suckers. Composed mostly of wood, Thorned Hulks were the ancestral protectors of the jungle lands. Despite their strength and immense bramble and thorn-covered arms, even they had been twisted by the Prime Evils. The wet, humid atmosphere of the Kehjistan rainforest was also an environment perfect for fly and mosquito larvae. Pools of stagnant water provided excellent spots for the adults of these species to lay their eggs. Some of these mosquitoes were enormous, with wingspans as large as four feet. These giant mosquitoes were known disease carriers, but by themselves, Suckers were not usually deadly. However, if other threats lurked nearby, Suckers would drain a victim's stamina while other creatures moved in for the kill.
The darkening of the lands of Kehjistan during the Mage Clan Wars left much of the realm bristling with untamed magical energies. While much of this dissipated over time, some had effects upon the landscape and creatures of the jungle. Trees and vines would grow to unusual size, rivers and swamps would appear overnight, and once innocuous creatures would gain dangerous abilities with an appetite to match. Such was the case with the giant frogs, what locals referred to as frog demons. These swamp dwelling monstrosities would spit a poisonous mucous or fiery ball at their prey to kill it without having to engage in a physical confrontation. Once their victim had fallen to this attack, these amphibious beasts would strip the carcass of all flesh, leaving a pile of highly polished bones as the only evidence of the deed.
Turning east again, when they encountered a minor pathway veering off from their route along the tributary, they also encountered a small mob of Fetishes. Attacking with enormous, vicious knives or at range with deadly blow darts, the Fetishes and their kin were native inhabitants to the jungles around Kurast. Known cannibals, they were small, intelligent beings in league with the forces of Hell. Individually, Fetishes were weak and easy to kill, however, they were much more formidable when attacking en masse. When accompanied by a shaman, they were doubly dangerous, as their shamans all possessed the ability to revive their fallen kin. Fortunately for the newly formed party, these were without a shaman and were therefore dispatched with the minimum of danger to them.
The narrow trail led back north, then east again before once again turning south and opening up into another small jungle clearing. The party had arrived at the entrance to the other lair, giving the whole of this part of the jungle its name. The Spider Cavern, as it was known as, would undoubtedly also teem with Poison Spinners and Flame Spiders. Like the clearing where the waypoint was located, this one was eerily covered by giant spider webs, while web-wrapped bundles dangled from branches. These were no doubt the remains of the unlucky prey, sometimes even human, of these giant arachnids. Having secured the area, the party called a short break to discuss their progress.
"What makes you so sure we will find any sign of Khalim's relics here?" Nobicum asked.
"According to what Cain said," Caesar replied, "Khalim was the only incorruptible priest of our erstwhile order of Zakarum. In a sense, he was the first Paladin, or as our peers still clinging to the tenets of Zakarum would deem the first heretic. As you well know, Master, our erstwhile order was charged with the guardianship of Mephisto's imprisonment. Unfortunately, the Lord of Hatred soon worked his corruption on his captors, turning them from the Light they served. You and I were never told or taught the truth concerning Khalim, only that Sankekur succeeded him as Que-Hegan after he was found guilty of heresy and was banished from the order."
"Ironically," Graves piped up, "quite the contrary was the truth."
"What do you mean?" Nobicum responded, "Do not try to sprout your dark lies here, Necromancer!"
"I wouldn't dream of doing that," Graves continued, "My order has been studying the decline of the Zakarum from the very beginning. We were dismayed by the released energies of Khalim's untimely death, just as we rejoiced when those like you and Caesar rebelled against your order and once again followed the true path of the Light."
"You say Khalim was murdered?" Nobicum charged, "What heresy is this?"
"Not heresy Master," Caesar soothed, "but truth. Truth long withheld from us by our teachers. Some time after the corruption began, our very own High Council were swayed to serve Mephisto. He ordered them to slay and dismember Khalim and then scatter his remains across the kingdom. Sankekur succeeded Khalim as Que-Hegan, eventually becoming the embodiment of Mephisto here on the mortal plane. We just never knew, and were purposely misled by those in authority over us."
"A likely relation of events," Nobicum snorted, "but even if true, what makes you think we'll find any of Khalim's relics, and if so, find them here of all places?"
"I believe," Caesar replied, "that our former masters would not simply have scattered Khalim's relics over the kingdom, but would have ensured that even were they found, it would be difficult or even impossible to get a hold of them. I believe each relic was probably locked inside a chest or trunk and then dispatched to whatever part of the kingdom the High Counsel had in mind for it. This was certainly borne out by the chest we found inside the Arachnid Lair, apart from the fact that it didn't contain anything resembling a relic."
"You have to admit, Paladin," Athlunea said, "It makes no other sense for that chest to have been there. Perhaps your High Counsel were even devious enough to plant false chests in areas, to throw seekers off the scent so to speak."
"Your points have merit," Nobicum concluded, "but I will only believe the truth of Khalim's death once we find the first relic. Until then, by my vows, I will help to protect this party however."
"As you wish, Master," Caesar replied, before turning to descend into the darkness of the Spider Cavern.
"Just as I thought," the Paladin argued, "We have scoured almost all of this dank cavern and all we have found are giant spiders and these Fiends."
"You seem to know your monsters," Graves commented, referring to the bat demons.
"As a young acolyte of the Zakarum," the Paladin answered proudly, "I studied the zoology of Kehjistan. Many of the corrupted denizens of the jungle can still be recognized for what they were once."
"I would not be so quick to dismiss this place," Athlunea warned, "We have not yet met the giant spider the fearful natives call Sszark the Burning."
"Anything with a name like that," Pamela agreed, "must surely be an enemy put in place by the Three to prevent our progress."
"I share your sentiment, Pamelai," Athlunea agreed, "We should proceed with caution."
"That is not my name, aunt," Pamela corrected, perplexed.
"Oh, but it should be," the older Amazon insisted, "You are rather unfamiliar with our customs, are you not?"
"It is strange you should mention that," Pamela replied, "You are not the first Amazon to comment on that."
"I am not?"
"Myrina also said she thought I ought to be called Pamelai or Pamenai according to our traditions," Pamela answered.
"Why?"
"I am an only child, and should therefore have had the first-born name."
"What else did she say?" Athlunea asked, perceiving something on the edge of her inner sight, but not managing to take a hold of it mentally.
"She thought I was the heir to some clan," Pamela mentioned, and then went on to relate her conversation with Myrina.
Athlunea was perplexed and a little perturbed. While Pamela had related her tale, her own sight had helped a lot to fill in the gaps. She was not happy with the result she arrived at, but in order to forestall any comment the Paladin might make, she had to act quickly.
"How sure are you about the name of your mother?"
"I only heard it once," Pamela admitted, "and I was still very young at the time."
"Can you remember the name of this servant, the one who later helped to get you fostered?"
"Yes, I can. I'll never forget dear old Elrethina."
"It all makes sense now," Athlunea frowned, "No wonder she was in such a hurry."
"Running from her past?" Nobicum ventured, showing signs that he too had cottoned on.
"Who?" Pamela asked, "Why is everyone so cagey around me when I mention my mother?"
"Tell her," Nobicum said, showing a rare moment of empathy, "She deserves the truth."
"Sometimes, Paladin, the truth is best kept hidden," Athlunea replied, "If she went to such great lengths to conceal this, she had reason to do so. I can but guess at those reasons, and know what consequence a revelation of this scale may have."
"Will someone tell me what is going on? Now!" Pamela shouted, notching an arrow to her bow.
"Stay your arrows, aunt," Athlunea soothed, and then bowed slightly, "Forgive my former arrogance, Pamelai tsa Tsokoro."
Being addressed thusly and hearing the formal tone in Athlunea's voice, Pamela suddenly understood at least part of it all.
"I am the Tsokoro matriarch?"
"No," Athlunea answered, "Your aunt Runea is, and after her, the matriarchy will pass to Lyranai, her daughter."
"Why? It is my title to have," Pamela cried.
"Don't be petulant child!" Athlunea chided, "I can appreciate that you have had nothing in life, but believe me, you know nothing. Your mother, my aunt by blood, had much reason to do what she did, and set things up the way they are now. You may not understand now, cousin, truth be told, I'll have to think about some of the implications myself, but you do not want to assume the matriarchy."
"Then tell me why!" Pamela exclaimed.
"Runai, your mother, and our former travel companion," Athlunea began, looking at the Paladin for confirmation, "is the former matriarch of the clan Tsokoro."
"Former travel companion?"
"I'll come to that, cousin, hold your tongue. You may be my aunt in stature, but are definitely not so in manners."
"I'm sorry, please continue," Pamela soothed.
"The clan Tsokoro was founded by twin sisters on Philios, but as is wont to happen in such cases split into a junior and senior branch soon thereafter. You must understand, anything concerning noble families on the islands is tied to economic and political alliances, even more so with marriages. Alliances provide power, and power provides status, and upon those two broken stones are build all that is Amazonian."
"Glad to see it's not just the Zakarum that have some bad seeds," Graves piped up, grinning mercilessly.
"Oh do shut up, death peddler," Athlunea snapped, "As for Runai, all I can guess is that she must have gotten with child with a merchant or some other non-Amazon man, and while having a child out of wedlock is not necessarily uncommon among Amazons, it is very much frowned upon in noble families where the kissing cousins, power and status, have such an important role to play. I guess, under normal circumstances, Runai could just have declared you matriarch after her, considering our matrilineal society, but for a small, but important complication."
"The reason for her deceit?"
"The senior branch of the Tsokoro, instead of remaining on Philios, decided to move the clan hall to Skovos. This caused the split in our clan to become a bitter one, as the junior branch rebelled due to this and decided to occupy the old clan hall and claim primacy. Still, this would not have meant more than the sixth of the sixth, if it wasn't that Runai, and indeed both of us are descendants of the senior branch. Your mother was slated to assume the matriarchy of a branch of a clan that was riven with dissent, and had a rival branch that was simply slavering for any excuse to assume control. For Runai to remain unwedded and thus, more importantly, unaligned with any other noble families, would severely weaken the senior branch's hold. Worse still, having an illegitimate child would not only play right into the hands of the Philic Tsokoro, but also put strain on the ascendancy of your mother's sister, Runea, to whom she would have to abdicate at some stage anyway, and would also provide a rival to that of her daughter, Lyranai."
"And therefore she decided to hide me behind the name of a third daughter, born on unassuming Lycander?"
"She was trapped. She did not wish to return to Skovos to assume her matriarchy. She dreading the formality and the memorization of all the names and terms, the duties and the politics involved, yet she had to and she did, for a time. She knew she would never be able to take you along, and would have to rule for at least four years in order for the transfer to Runea to be orderly. She had to choose between love and duty, and like a typical Amazon, she chose duty."
"But why did she never return afterwards?"
"She had also trapped herself," Athlunea said, "By staging her getaway in such a manner as to 'die' in the great warehouse fire on Lycander, she would never again be able to visit the island, lest someone recognize her. She has been wandering ever since, and I only now understand why. To think, I always thought she was just such a free spirit."
"You said she was your companion? Did she die?"
"She was, and as ironic as that would have been, she did not die in Kurast. She left yesterday, shortly before we met at Hratli's. Looking at it now, I'm sure that Sorcerer was in cahoots with her, regarding her 'escape'."
"I missed her by a single day?" Pamela railed.
"More than likely as little as a few hours."
"Where did she go? I need to follow her."
"Even if I knew, I would not permit it at this stage. You have a duty to us and to the Tsokoro clan to stay with us and continue with this quest at least."
"Duty be damned!" she exclaimed, "When has duty ever helped me in my life?"
"It has helped you find him," Nobicum replied, pointing at Caesar, "or does the love of a Paladin not mean anything to you?"
"She knows about our order's views, master," Caesar insisted, "I will not stand in her way, however."
"Then she should think about the burden she is carrying," Elly added cryptically.
Pamela seemed to struggle with herself, internally, for a moment or two, and then smiled her radiant smile.
"I am glad we have met, Athlunea. I am sure my mother also arranged it, and if she knew about my burden, as Elly pointed out, she would have insisted on it even. I think I should ask you to become my mentor, for as long as we both still draw breath in this accursed jungle. I will decide on my future only after that, armed with knowledge of my heritage as both Tsokoro and an Amazon."
"A wise choice, aunt," Athlunea replied, again bowing slightly, "Now, let us see if we live to tell about our battle with Sszark!"
Sszark and her merciless group of Flame Spiders rushed out at the party as they rounded yet another corner of the labyrinth-like underground cavern. Before any could react, they had all been cursed, but fortunately, Graves' Golem and the handful of resurrected Skeletons he had under his command carried the brunt of the initial attack. This allowed the party to regroup, and soon some of Sszark's minions started falling under the onslaught of scepter, sword, spear and arrows. Sszark herself was not to be denied however, being imbued not only with the ability to curse her enemies, but also having tremendous strength granted to her by the corrupting influence of hell. Together this combination would have proven deadly, as she seemed to destroy the Skeletons and even the Golem with casual disdain, but then met with the staunch belief of Zakarum shields. Caesar and Nobicum simply raised their defenses, bolstered by their faith, while the others rained first insult, then injury and lastly death on the perverted arachnid.
"Well, that was fun," Graves winced, as he pricked his finger with the point of his dagger. A drop of blood slowly fell to the ground, expanding and morphing, while he chanted the words of power to create another Blood Golem.
"It's a good thing we're not disgusted by your rituals," Elly teased, pointing at the new Golem and the pained expression on Grave's face.
"It's not always easy being a Seeker," Graves replied a smirking riposte.
"You have to have the stomach for it, eh?" Nobicum replied in a rare moment of wit.
"Or the eye!" Caesar exclaimed, having searched the area, "Master, some help with this chest please?"
Together, Nobicum and Caesar managed to cut away most of the thick spider webs forming a cocoon around a gilded, but much tarnished trunk. With a mighty smite of his scepter, Caesar managed to break the lock on the chest, allowing Nobicum to pry open the lid. Inside were a few odds and ends, mostly decayed, some gold pieces and what seemed to be the embalmed eyes of Khalim inside an alabaster canopic jar.
"Or the eye indeed," Athlunea marveled, then smiled at their good fortune, "Where to next?"
"The Great Marsh I suspect," Nobicum guessed, as he produced a town portal, "Athlunea and I will lead the way once again through the waypoint, and then open up another town portal once it is safe. You can then all join us and familiarize yourselves with the location of the waypoint in case we need to use it in future."
"While we are in town, I will give this to Cain for safekeeping," Caesar suggested.
"Let us go then," Pamela urged, eager to complete their mission so that she may spend some more time with Athlunea learning about the Tsokoro clan.
The Great Marsh waypoint was about a mile or so to the southeast of where the Spider Cavern was situated. The Great Marsh itself was aptly named however, being expansive and home to the most numerous of corrupted denizens in all of Kehjistan. Bog Creatures, another form of frog demon, inhabited the miry waters, which in turn gave up the Drowned Carcasses, a stronger and altogether more loathsome version of the common Zombie. These stagnant pools and myriad waterways were also the breeding places for Blood Hooks, another type of giant mosquito, as well as numerous other insects, driven mad by the corruption of the lands in general, to form giant swarms of Plague Bugs.
Also driven into a blood lusting frenzy were the Bramble Hulks. Like their cousins the Thorned Hulks, these were covered with brambles and thorns, making them dangerous adversaries, difficult to defeat. Lastly, but no less dangerous than any of the other creatures in the Marsh, were the Gloams, a type of will-o'-the-wisp; created from the vapors that rise from the dense jungle swamps, these mindless forms would seek out the energy contained in all living things. While not evil in nature, their feeding habits did make them a serious threat to adventurers, as they preferred to attack their enemies from afar with a stream of lightning. As the unlucky soul sought to attack them, they would dance away merrily, often leading the unsuspecting into quicksand, where they would quickly congregate to suck first the magical energy, then also the life from the hapless, former combatant.
The party struggled roughly southwestward from where the waypoint was, to a place Athlunea recalled having passed by in their rush to get to the suburbs of Kurast. Once again greeted by a small band of Fetishes, this time accompanied by a shaman, they continued south up a small jungle path, leaving the side of the main tributary they had been following since the Spider Forest. While most of the other denizens of the Marsh where to a large extent resistant to any physical harm, the Fetishes were at least easily overcome. Graves had his work cut out for him with some of the other creatures though, often having to resort to three or four different curses applied to different groups as the party broke up each wave of aggressors into smaller battle groups. The position of point was often not so much a position as merely a direction in which the party was striving to go. Only their supreme fitness, the instantaneous reinforcement by the archers and the aid of those skeletons under Graves' command prevented Nobicum, Caesar and Waheed from being overwhelmed as they were put to defending multiple points of attack. With the narrowing of the trail they were eager to investigate, semi-normal battle tactics could again prevail, where that was often almost impossible while traversing the wider expanse of the tributary.
Turning west, the party was met by a much larger contingent of Fetishes, along with some champion Gloams, a dozen or so Bog Creatures and here and there a Carcass and Hulk. These monsters tried desperately to keep the party from crossing the small stream, separating them from a type of island, filled to choking with yelling and gibbering Fetishes, lorded over by half a dozen shamans under command of a particularly nasty one, sure to have been given unique powers by the Three. Slowly but surely the party ploughed over them until reaching a rotten tree trunk forming the rickety and only bridge to the island. Here they could for a while neither progress, nor give ground to their enemies. Two of the Gloams were still alive, but none of the other monsters could attack at range and Graves would thus simply curse these with dim vision, effectively putting them out of action. With the bridge held for the moment, it was time for the archers to really shine. Imbuing their arrows with ice and fire in turn, they soon decimated the ranks of Fetishes opposing them, while Graves' skillful manipulation of the fallen corpses, causing them to rapidly bloat and explode in noxious clouds of poison made sure that not very many were successfully resurrected by their shamans to swell their ranks again.
Soon only the chief shaman was left, surrounded by a small rank of his most faithful followers. At once the shaman stopped gibbering, its face contorting in fear and revulsion, while an unearthly voice spoke from its mouth, "Ye will find only death here humans. Do not seek out the Lord of Hatred, lest he feed your quivering flesh to his lieutenants as he hath done before. Seek the Amazon, the one who saw Travincal and lived, for she will avail thee of much needed sanity."
Then as soon as it had started, the voice was cut off, but before the shaman could recover its wits, an arrow from Athlunea's bow toppled it from the shoulders of the Fetish carrying it.
"The Lord of Hatred deemed to warn us directly?" Nobicum mused.
"I daresay, the old chap is starting to run a little scared," Graves grinned.
"For once, I think I agree with you," Nobicum smiled, and then led the charge over the bridge, swiping at the last of the Fetishes with his sword.
A short while later they had searched the gilded chest, being the sole object guarded by so many in this forgotten corner of the Great Marsh. It contained a few trinkets, some gold, but not any of Khalim's relics they were so desperately seeking.
"What now?" asked Waheed, leaning, as he was wont to do against his trident after the battle.
"Now we return to the Flayer Jungle," Athlunea replied, the steely glint in her eyes not quite hiding the fear and revulsion she had for that place.
The sound of the drums, always the sound of those infernal drums; yet, the jungle was otherwise eerily quiet, the silence rather punctuated by the occasional howl of some simian in the trees or the croaking of the more common bullfrogs, uncorrupted, unlike their cousins. Drums and rain and death, horrible death, decaying in the clinging mud, the evidence of Mephisto's work everywhere to see. Yet, and strangely so, for the most part the Flayer Jungle had been bereft of any enemies. There was much evidence of many skirmishes having taken place throughout the area; Flayer and Soul Killer corpses littered some areas, the giant blades or blowpipes they used still clutched in their little hands.
Athlunea delicately placed her left foot on a rotting stump to fasten an undone strap on her plated boots, intermittingly glancing up nervously to scan what little area they could see in the pouring rain. "Where do you think they are hiding?" she asked.
"More than likely, with the Gidbin now in Ormus' possession, they have lost a lot of their resolve. It seems like the increasing number of hunting parties, brought on by the swell of would-be adventurers from Lut Gholein, have finally started decimating their ranks," Nobicum replied, "If I'm not dearly mistaken, not all these corpses are those of the pesky cannibals, nor are they those of some unfortunate natives to Kurast. I daresay some are those of adventurers less fortunate than ourselves."
"Less fortunate would be an apt description," Caesar agreed, "Their misfortune has brought us fortune in return. I pray the Light will hold that in their favor when they are judged."
"That still doesn't explain where they are all hiding?" Pamela reiterated Athlunea's query.
"Have you forgotten the Swampy Pit?" Waheed asked, revulsion and pain etched on his face in equal amounts.
"I have not," Athlunea said, her face mirroring that of the desert native, "but that would mean they have literally gone underground."
"They have always managed to breed like rats," Nobicum bigoted his opinion, "In fact, some are even called Ratmen, after the manner of their breeding and their love for wearing rat paraphernalia."
"We met some of them in the Monastery Catacombs," Caesar recalled, silently reflecting on the other thoughts he had had about them at that time.
"I suppose, they have holed up in other infernal places, breeding up new armies to use in their master's employ," Nobicum continued.
"So, we are to brave another Swampy Pit," Athlunea sighed, recalling those earlier events.
They had stepped off the waypoint platform, greeted by the same eerie silence they would become accustomed to in the rest of the Flayer Jungle, and then had opened a town portal for the others of the party. While the heroes from Lut Gholein had been accustoming themselves with the waypoint, Athlunea and Nobicum had searched the immediate area and had found a poisoned spike trap secreted in a large statue, slowly sinking into the fetid undergrowth, leaning, impossibly, at an angle, but not yet having reached a point of falling over entirely. Warning the others, they had crossed over the rickety wooden bridge waiting for the others. When all had been ready, they had gone down into the stagnant depths of the Swampy Pit, hoping to find another piece of Khalim's lost relics.
Below it had been dark, musty, the air oppressive with damp and the walls shiny with mould, moss and moisture. That there were walls was surprising, clearly this place had served some purpose in years gone by. A pair of spluttering torches, in alcoves to either side of the stairs, vainly tried to dispel the smoky darkness, while a fire also burned in a single stone brazier, though no obvious fuel source could be seen. Later the party would learn that human fat was reduced to oil, to fuel the lights in that hellish place. Behind the brazier an arched wall loomed out of the darkness, the arches filled by a rusted and broken metal grating, almost as if they had been bars of a cell once. Moving through, they saw a similar cell, mirroring the room they had come from, except that it was occupied by only a single torch, a rotting sleeping pallet, woven from some indigenous reeds, some bones and a smallish, stagnant pool in the corner. They turned around; for they had but one option, follow the narrow corridor on their left, punctuated by another of the stone braziers, as it led further into the Pit.
As soon as Nobicum entered the corridor, the assault began. About half-and-one dozen Stygian Dolls suddenly came charging out of the darkness, gibbering like crazed monkeys, as their knives and spears crashed against the quickly raised defenses of the two Paladins. Because of their small stature, both Caesar and Nobicum had to crouch, allowing Waheed to impale the leader with Razortine, while the three furies let fly a hail of shaft and fletch. For a minute, Graves just stood there, his head tilted to one side, wand raised, as if he were conducting the percussion, string and wind sections of an orchestra, then he straightened, allowing the bass drum to add its crescendo. A dozen beats later, there was nothing but silence, then creaking, rattling and chattering, six skeletons raised themselves from the muddy floor.
"Like music to ones ears," he grinned to no one in particular.
Pushing on, the next wave of Stygian Dolls crashed against sinew and bone, rather than tempered steel, the symphony of death lasting a mere half a dozen beats longer, before another smaller wave came gibbering at the party. Hellish fire blazed from the eyes of the diminutive leader, while his minions screamed to taste fresh blood. Again, shields had to be raised, as the fire enchantment the whole pack had been imbued with, quickly decimated the small rank of skeletons under Graves' command. One by one the minions fell, rose up as skeletons, then fell again under the onslaught of their erstwhile companions. Only the little leader remained, then too fell, blood and fire splattering shields and armor.
"Come closer and serve me little one," Graves intoned, beckoning with a crooked finger.
A skeleton rose up, hands ablaze with fire.
"What is thy name?" Graves enquired.
Fixing him with its eyeless stare, the skeleton spoke, not with the gibbering voice, reminiscent of its former stature, but rather with its spirit-voice, deep and somewhat melancholy, "I am called Seethe Tongue the Flayer, master."
"An apt name," Elly smiled, wiping a small droplet of gore from her forehead, "They almost flayed us."
"We seek the relics of Khalim, do you know where they might be?" Caesar asked, somewhat disquieted by the undead before them.
"I was but a lowly servant in the Lord of Hatred's army," Seethe Tongue answered, "but perhaps Mind Flayer the Quick may know."
"Where may we find this one?" Graves asked of his captive.
"Her dominion is below us, thrice removed from the world outside."
Graves seemed to ponder that, and then commanded, "As I am sure thou art not called Seethe Tongue by chance, thou may lead the way."
"Thou art most cautious, master, to thy honor," the skeleton replied, seemingly grinning in malice, before turning around and preceding the party into the smallish room, then turning left and ducking into yet another corridor.
A short while later, the party emerged into yet another small room, almost totally flooded by a stagnant pool, before turning right to follow Seethe Tongue into another corridor.
"Thou will pay for this, my pet," Graves called, his breath pluming, as the air grew cold.
Ethereal shapes seemed to rise up like foul bubbles from the water. Like the Gloams they had faced before, these wisps were able to dance across any surface, thus preventing the Paladins from forming a natural defense in the direction they were traveling. Making matters worse, it seemed to be another pack, lead by a hellish leader, its unholy freezing aura chilling them all. Elly was the closest to them, and within seconds she had slumped to the ground, while they continued to feast on her life essence. As if rejoicing in their feast in some arcane manner, the wisps emitted streams of lightning, directed at the rest of their foes. The situation was becoming dire, when Caesar suddenly ran and crouched over the defenseless Rogue.
"They are undead, are they not, Graves?" he shouted at the Necromancer.
"Yes, though I cannot manipulate their spirits," he replied.
"That is well enough," Caesar replied, his face a mixture of grim determination and rapturous awe.
A small cross of light formed on his helm, where his forehead would be, then with a peal like a church bell, a wave of holy energy exploded outwards, hardly lifting the blonde hair of Athlunea's ponytail, but yet slamming the wisps away from their feast as if they were mere ashes scattered by the winds of vengeance.
"Master, to me, she is dying," Caesar called, "She needs your prayer."
Nobicum seemed to grimace at the request, and then cried out in shame, "I cannot! The Light has taken away that blessing a long time ago as punishment for my arrogance."
"Then fight as a very angel of vengeance, for else she is doomed," Caesar roared, the small cross winking out as his fervent prayers started enveloping the still form of the Rogue.
With his aura of sanctuary gone, the wisps slowly started closing in on the rest of the party, the taste of Elly's life merely having woken their appetite for more feasting.
"Do as I do!" Athlunea shouted, pulling a strand of golden hair from her ponytail, then whispered some words over it. The strand glowed briefly then disappeared as at the same time a shape started to coalesce between the Swamp Ghosts and Caesar with the prone Rogue. In no time it had fully formed, an exact replica or even doppelganger of the Amazon, forming a decoy for the life draining attention of the ever-hungry wisps.
"Like this?" Pamela smiled grimly, as her own decoy took shape beside that of her cousin's.
"You are a quick student," Athlunea acknowledged, "Now let fly your arrows as never before, or your loved ones are doomed!"
Graves whipped out his dagger, winced in pain as he slashed across his middle and index fingers, and then flicked a drop of blood at the decoys. While still in the air the blood was expanding and morphing, creating another Blood Golem, as at the same time, the one next to the Necromancer dissolved. At the end of its arc, the globular mass of blood not so much landed, as grew to meet the ground, allowing the Golem to launch an immediate offensive without having to overcome its own inertia first.
"That trick must have taken a lot of blood and sweat to perfect," Waheed grinned, then grunted as his own leap, using Razortine as a vaulting pole landed him neatly behind the encroaching wisps, forcing them to divide their attention.
Fortunately for Elly, all this helped to separate the Swamp Ghosts from their hellish leader, allowing the party to concentrate on it. Once dispatched and its unholy freeze no longer affecting them, they managed to also rid themselves of the minions. Being bolstered by Caesar's selfless and continuous prayer for her during the entire battle, Elly managed to swallow a rejuvenation potion the Paladin offered her and she was soon up on her feet again, even if still looking a bit pale.
"At last you have a complexion I could fall in love with," Graves joked, quaffing back a minor healing potion to heal the self-inflicted cut to his hand.
"Only if you promise to take me out for a night of wine, dinner and dancing, Derek," Elly replied, smiling weakly, "Perhaps a bottle of Kurast Green?"
"You drive a hard bargain," the Necromancer laughed, "Have I not bled enough for you already?"
"Aye, you have," Nobicum uttered, seemingly exhausted, though more spiritually than physically, "Forgive me for so haughtily judging your faith to be evil work. You were able to help a stricken comrade where I was not."
"Master, your skill at combat was help enough," Caesar soothed, "We have all been deceived by our Zakarum masters."
"Yet some of us still cling to their instilled bigotry my student," Nobicum sighed, "It seems that the time has come when the student surpasses his master. Master Salad, I vow to you that together we shall make the Zakarum and their puppet-master, the Lord of Hatred, pay for what they have done to this land and its denizens. For too long I have been holding on to my old beliefs, even when the Light tried to show me otherwise. I will be blinded no longer."
"Then, if our lovely Rogue feels strong enough," Graves concluded, looking to Elly for affirmation, "let us find my little companion Seethe Tongue and allow him the privilege of being in the front line during the upcoming battle against his former master Mind Flayer the Quick. This little slight should cost him dearly after all…"
Where Swamp Ghosts, Stygian Dolls and their shamans, had occupied the first level of the Swampy Pit, the second level proved more eerie by far; it was home to Undead Fetishes and Flayers. Although any of the little cannibal shamans had the power to bring back their fallen brethren from the grave, they were not always returned as their former selves. Corpses that were too old to be fully restored often rose again as undead shades of the cannibals they once were. While still useful to the Lord of Hatred, the form of any bone fetish, as they were collectively known, was also quite unstable, causing it to explode violently when destroyed. This is exactly what the party found out after killing the first Undead Fetish to happen across their path. The party quickly found that it was more advantageous for Caesar and Marius to block and smite the bone fetishes with their shields, then at the last moment step back and allow the three archers to deliver the coup de grace. Waheed didn't have any problem however, since the range of his trident was just a little greater than the blast radius of exploding chips of bone and scraps of flesh; as long as he was able to keep the little monsters at bay he was safe.
With nobody needing protection from his aura of prayer, Caesar could also use his aura of sanctuary to great effect against the bone fetishes and the few Swamp Ghosts they did encounter. This often had the effect of pinning the hapless undead against the dungeon walls or against the broken pillars and rusty metal grates. This was less affective against the Swamp Ghosts, as their ethereal shapes simply melted right through the grates, but the bone fetishes were often trapped like this, allowing the two Amazons and the Rogue free, and more importantly safe, shots at them. In no time the party had made their way down to the third level of the Pit, all the while being led by the undead Seethe Tongue, chafing at the arcane leash Graves had bound him with.
Unlike the first two levels, where the small rooms and narrow corridors actually led, though haphazardly, to the stairs leading to the lower level, the third level of the Pit was a veritable maze, seemingly leading nowhere. Often the party would find itself doubling back along a corridor, having reached a dead end room. Making matters worse was the fact that they were constantly under fire from the darts of Stygian Dolls wielding their blowguns. Fortunately there were no shamans to resurrect them, but another threat, one thought to have been left behind under the cold stone weight of the Claw Viper Temple, quickly became apparent. Pit Vipers, distant cousins to the Claw Vipers and Salamanders of Aranoch, occupied the lowest region of the Swampy Pit. Having been given dominion to practice their dark religion and even darker magic by the Lord of Hatred himself, they were an even more formidable foe than their brethren of the deserts. Tougher and with claws, fangs and stingers injecting dangerous venom into an enemy, they were not to be underestimated, even by a well oiled war party such as Caesar and his companions. Strangely, however, the party only seemed to run into single Pit Vipers or pairs, almost as if they were but mere sentries, guarding something perhaps a lot more dangerous and sinister.
As the party was to discover, they were exactly that, sentries, guarding against infiltration as their head priestess, Mind Flayer the Quick, was preparing a ritual of great importance to her master, Mephisto himself. Since the Gidbin had been recovered, the Lord of Hatred had been seeking a way of doing away with the strengthened ward on the dockside. Mind Flayer, being the matriarchal leader by lineage and spiritual leader by virtue of being high priestess, knew of some rituals to break wards, even powerful ones as those used by the old Skatsim. Unfortunately, two previous rituals had not worked and now Mephisto's grace towards his underling had grown thin. The last thing Mind Flayer needed was for some party of humans to interrupt, which was of course exactly what she got.
"Ssssso," she hissed, "you are the pathetic whelpsssss wissssshing to do battle with the massssster?"
"I present to ye my own master, Mind Flayer the Quick," Seethe Tongue the skeleton gibbered, before exploding into thousands of razor sharp fragments, embedding themselves into those Pit Vipers it had wished to align itself with.
"Finally a good use for that 'trustworthy' servant," Graves smiled, "Now that its lies are at an end, perhaps we may have some truth out of you, Mind Flayer?"
"Truth?" the serpent almost choked, "You will recsssseive only death here. Attack them my ssssservantsssss, let their dripping heartsssss help break the ward we are tasssssked to overcome."
In unison, all those Pit Vipers clustered around the crude and arcane drawings on the floor where the ritual was taking place, turned around and attacked. Drawing power from their mistress, their lightning fast movements were barely checked by the shields of the Paladins, while the freezing and chilling effects of the archers' arrows merely reduced their speed to those of normal serpent folk. Only by adding his curses to decrepify them further, did Graves help the party to stem the tide of the attack against them. Slowly the ranks of their enemies were thinned out, allowing Graves the opportunity to add their exploding corpses to the attack. At last, only Mind Flayer was left, but before they could close in combat with the high priestess, the serpent seemed to convulse and then with blazing eyes addressed the party.
"It seems my trust in her was not deserved," a familiar unearthly voice spoke from her mouth, "She has failed me thrice now and since I do not trust her to keep her tongue were you humans to interrogate her, I bid you say farewell to your hostess."
"We are coming for you nonetheless Sankekur!" Nobicum shouted trying in vain to reach Mind Flayer before she had cut her own throat with the ceremonial dagger, her body dropping to the floor, lifeless.
"Again the Lord of Hatred intervened directly?" Caesar mused.
"I'd say he is definitely starting to run a little scared," Graves replied, "Not to mention becoming desperate. It seems Mephisto has forgotten about the powers of Rathma's Seekers."
With a beckoning finger, Mind Flayer rose again, not as a skeleton this time, but a revived corpse, although not quite fully functional, its head lolling loosely from the cut to the throat.
"Now for some truth if thou please," Graves asked formally.
"It shall be as thou wish master," the spirit-voice spoke, sounding almost relieved to be freed from the hold Mephisto had had over its former self.
"Where may we find the relics of Khalim?" Graves enquired.
"Ye hast found the eyes and they have the power to see past Mephisto's lies," Mind Flayer's spirit-voice replied, "To find the courage of Khalim's heart, ye must have courage to face the heart of the Flayers, while a sewer is a safe place to hide a mind left to rot. Seek ye the survivor, for she will know where the Council keeps the flail of office of a Que-Hegan."
"Be at peace then," Graves commanded, breaking his hold over the spirit of the erstwhile high priestess, allowing the body to collapse again, "To the Flayer Dungeon we must go," he smiled, summoning a town portal.
"If you are finished adjusting your boots, I suggest we carry on," Nobicum urged, casting a worried look at the darkening jungle around him.
Shaken from her reverie, Athlunea straightened up, grasped her bow and nodded, "Let us go then."
"According to Asheara," Caesar mentioned, "the Flayer Village should be nearby now. Once there we'll be sure to find the Flayer Dungeon."
As if it had been a prophecy come true, after only about half-an-hour's search, they found the jungle pathway leading to the Village and were preparing to descend into the unknown darkness of the Dungeon. Outside, night had already fallen and quite ominously, the drums they had been hearing all day had been silenced as well.
"Perhaps they," Graves said, referring to their quarry, "are like crickets."
"How so?" Elly enquired.
"They make a lot of noise when nobody's around, but fall silent once you approach their hidey-hole," he replied, uncurling a finger long enough to indicate the broken and cracked stone stairs leading into the dark depths of the Dungeon.
"Let us see if they fight like crickets too," Nobicum said as he hefted his shield and raised his sword.
Not unlike inside the confines of the Swampy Pit, the party was often forced to a halt by dozens of gibbering Flayers and Soul Killers brandishing their giant blades or short spears, often led by a shaman or two. Fortunately, however fast these shamans could resurrect their fallen minions, Graves was always a little faster with his corpse explosions, except when his mana was near exhausted. A little more of a nuisance were those cannibal midgets preferring to hide in the darker corners of the Dungeon, employing their blowpipes to great effect, harassing the whole party. Also occupying the murky confines of the Flayer Dungeon were the ghostlike Dark Shapes, probably the remains of those unfortunate enough to have paid for the appetite of the little cannibals with their lives, and now to add insult to injury, their immortal souls in bondage to Mephisto.
Like the Swampy Pit, the first two levels were also made up of small rooms, narrow corridors and dark and irregular pools of stagnant, foul water, finally leading to stairs leading to a lower level. Though their enemies were many, the terrain of the skirmishes was often to the party's advantage, even if they were seemingly overwhelmed in the larger rooms, they had but to retreat back into a corridor to stem the tide of diminutive cannibals pressed against the shields of Caesar and Nobicum. Once the main assault was decimated and the shamans eliminated, each party member could hunt down and kill those still using their blowpipes, hidden from view. The Dark Shapes were treated exactly the same as the press of gibbering Flayers and Soul Killers, since they often simply floated through the rest of the throng for a taste of the life essence of the two Paladins.
Soon the party was, as was the case in the third level of the Swampy Pit, faced by the unfathomable maze leading nowhere, yet leading ultimately to Khalim's heart.
Caesar's scepter sang its familiar thudding staccato, while the magical properties of the Striker crushed the evil Witch Doctor Endugu into oblivion. The three archer's arrows rained iron tipped death on his frenzied, gibbering minions, while Graves cackled maniacally, cursing them with blindness, preventing any and all from escaping the onslaught. Waheed had managed to impale one of Endugu's Soul Killer minions and was now desperately trying to pull his trident free, while Nobicum lay nearby, unconscious yet alive, but still, for the moment, in grave danger.
The party had managed, however tedious, to traverse the maze of the third level of the Flayer Dungeon, at last finding an ornate, glowing chest. Further confirming their suspicions that it may contain another of Khalim's relics had been the fact that it had been so heavily guarded by two Soul Killer shamans and their retinue and also the fire enchanted Witch Doctor and his very own minions. Nobicum had been first into the small room, but had been pushed back against the corner of the archway leading into the room. The masonry must have become unstable over the years, causing a large part of the wall, archway and roof in that area to collapse on top of the Paladin and those Soul Killers pressed up against him. Fortunately all of the small cannibals had either died or been similarly knocked unconscious by the collapse, but it did impede the rest of the party's entry into the room to help their stricken comrade.
Again, Graves' arcane knowledge came to the rescue, as from the very bones of those that had so recently died, he had created a wall around the rubble to keep the Paladin safe for a short while. This allowed Caesar and Waheed to unceremoniously clamber into the room to form a further human shield. Graves had cursed most of the other cannibals with dim vision, allowing the rest of the party to enter the room and start dealing with their opposition.
Now, calamity struck once more as the dead Endugu toppled from his perch on the shoulders of the Soul Killer carrying him, only to fall on top of Caesar, where it exploded in a shower of bones, flesh and fire. Caesar grunted, obviously stunned and hurt by the explosion, while Endugu's erstwhile mount attacked.
"Fools!" it gibbered, "Endugu not dead yet. Us be Endugu! Us kills you all!"
Elly leapt forward, in one fluid motion shouldering her bow, while for the first time in battle drawing her dagger. She neatly pierced the Endugu twin's throat as her momentum carried them both away from the stricken Paladin. There was a muffled thump as the cannibal exploded, Elly having landed on top of it. Her body jerked, shielding Caesar from the deadly shower, but in so saving his life, paying for it with her own.
"Oh, Elly!" Pamela cried, rushing forward to be with her friend.
"Don't worry… about me…" Elly coughed, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, "With you… Caesar… seen so many things… Kashya… be proud!"
"Stand aside," Graves commanded, his hands already glowing, "I will not see her die."
"Not… this time… Derek," Elly smiled, her eyes sparkling at the Necromancer, "Leave me be… done my duty…" Another coughing fit wracked Elly's body before she could weakly continue, "Seek… mother… Pam…"
Elly's straining features softened, as if she were merely falling asleep.
"Now step aside, Pamela," Graves urged, tears streaming from his eyes.
"Did you not hear her," Pamela screamed, rounding on him.
"I will not raise her spirit," he soothed, "merely her body. This dungeon is not a fit place for burial, and we need to get her through a portal somehow."
"You are correct, Derek," Athlunea soothed, putting an arm around Pamela's waist to comfort and help her up. "You and Pamela should take the body back to the Docks, while Waheed and I tend these two," she suggested, indicating the two unconscious Paladins.
"A grim day," Waheed said, letting go of Razortine to read from a scroll.
Both crying freely, Graves and Pamela stepped up to the town portal, Graves holding Elly's small body in his arms while Pamela held the hand of her friend.
