Christmas… a season of commercialism and consumerism… The predictions of Matt Groening's Futurama seems more and more valid by the day…

Sorry for being a nihilistic pessimist, but it's true! Except for the nice people who still wish one another Merry Christmases and share gifts that money can't buy. To those people I say: Merry Christmas to you all, with all my appropriate Christmas spirit! Have a safe holiday…

Okay okay, out of nihilist-self and back to jolly-author-self. Thanks to all who has reviewed! And if you're one of those who read but doesn't review, thanks for reading and adding to my stats, but PLEASE review! Just a few words would be enough, whether it's a compliment or a criticism, but no flames, because they don't help no-one.

Disclaimer: Does anyone read this anymore? Blizzard owns everything except Celadon, Oread, the inaccuracies in my story, the typos, the additional characterisation of NPC's, and my (in)sanity. Now the question is… Blizzard North, or Blizzard South?

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Chapter 7: Corruption of the Sacred

It was so hot… the blood that splashed onto my face, my head's pounding resonating the pulsating crimson in my chest, before it spread all through the cavity of my torso, filling up my stomach, my lungs, my throat, before it came onto my tongue, my nose filling up with the smell of hot metal as I tasted the warm, thick, salty liquid.

Then it was something cool, something that was bitter and sweet at the same time reached my tongue, and I swallowed, grateful to be able to get rid of the sick taste in my mouth. A gentle coolness enveloped my organs, soothing the sharp pain in my body. Did I dream that?

Was I dead? No. I was pretty sure that I was not, though I was afraid to wake up, afraid to accept the knowledge of how badly damaged my body was.

'Are you awake, Celadon?' A voice asked me. I opened my eyes to meet blue-green ones. Priestess Akara… 'Great. You've finally come back to us.'

A wave of dull pain swept over my body, though it was not as bad as I had expected it to be. I tried to test my body by sitting up. 'No no…' Akara hushed. 'Take it easy. Your young body has recovered much quickly than what I've estimated, but you shouldn't exert yourself too much.'

'How did I get here?'

'Well, Oread took you back through a portal. Kashya and the other Rogues had a bit of a shock; I think they thought she's beaten you up or something. You've been out four days; save your energy.'

At the mention of my master's name, a sense of gloom and anxiety swept over me. 'Oread, where is she?'

'Come to think of it, I don't know.' Akara's face assumed a bit of thoughtfulness. 'The Rogues have been pretty hostile towards her, and I've been here all this time, so I'm not sure…'

Bad. 'Priestess Akara, can you ask Captain Kashya to come see me?'

Akara went, and returned with Kashya within two minutes. Kashya looked down at me, and I think there were tears in her eyes. Did I look that bad?

'Oh, thank heavens you're awake…' Kashya knelt down beside me, and touched me on the forehead.

'Kashya, what do you think about Oread?' I asked, looking straight into her dark grey eyes.

'Honestly, I don't like her.' Kashya's eyes grew shinier with tears. 'I think she's overusing you.'

'She didn't!' I said that so quickly, the rush of air stang my lungs. I coughed violently and Akara shot me a concerned glance. I took a few deep breaths and continued. 'I chose to fight for her. If it weren't for my carelessness she wouldn't have to take the risk. I was responsible for all this. She's not to blame…' I was both angry and anxious, though my voice lowered itself into a tone of pleading. 'Can you please send someone to check on her?'

'I'm okay.' A new voice joined in. I looked past Kashya's shoulder to see my master, in her cream-coloured top, black tights, heavy belt and boots, all perfectly clean save a few stains of deep brown or red. Her face had a few cuts on it, and was noticeably pale. Parts of her exposed arms were bound by blood-stained bandages, and her posture was askew.

'I'm sorry, Oread.' I could not stop the tears from welling up in my eyes. 'I'm so sorry that I couldn't…'

'You did your best, Celadon.' Said Oread. 'And more.'

Kashya suddenly leapt to her feet, and grabbed Oread by the collar of her top. Oread winced, but did not retaliate. 'Captain Kashya!' I yelled, and broke off into violent coughs again.

Akara rushed beside me. Supporting my head with one hand, she tipped some thick luke-warm liquid down my throat. I saw Kashya's head turned towards me out of the corner of my eye, but still holding Oread by her collar.

Oread calmly took Kashya's hand and pushed it away, releasing herself of Kashya's hold. Akara laid me down again, and I watched intently as Kashya and Oread faced one another, unmoving. Kashya was at least half a foot taller than my master, but if Oread was afraid in any way, she did not show it through her posture or expression.

They stared at one another for a few seconds, and then Oread turned around and walked off with an apparent limp.

For the next few days I stayed in Akara's tent, recovering nicely thanks to her potions and powerful magic. Oread came to visit at least once a day, seemingly out-of-action at the moment also. We would exchange a few idle words, and then sit in silence, before one of us would be tired of the awkwardness and call an end to the visit.

Oread was depressed, I could see that. The hostility of Captain Kashya and the Rogues was highly evident. A few of my friends had visited me while they were off-duty, and after failing to convince three Rogues of Oread's innocence, I gave up. Oread was an Amazon, and a highly distant, anti-social one at that, which did not serve well with the Rogues' cold attitude toward her. The only way for Oread to gain acceptance was to defeat Andariel, with me alive in the end.

Out of boredom and the lack of mobility I turned to my gear, doing fastidious things like straightening the feathers at the end of my arrows, and aligning the string of my bow. Then I turned to the blade that Oread gave me.

The sheath was made of wood and bound neatly by a tough string, with organic patterns carved and engraved into the deep brown. I unsheathed it; the blade was no longer than a little over a foot. It was just over an inch in width, and despite being plain, was very well-crafted: there were no sharp angles, all the corners were rounded, and the edges were thin and sharp – I blew a few of my hairs towards the blade, and they were immediately divided – converging gently into the sharp point at the end. The whole blade was made of a shiny metal too light in colour to be silver, and the handle was simple but sturdy, made of just the right weight of steel to balance the blade. I closed my hand around it, and it felt just perfect.

After a week or so I felt much better, and I went to Charsi with the short sword. She scrutinised and handled it like a child would a baby animal, and returned it to me – I could have sworn that she tried to tug it back.

'It's not a sword that you'll just find out there.' She commented, with a craving tone. 'See that wood? It's much tougher than any that we'll find around here. That sword is beyond my craftsmanship to produce. I'm not even sure what the blade's made of… some precious metal that's rare around these barren plains, that's my guess.'

If it was as Charsi said, Oread never mentioned anything about it. She had just shoved it to me so casually. I did not ask her about it, either.

Back near the campfire, the blue portal that connected to where the Smith fell still glowed, although not as brightly. After another few days of rest, I was about fully recovered, only a little short on energy. A few stamina potions took care of that, and I asked Oread when we would set out again.

'You're fine?' She asked.

'Yeah, pretty much.'

'Get your gear. I'll meet you at the portal.'

Well, that was easy.

With Kashya shooting Oread another strange glance that I did not fully comprehend, and a take-care-don't-die look to me, we returned to the Barracks through the portal. The portal disappeared with a sudden gleam from behind us, and suddenly, I wish it had not.

The Barracks reeked of decay. With a body as big as that of the Smith's having gone through rigor mortis, its body opened up because of the pressure previously within, and its insides and fluids seeping out and puddling all over the floor, was revolting. I tried to keep my stomach contents where they ought to be, but one glance at the Smith's body, darkened into the colour of gore, the skin wrinkled, damp and mangled and infested with maggots, I thought it was easier to give in.

Oread was covering her mouth and nose with a cloth, and she helped me straighten up. 'I hope this isn't too bad,' was she kidding? 'There'll be more to come. Hopefully not as bad as this.'

As we journeyed forward, I had hoped that she was wrong. We reached the stairs to the Jail, and Oread turned to me, her face betraying her unwillingness to descend.

'Is there another way in?'

'I'm not sure, I can't remember…' I tried hard to think of the layout of this former-home of mine, but my memories were too juvenile.

Oread sighed. 'Fine.'

The Jails were forbidden when I was young, and I found no surprises in them – old bones of captives laid upon the floor of the cells, their silence contrasted by the living dead that we were up against.

By now I was back in top condition, save an empty stomach. We screened through the levels of the Jails, found a waypoint on the first level and returned briefly for some food and replenishments, and went on.

There were plenty to kill, and I felt myself advancing. My body was getting stronger, just keeping up with the monsters I had to fight against. Missile attacks from the skeletal undead were plentiful, and Oread's new skills proved invaluable yet again. She tried to teach me Slow Missiles on the way, but it was too complex for me to even comprehend. She gave up eventually.

We eventually found our way out of the Jails and into the Inner Cloister without any climactic battles. I was not sure how I felt: relieved, or disappointed?

I had never been this far into the Monastery. Lighting the waypoint in the Inner Cloister, we returned to the Encampment once again, this time with Kashya wishing us – yes, us – good luck, which was somewhat unnerving. My friends wished me luck also, and a few began to cry, further adding to my nerves. Akara filled Oread's Tome of Town Portal for free, and gave us some potions. Charsi repaired our gear without charge. Gheed offered Oread and I a drink, which I declined but Oread shamelessly accepted, and Warriv announced that the caravan was almost ready. Cain offered the advice of using fire against Andariel because of some story of her being afraid of the fires of hell… I could not understand the old man sometimes. He was kind, but somewhat strange.

We returned to the Inner Cloister, and after easily disposing of a few more quilled enemies, which Oread left for me to handle, we were standing before the gates of the Cathedral.

This was the most holy place of the Monastery, and I could feel the former holy aura still lingering, only overpowered by the evil, toxic, dark aura that now filled the inside of these gates. The combination of the mingled aura made me feel nauseous, but Oread was indifferent.

As she always were.

'What lies beyond these gates?' She asked, to herself or to me, I was not sure. 'What now infest this once-sacred Cathedral?'

I stood motionless. We both did for a while, perhaps a few minutes, brooding over our immediate future.

Then I noticed Oread's grin. 'There's only one way to find out.'

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That was fun! Yay! I'm very happy right now, my results have come out! They were great!

Thanks again for reading! I've originally written in a different direction regarding Kashya's outburst towards Oread, but I decided against it… this is better! Sorry for the title of this chapter… it's not very poetic. I've ran out of inspiration by the time I finished and went back to name it. Oh, and I've decided on Oread's younger sister's name… just thought you'd like to know. ;P