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Chapter 67
He woke up in a hammock among giant ferns, flowers the size of his head emitting incredible fragrance, and a lizard-headed stubby demon with massive twisting horns who brought him an herb brew on a wooden tray.
Tyrael accepted all this with a mere blink. This was normal for this journey, honestly. Hells, he actually preferred this to just about anything else that had happened to them up to this point. Except Lut Bahada. Tyrael kind of wished he and Quiet had somehow gotten stuck there.
- Dahlgur Tuon, at your service, good sir! – the demon smiled widely, flashing out his entire collection of sawed teeth.
Still, he didn't look the least bit intimidating. It must have been the comically large and completely impractical horns on his head, and the massive baggy sand-colored tunic with bright green edges that was so big the little creature was dragging most of it in the dirt.
- Thank you. I… I have seen you in Solum – Tyrael accepted the wooden cup, his mind slowly picking up speed. – On the… on the group mosaic.
- Oh, it's been literal ages since I last saw that picture! Is it still in good shape? – Tuon happily clapped his small hands.
- Yes. Yes, very much. My name is Tyrael, by the way – Tyrael nodded sluggishly, taking a sip from the brew.
It was bitter as all hell, but after staring down death itself in Ureh a day –two days?– ago, Tyrael was just grateful he still had the ability to taste anything at all. He glanced down at himself. He was wearing his trousers and had bandages around most of his torso, keeping his cracked ribs in place. He felt some kind of slightly cool paste under the folds – probably the medicine that ensured his bones were mostly in one piece now. Next to his hammock, on a small table Sophie's doll was resting, green dot eyes staring at the sky.
- Wait… Dahlgur? Like the oasis near Caldeum? – his brain finally clicked in place, and he turned back to the demon.
Tuon burst out laughing at this, smoothing the many wrinkles on his overly long robes.
- The oasis was named after me, good sir! – he explained with a wide grin, straightening out in pride. – The city of Caldeum had needed a reliable source of water, and I'd figured I would help them out. I am most happy to see they have kept their end of the bargain.
Well, Inarius had said that Tuon was the gardener in the—
Wait.
Quiet!
- Where is Quiet?! What has happened to him?! – Tyrael jumped to his feet from the swinging hammock, knocking the brew to the ground.
His ribs protested, but he ignored them. His bare feet touched soft healthy grass.
- Hey, hey, calm down! – Tuon jumped in front of him, barely reaching up to the chest of the mortal angel with his outstretched arms.
Tyrael only now realized the happy demeanor of the demon was just a façade. He was clearly anxious and was only putting up a smiling face to keep the peace.
Or to deceive them, the instinct of the Eternal Conflict flashed through him, but Tyrael easily stomped it out. This was a Renegade demon here on Sanctuary, this wasn't the Battlefields of Eternity. The mortal angel sat back down onto the hammock, calming himself. Far be it from him to cause problems for a generous host. Tuon looked relieved as well. He was clearly no warrior, he wouldn't have been able to do much against the mortal angel.
- I apologize – Tyrael took a deep breath, trying to make order among his thoughts and surfacing memories. – A lot has happened lately.
- So I have heard – Tuon grinned anxiously, twisting his tunic with his stubby hands.
- How is Quiet? Inarius? However you know him.
- He's… mostly out cold. Lyndon keeps watching over him constantly. I can hardly get him to sleep.
- Can I see them? – Tyrael tried again, calmer this time.
Myriam was dead. Ashava was as good as dead. But the rest of the group somehow made it out alive, which was an actual miracle in itself. He tried to hold onto this knowledge to keep himself together. He knew he hadn't processed all that had transpired, but that would only happen with time. And he needed to keep moving until then.
This time around Tuon let him walk, although he kept emphasizing to make only slow careful movements because of his injuries. It honestly looked like the demon didn't quite know what to do with "beaten to the edge of death" kind of guests, and he was fussing over everything to help out. Tyrael found it best to just go along with it as much as he could. He was too tired to argue, and this hospitality, awkward as it was, was still very welcome.
As they walked, the mortal angel finally turned his attention to their surroundings. From what he could tell, they were in a large and definitely magical oasis of some sort. Plants of insane variety grew in small islands, allowing winding paths to be created among them. There were patches of "old" ruins, far too well-shaped and well-placed in the composition to be natural, most of them artistically overgrown by runner plants like creeping ivy, liane, garlic vine and a myriad other species. Proud pine trees and bushes that really didn't have any business here in the tropical lands were thriving. Tyrael and Tuon walked under a massive wisteria tree very reminiscent of Old Weaver, its numberless stems of purple flowers gently waved above them. The tree's horizontal foliage covered the area of a bigger tavern, stone benches and tables, open fireplaces and flattened terrain for picnics gathered around it, although they didn't look like they were used often. Tyrael slightly frowned at the sight – this entire garden looked like it was meant to hold hundreds of people at the same time, yet it was all too pristine to have been used.
Maybe Tuon took such a good care of this place…
They reached another small nook of the garden, a wooden cottage that missed its front wall entirely, hidden by massive ferns. In the cottage a small but wide hammock was hung from the beams above. Tyrael's throat seized up at the sight. Quiet was lying under a thin blanket, his left arm was heavily bandaged and hidden under the fabric. His wounded wing was pulled out from under his body, it rested on the hammock. Most of the main strand that connected the wing to the back was gone. Only a small stem remained that seemed too weak to be able to hold up the rest of the wing. Its edges shimmered with some kind of dark light, remnants of Johanna's magic, no doubt. Instead of the bright yellow light that formed his still healthy wing, this one was now more silver toned. It somewhat reminded Tyrael of Malthael's sick wispy wings, although thankfully even in this mutilated state, Quiet's wing looked much healthier. Still, it was a heart wrenching sight to see, and Tyrael could already imagine what problems it may cause in the future. Including balancing, and the complete disability to fly…
Lyndon was sitting next to him in a wider chair woven like a basket, and he was holding the uninjured hand of the little angel, listening intently to his charge. Quiet was half-asleep but it appeared his mouth had not gotten the memo about resting yet:
-… And-and there was this big ship and we traveled a lot and there were many bad dead people but I and Tyrael fought them and there was also Izba who-who is like a big cottage but she walks on chicken legs, and she is very kind but she doesn't talk but she has rooms inside – the child mumbled barely coherently with half-closed eyes. – And and I also played that game you do, papa, and I took purses and nobody saw it and I was very clever just like you…
To this, Lyndon visibly blushed, but he kept smiling.
- You did very well, firefly. It sounds like you and Tyrael were through a lot.
- 't was very long and there was a bad fish and I made a snake that can fly and and a lot of things hap-happen… – Quiet slowly closed his eyes, the ending of his sentence drifting off along with him finally.
Lyndon gently placed back his right hand onto the blanket and stood up. Behind him, his own normal-sized hammock waved gently in the wind.
- Hey, Lyn! – Tuon waved at the scoundrel as if they knew each other for long. – Tyrael wanted to check on you two.
Lyndon turned to them with a slight smile that hid his worry. He looked tired, but his eyes, now brown, shone with strength and attentiveness as always. His nephalem nature helped him combat with such human needs as exhaustion. He still had his full clothing on, bearing all the marks of the battle of Ureh, including the bright red smear on his shirt that was collecting dust at this point. Tyael needed a moment to recognize the color of the healing potion, which only raised more questions in him. Regardless of the tears, the new coat looked good on Lyndon, no denying that. It was brown like his old attire, but it was adorned with a dark seam and silver lines running across the texture. The two corners of the coat's wings were a brownish red color, adorned by waving patterns. His dark vambrances were also highlighted by the same silver, and he had a deep brown short cape draped around his shoulders, now barely hanging on by a few threads. From the wrinkles, it appeared he was also wearing a lighter leather armor underneath.
- Hey, Tuon! Tyrael – he nodded. – How are you feeling?
- I'll live – the mortal angel waved tiredly. – How long have I been out?
- A day roughly – Tuon shrugged.
- You didn't miss anything – Lyndon added. – The others are pretty spent, they mostly rest in their places. Quiet's… well, you see. And that gloomy bastard is sulking somewhere in the garden too. I still have no idea who he is, he refuses to open his pie hole.
- He is Linarian – Tyrael pointed out.
To Tuon's and Lyndon's hopeless stares of confusion, he rushed to correct himself:
- I mean, Rathma. Linarian is an old name for him and… – Lyndon still didn't look like he knew what was going on, so Tyrael sighed in defeat. – The firstborn nephalem, son of Inarius and Lilith, patron and founder of the Necromancers.
He easily forgot that Lyndon wasn't exactly well-read.
- Oh, that guy! … Wait, really?! – the scoundrel blinked as things finally clicked in place.
- Yes.
- How is he not dead?
- No idea.
- Why is he even here?
That was a good question, Tyrael could only shrug. Last time he had seen the nephalem, Linarian was busy having a smaller crisis about his convictions. How he ended up in Ureh fighting alongside the group, Tyrael did not fully understand.
- Oh my, I remember now! Little Linarian, he was just a bundle of giggles and shrieks when I last saw him! – Tuon exclaimed, happily clapping his hands. – Goodness gracious, how big he has grown!
- … I take it isn't because he wanted to meet his old man again, huh? – Lyndon glanced at Quiet.
- He, uh… he had tried to kill us a handful of times on the road – Tyrael took a sharp breath.
Immediately, Lyndon snapped his head at the mortal angel, his eyes turning green. He yanked out that weird letter opener Tyrael had very quickly learnt to respect.
- Where is the fucker? – the scoundrel hissed.
- H—hey-hey! No fighting in my garden! – Tuon helplessly flailed with his stubby arms, eyes open wide from stress.
- The bastard is hunting your Boss, Tuon! He is hanging around to wait until I—
- Wait! Can I explain? – Tyrael raised his arms, stepping before the scoundrel.
His entire chest hurt, but he had little time to worry about that.
- What's to explain about this?! – Lyndon snapped at him.
- Did you sleep in this past two days?!
- Y-yeah, a bit.
- And Quiet's still alive. Linarian—Rathma, whatever, he is not here to hurt him, I assu—I think.
- You think?! – Lyndon's eyes flashed up at this.
- I mean— – Tyrael tried to say but his ribs finally had enough.
He doubled over with a gasp, pain spreading through his chest. Tuon and Lyndon quickly supported him and lied him down onto the scoundrel's hammock. Despite the commotion, Quiet didn't wake up next to them. He just mumbled something, his fingers curling around the edge of the blanket. Tyrael let out a long breath as he finally lied down. Breathing was not the main perpetrator in his condition, jumping around like a fool was. Thankfully, Lyndon seemed to control himself and instead of storming off to try to skin Linarian alive, he stayed. Glaring daggers at Tyrael, but stayed, nonetheless.
- There is… a lot I need to tell you about this journey – Tyrael let out a sigh as he reined in his pain after a few minutes. – But regarding Rathma…
The mortal angel did his best to recap every clash he and Quiet had had with the ancient nephalem: The Skeletal Crawlers, the rigged Waypoint, the Bramwell cemetery, Eastgate Keep and the Meridian. The last one was especially hard hitting for his audience. Lyndon looked like he was about to blow up right there and then, while Tuon turned his eyes at the sky and murmured a prayer for those lost in that insane fight. Whom the demon was praying to, that remained a really good question. Thankfully, Tyrael could also tell without interruptions his final meeting with Rathma in Solum where the nephalem looked like he lost his conviction almost entirely and only stubbornness kept him going. What had caused that change of heart, the mortal angel couldn't tell, although he suspected that Quiet and Rathma had a run-in with each other while Tyrael was busy making the worst decisions of his entire life. Regardless, it was undeniable that during the Ureh battle, Rathma had been firmly on their side, and was keeping the group safe from the zombie horde, until Lyndon and Luther finally killed Johanna and Dirgest.
- I suspect he had arrived well before the group had reformed there – Tyrael finished. – If he wanted Quiet dead, he would have had dozens of opportunities to do so, even now. He is incredibly powerful, he could walk right over all of us if he wanted to.
Tyrael had had to collapse an entire goddamn fortress atop Rathma to stop him, and that "victory" had lasted for about a week, ending in the most horrible dead-end "no escape" kind of trap that only failed in the end due to the cosmic power level of the Worldstone. Very few things or beings in Creation would have been strong enough to get out of there alive. He knew he had to make sure Lyndon wouldn't rush off to get himself killed in his impulsive nature. So far, the scoundrel seemed to have listened.
- That bitch has some nerve still hanging around – still, he grumbled under his nose.
- Maybe he wishes to talk to Quiet once the child wakes up. I… have no idea – Tyrael shook his head.
He also did not know why he was defending Rathma. Perhaps it was the undeniable fact that without the nephalem, they would have definitely not survived Ureh, the undead would have overrun them in minutes.
- And… if you want to be angry with someone, I am also to blame – he added solemnly after a momentarily pause and a glance at Quiet. – I have abandoned Quiet at some point.
Lyndon tilted his head to the side in silent query but refrained from raging. Maybe he was too stunned to do so.
- I… had allowed my prejudice towards Inarius to overtake my way of thinking. And… when he told me that he wanted to see the Cathedral of Light purely out of a sense of nostalgia, and that it was Rathma who was pursuing us up to that point, I… I immediately assumed that Rathma had been in the right, despite his actions, and that Inarius had been manipulating the situation. And I… and I killed Eirena too – he finished, his voice trailing off with grief, hiding his face in his palm.
Some part of him knew that rambling had been anything but logical… but Anu help him, he couldn't muster more in that moment.
Lyndon clasped his hands together, closed his eyes and took the deepest breath humanly possible. He looked like he was praying, which was a strange gesture from the godless, lawless scoundrel. His effort to rein himself in and keep a straight head in the sudden revelation was almost physically visible. Tyrael wished he had this level of composure as of late.
- Okay… okay – Lyndon said after a moment of silence, his voice shaking. – There is… a lot we both need to tell each other, that much I can see. If you are well enough to stand again, we need to talk, alright?
- Alright – Tyrael nodded.
What else was there to say to this?
Lyndon opened his once again brown eyes and glanced up at the sky.
- Oh Eirena… you poor poor girl – he whispered.
He then quickly retreated with Tuon from the cottage and they disappeared among the plants.
oooOOOooo
Quiet was pretty sure this chair was not meant for him, really.
It was very big, he got completely lost in it. He had to sit on the very edge so he could dangle his feet. But it was also very comfortable and very nice too, and it looked like it was shaped out of clouds almost. The child smoothened out a bit of fluffiness on one of the armrests. The chair itself was standing on a definitely real cloud and even more clouds lined up before the chair in a slowly rising semicircle.
And all the clouds had very strange creatures on them. Some looked like weird humans, others more like animals. There was one big guy who took up most of a cloud by himself and he looked like a four-legged turtle-thing made up entirely from big rocks. In the first row, there was a human in funny orange clothing who had shiny lines on his body and a really nice-looking campfire in the place of his head. Behind him, Quiet could see a woman whose blue dress looked like it was constantly flowing away like a river, but it never actually did. There was another who had very funny spiky hair that stood in every direction on his head and he had sparks dancing around him. There were bird-people dressed in plant skirts, actual trees and bushes just standing there. There was a statue cat that held up a lit torch and constantly spew a small stream of water like a fountain. They all seemed very sad and uncomfortable, most of them kept their eyes on the clouds under them. Quiet did not really understand why they were all sad, but nobody dared to speak up among them.
So he figured he would start.
- Hi!
A ripple ran across the crowd as most of them glanced up with surprise. Quiet waved to them:
- Who are you, many people?
-… Allfather, we… the gods offer our deepest regret. We have failed you – the man with the fire head finally spoke up, and Quiet had no idea how he did it, but he looked really guilty.
- The go—Oh, the gods! – the child clapped his hands as he finally remembered.
Like Zaim and B'rua and that wind god who helped listen in that very bad stone city! Quiet recalled he did tell them he wanted to meet all the gods one day.
- Zaim? Is that you? – he quickly turned to the big rock-creature on the far right.
- Indeed, sire.
- And B'rua? Where is B'rua?
To this, from the rows in the back a woman raised her hand, and she was made up entirely from leaves and vines and bark. She had small flowers for eyes, and she looked really funny.
- Hi! – Quiet happily waved to her. – Thank you guys very much for the help back there!
Some of the gods shared a confused glance.
- And who are you, fire man? – Quiet turned back to the first one who spoke.
- I am Ytar, sire.
- Oh, you helped us stay safe when we flew away on Wingies from the city – the child recalled. – Thank you too! And who was the ga-god who helped me hear well in the city?
To this, a barely noticeable swirl of wind began shushing and whoo-ing a bit louder to get the attention. It almost sounded like it wanted to say "Ouhwa". Maybe that was its name.
- Thank you too! – Quiet nodded to it as well.
- Sire… are you… not angry with us? – the woman in the flowing dress asked uncertainly.
- Inna, how dare you be this inssolent?! – Ytar the fire man immediately snapped his head… well, campfire back at her angrily.
- I mean… I am not – Quiet uncertainly looked over the crowd. – Why would I be? I have never met most of you and those I know were very helpful. I'm very grateful that you helped me and my friends.
Even the fire man turned back to him in surprise at this.
- But… sire, we had failed in our duty – Zaim said, uncomfortably stamping in place. – We have rebelled against our bonds multiple times, and we were unable to stop great harm befalling you.
- Thanks for the list, Zaim – Ytar grumbled under his… nose?
- What's "rebelled"? – Quiet asked, his little heels bumping the cloud chair's side.
- Well, uhm… sire, "rebel" is when you rise against the orders given and you break rules – Inna explained.
-… So I reb-rebelled when I took the purses in the sandy city, even though Teeriel said I shouldn't?
- Ahhmm… ye-ye—?
- Shut up, Inna! Are you out of your mind?! – Ytar bristled at her, his head spitting sparks.
- Ytar, why are you so angry? Shouting is bad! – Quiet frowned at the fire man who immediately turned back to him.
- My apologies, sire. My nature bekkons me – Ytar quickly ducked his head while Inna stuck her tongue out at him behind his back.
A snicker ran across the crowd but it quickly died off.
Quiet thought about the big fight in the bad magic undead city. He shuddered as he remembered Johhana and how she hurt Zei and broke Quiet's arm. Thankfully, he could not recall the exact feeling when she pulled on his wing, but he knew it was painful. He didn't feel pain right now, and his arm was working well too. He felt rather comfortable and warm, actually. He didn't know what had happened to his wing and that saddened and skerred him. But the gods weren't to blame for that.
- That wasn't your fault – he finally shook his head, returning to the present. – You weren't even there. And I got too far away from the others, even though they told me to stay close. I didn't listen to them.
What happened after Johhana grabbed him? Quiet had no idea, but he hoped everyone was alright.
- We should have been there, sire – Zaim mumbled.
- The aura of the madwoman and of the cursed city obscured all of you from us, but we should have found a workaround – one of the trees insisted, a female face forming in the bark.
- No no no – Quiet adamantly shook his head. – It's not your fault. It was my fault. I'm not angry.
The gods seemed to relax a bit now, they were fidgeting more around. They still didn't want to speak, though. Quiet was a bit grateful for that – big loud crowds still really skerred him.
- I'm very happy to meet you all – he then said, considering the previous matter over and done with. – Zaim had told me there were many of you, but I didn't know you were this many! Do you all do different things?
- Yes, sire, we have many stations… I mean tasks to do – Ytar spoke up again. – But we all do our best every day to help humanity, just like you had instrakted eons ago.
Quiet figured that word meant something like "said" or "ordered".
- That wasn't me – he shook his head before thinking a bit more. – I mean… it was me, but now I am different? I am Quiet, not Inarius, and I still need to learn a lot and grow and be good. But I am very grateful that you people are kind and helpful, even though I am different.
- Allfather, if I may – Zaim dipped his entire front lower, and Quiet realized he was bowing. – The circumstance of your return or rebirth is a strange one…
- Zaaaimmm – Ytar hissed at him.
- But – the rock turtle-thing very pointedly ignored the fire man as he went on –, it is ultimately not important to us gods. A former version of you is still the creator of both Sanctuary and us. That former version of you had given us existence and purpose. Thus we welcome back our creator in any form he chooses to live in. We are behind you for eternity, Allfather. Traitors like Dirgest be damned.
The crowd murmured "Indeed!" or "We serve!" or things along those lines. Quiet fell silent as he thought about what Zaim had said. He felt happy when he looked at the gods, but at the same time he felt like he didn't deserve their friendliness. After all, he didn't even know their names, which sounded very unfair. And also, Zaim talked very confusingly, but it sounded like the gods liked Quiet for what Inarius had done, which was also unfair. Even those seven small statues had fought Johhana on the ship because they followed Inarius. Inarius had done a lot of things, good and bad, but Quiet did none of those many things.
He thought about how he and Teeriel really didn't like each other at first, because Teeriel thought he was Inarius and he didn't like Inarius. But then they traveled and talked, and Teeriel learned that Quiet was not Inarius and Quiet learned that Teeriel could be nice and interesting sometimes, and even though many very bad things happened, Quiet thought about Teeriel as a friend. And there were Adenah and Izba whom Quiet did not remember but they liked him because he was Inarius, but he was afraid of them, but eventually he got to like them and they got to like him. And Ashava too told him to remember that he was Quiet, not Inarius. The pale stupid mean man Linaaarian hated him first because of Inarius, then when he realized Quiet was not Inarius with that strange mirror scale thing, he got very confused and even saved him in the end. And how those bad ghosts in the underground place hated him because of Inarius too. But the people in the sandy city who didn't know Inarius at all, they really liked Quiet, even if they were a bit skerry, because he had helped two of them and they were grateful. And Amaniel who did not really understand that he wasn't Inarius now, but she was still very kind and helpful and tried to encourage him. And those mean ugly people back in the forest long ago when Leendonn was sleeping and sick and they had tried to hurt him and Quiet, just because.
He also thought about Leendonn who had always loved and protected and taught him, even though he didn't know who Quiet used to be in another life.
"How can we be a new life when all the world is against us?!"
"So many dangers and enemies. Prejudice wherever we turn!"
Quiet thought he could hear Worrldsston's and Inarius' distant voices from that bad night when they fought each other and him, after Teeriel got very angry and left him behind. There were people who did not like him because he had been Inarius or Worrldsston, or because they were just mean. There were people who did not like him at first but they eventually changed their minds. There were those who liked him before and he could make friends with them once again. And there were people who didn't know who he was at all, and who could still be very kind to him.
There would always be people who didn't like him because of one reason or another, and that would never change. Some things did not depend on him, and he couldn't change. But many others, he could and did already.
Quiet stood up on the very big chair and raised his hands. The murmur of the crowd that was getting louder as the child stayed silent for long, immediately fell away and all the gods watched him again.
- My name is Quiet – the little angel pronounced, sure of himself. – And I am very grateful that all of you are so kind and helpful to me. Thank you. But I am not Inarius. I used to be him, but now I am not. I used to be your creator, but now I am not. I do not know you, and I did nothing to earn your friendliness. I'm very happy that you like Inarius so much, but I am Quiet and I still need to learn a lot. I want to get to know all of you eventually and I want to be your friend. I too want to help people and be good, and I will need your help with that. So…
He hopped down from the too big chair and onto the cloud, and looked up at the big gods with happiness.
- It is very nice to meet you all – he finished, extending his hand.
The gods stayed silent, very confused. They shared glances, fidgeted in place but nobody made a move. Quiet kept his hand up stubbornly.
Finally, the fire man, Ytar stepped forward. He looked very awkward, but he skipped to Quiet's cloud and crouched before him. He coughed a couple of times, cleared his non-existent throat, but eventually he did accept the small hand into his own and very carefully shook it.
- Well met, si—Quiet. I am Ytar, Sahptev god of Sun and Fire… and I am very—very glad to meet you as well.
Quiet returned the shake with a happy smile. As he looked over the crowd of gods who slowly uncertainly started to come forward, he recalled something Ashava had said:
"Well, Little One. Sanctuary was the land of new beginnings for many. You are most welcome to try it as well."
And for the first time, Quiet thought he finally started to understand what that meant.
A new life. A new life.
Inarius and Worrldsston seemed to echo in him, their hold on each other growing just a bit tighter with understanding.
Some lose themselves on a journey, others find themselves. It's a funny thing, truly.
Ashava's the real MVP in this whole mess, btw. Don't ask me, cupcakes, how I looked at that boney tentacle-headed mole monster thing and went "yeah, she is the wise mentor type", it just came to me naturally.
Thank you all for your patience regarding this chapter. :) As things look now, I cannot in good faith promise anymore to reinstate the monthly-updating schedule, although I am trying my best always. Ch68 has a good chance of being finished in October, let us all hope it will be so!
Lore & Trivia Corner
- Dahlgur Tuon's home was based on the Romantic-style gardens. It was a popular kind of garden design in the 18-19th century Europe. Unlike the baroque technique, where strict geometric rules and shapes govern all, the romantic style aims to create a more natural-looking garden for the noble residences. They are characterized by the many twisting paths of gravel, seemingly random islands of flora among them, artificial lakes, waterfalls, bridges, "ruins" and terraces. Many of these old gardens actually becomes arboretums, or protected lands down the line. Baroque gardens have an air of real professionalism about them, but I personally prefer the more natural look of the romantic gardens, if I'm being honest.
- The Dahlgur Oasis: as it is written by Abd al-Hazir, the Dahlgur Oasis in fact did not exist until 985 AK (Anno Kehjistani), three hundred years before the events of Diablo 3. Back in those days, Caldeum held a lot of potential to grow into the mega-city we know today, however it had been limited by its few water sources, mostly wells. One day a mysterious man named Dahlgur appeared and offered the city's leaders an incredibly rich oasis to draw water from. In exchange he had asked the place to be named after him. The place where the oasis was located had been known to be just another patch of desert before. Once the deal was made, the man disappeared without a trace. And Caldeum started down on the road of glory.
- The godly meeting place, although incredibly basic and not all that important, was inspired by Mount Olympus from Disney's Hercules. I have always loved that aesthetic of a palace made up from clouds entirely.