Chapter 7

Flying figurines were quickly becoming officially the leading entry on Lyndon's to-hate list, currently even above the "Mortal and Immortal Maniacs Who Want to Rule/Destroy Everything for Some Godforsaken Reason" entry.

The visit to the captain hadn't been a complete failure afterall: Lyndon had managed to bribe him to delay the departure of the Albatross by half a day once Johanna arrives, whenever that may be. After that deal was struck, the scoundrel set out towards a dark and mostly abandoned part of the harbor, following the captain's directions.

Supposedly, this Meshif Salavan lived here somewhere, in a house that was surrounded by jade figurines, but as Lyndon walked among the run-down fishing and pearl-diver cottages, he began to feel like he was in a very dangerous part of town. Did the captain trick him and send him into the open arms of thugs? Lyndon could hope that if it comes down to a fight, his sixth sense or foresight or whatever the hell it actually was, would not fail him.

Quiet whimpered, small head sticking out of the backpack. Thankfully he had calmed down mostly, but now he was clearly picking up on the foreboding air around here.

- It's alright – Lyndon mumbled half-heartedly. – If all else fails, we can make a run for it.

- Arrrrrriyttt?

- Alright.

Quiet whimpered again, clearly not convinced. Lyndon couldn't blame him.

The harbor was mostly silent here, everything was dominated by the stench of dead fish, heavier than before. Lyndon occasionally saw glimpses of other figures, perhaps faces in the surroundings: peering out of, and among the cottages, swooping by between cracks. The scoundrel really didn't like it, but he acted like he hadn't noticed anything and kept on going forward, trying to look as confident as physically possible. Where was that goddamn hut with the figurines?!

Quiet screamed in alarm just as Lyndon's sixth sense flared up, and the scoundrel dove to the side, just barely avoiding an axe coming down on his back. He skidded on the muddy ground, twisting around to see his attacker. Behind him stood a crazed-looking man with incredibly sharp green eyes, wearing just a loin cloth, hands clutching a battle axe so hard it was a miracle the handle hadn't snapped yet. He had darker skin, but there was something odd about it. Lyndon had to chalk that up to the dimming twilight, having no time to ponder on it more as the man charged again. Blinding powder filled the air, but somehow the guy remained unfazed by it and Lyndon again had to throw himself out of the way, rolling on his side. He felt Quiet hanging onto the strips of the backpack for dear life, but wisely remaining silent.

The attacker swung the axe in a wide ark and Lyndon jumped back, pulling out his dagger.

- I want no trouble! – he shouted. – Let us talk! I'm just looking for a man named—

*THUDD!*

The head of the axe implanted into the mud on the spot where the scoundrel stood a moment ago. Lyndon retreated, cursing colorfully. He had to shake this idiot off and find another way—

His sixth sense interrupted him again and he jumped to the side, twisting his whole body in mid-air like a cat, his torso avoiding a knife by a hair's length. There was someone else behind him somewhere, hidden in the shadows. In fact, Lyndon could dimly register more and more movement around him.

Oh god, they were a mob.

Realizing he had no other choice really, he lunged towards the axe guy. Masterfully avoiding the next swing, he brandished his dagger and sunk it into the unprotected neck of his opponent.

Only for the skin to break into shards.

Lyndon stumbled forward in surprise at the sight, knocking the man to the ground. Without uttering a sound, the body shattered into smithereens, and Lyndon realized his skin had had a ceramic light to it.

- What the f—? – he tried to say, only for Quiet's angry shout to drown out his voice.

Wiping his head in the other direction, he just barely caught a glimpse of a knife sailing at his head, before the weapon turned into a daisy. The flower harmlessly brushed against his forehead then tumbled to the ground where it quickly wilted.

Lyndon realized he had to turn off his brain now and go full battle mode. Letting out another stream of curses, he threw himself into the shadows of the cottages and hunted down the guy with the throwing knives. As it quickly turned out, Quiet did not only turn the thrown weapon into a flower, but his entire collection as well. This attacker too had that weird ceramic skin, green eyes and absolute lack of a voice even when Lyndon kicked his head clean off of his neck. The supposed head shattered against the wall and the body tumbled to the ground, following its example. Not a drop of blood anywhere. Lyndon did not stop to ask questions this time, though.

Run-down harbor village inhabited by bloodthirsty pottery. Roll with it.

There were more attackers than those two, but now that Lyndon managed to withstand the temptation to stop and just go "WTF", he and Quiet made relatively quick work of them. The men had a large variety of weapons, from longswords to straightened-out scythes, but they moved pretty clumsily, their attacking patterns were easy to read, and over all, they were nothing compared to what Lyndon had lived through by Johanna's side. If the scoundrel's attention slipped or he didn't see an attack coming, Quiet would take care of that with a burst of his strange power, making the earth wall off an attack, have the weapon suddenly change trajectory or even density, or just have it shatter mid-swing.

Lyndon stopped himself from questioning that as well.

A half an hour of flashing weapons, cracking ceramic and angry angel battlecries later Lyndon stood in the middle of a street, surrounded by shards from all sides. He heaved as he looked around, but it appeared they were safe now. With a deep breath, he sheathed his dagger into his belt.

- You alright there, Quiet? – he called over his shoulder, hearing the soft breathing from the bag.

- Arrriyt, ah—arriyt – Quiet panted, clearly spent.

The shards twitched around them, causing Lyndon to make a run for it, trying to scramble out of the center.

- Aw, come on! – he shouted angrily, grabbing after his dagger once more.

The smithereens lifted from the ground and began forming a twister, rearranging themselves into many small, like 30 cm tall… figurines.

- Good! Good! – a voice cried out, seemingly coming from the shard-storm. – The Eye has a decent guardian. That is good!

- Who's talking?! Are you a demon? – Lyndon thrusted his dagger forward, not exactly sure what good it could do against the phenomenon but trying to sound tough nonetheless.

- A demon?! Ha! Never! – the voice snorted. – Just follow the figurines. They will show the way.

- I am warning you, I have faced two Lesser Evils and the Angel of Death itself before. If this is a trick—!

- You will call upon the help of the very Nephalem hero you are trying to escape from now?

Lyndon fell silent at this, staring at the hovering figurines with a deadly glare. Taking his lack of response as a yes, the figurines began drifting in one direction, beckoning the scoundrel to follow, which he did grumpily. He wished he didn't turn his brain back on. The million angry questions buzzing in there threatened to make his skull split open. Whatever the hell was going on, he didn't like it one bit.

The figurines shown the way to a small hut, just like every other one around here. The only difference was the seven small jade statues that stood as guardians on either side of the entrance. Lyndon took one deep breath and stepped forward, reaching for the handle. The door flew open before he could touch it, though, and on the doorstep stood a ridiculously old, wrinkled and small man. His eyes sparkled with a kind of clear madness, they were just as green as those of the ceramic warriors, but his skin was clearly normal human skin. He posed in a simple shirt and trousers, worn-out by the ages. His bald head reflected the light coming from inside the cottage.

Lyndon rested his own hand on the handle of the dagger in his belt, as obviously as possible. The old man, who somehow still held a straight and heroic posture, broke out in a nigh-toothless grin, as he waved the ceramic figures away with one hand.

- So, would you like some tea?

oooOOOooo

Lyndon was beginning to wish he had just jumped into a boat upon hearing from Johanna, and just go for it.

The inside of the cottage was a single room, inhabited mostly by flying figurines of all materials. Most of them flew in random patterns like drunken hornets, but a few had specific tasks. Two for example held the handle of a wooden spoon between themselves and stirred a pot that boiled over a small fire in the middle of the house. There were nearly no furniture at all, besides all the shelves on the walls where the figurines settled to down to rest for a minute before taking off again. Around the fire, two furs were spread on the ground opposite of each other.

Lyndon had to duck several times from an incoming statue as he angrily made his way towards the fireplace. His sixth sense was invaluable now: it was impossible to foretell the trajectory of the figurines otherwise. The old man clearly kept one eye on his evading attempts. He was completely safe, of course, the statues didn't even come close to him, as he sat down on one fur and began filling two cups full of some kind of leaves with the boiling water.

- Meshif Salavan, I presume – Lyndon spat, annoyed as he too managed to reach his seat without getting smacked over the head. He gathered his backpack into his lap.

- The one and only – the old man nodded before breaking out in a chuckle. – That is such a funny human saying! We've always wanted to say that.

- "We"?

- We, of course. There are more of us, afterall – Meshif nodded happily and with the outmost sincerity.

Lyndon sucked in his breath and uncertainly took the offered cup of tea.

- What do you want? – he asked.

- We are the ones asking that question from you – Meshif waved dismissively. – We saw you actively seeking us out, bearing the Eye, no less! We have a lot of questions.

- Bearing the what now? – Lyndon blinked.

Meshif threw his head back and let out a rolling laughter:

- A master thief and you don't even know the value you are carrying! – he said, pointing at the backpack. – Come on out, Eye! You have nothing to fear us.

Quiet timidly poked his head out, exhaustion and confusion shone in his red eyes.

- Ahhh there you are! – Meshif grinned at him widely, causing Lyndon to wrap one arm around the bag defensively. – You are smaller than we remember.

- You stay the hell away from him, whatever you are! – Lyndon snarled at the old man.

- Fear not, fear not! We are of him, after all. Why would we attack our own Creator?

- What are you on about, seriously?!

- Oh dear, oh dear, we must hurry! – Meshif suddenly lost his grin and he downed the still boiling cup of water in a single swing. – No matter, our questions must wait. She is close and we must hurry!

-… You mean Johanna?

- Ah, that is her name now, is it not? – Meshif said, deep in thought.

- It has always been her name, what are you—?! – Lyndon tried to ask but was quickly silenced by the other.

- We must hurry and get you to the Nest of Wrath before she arrives there!

- What?! No, I want to get to Kingsport, not—not whatever you've just said.

Meshif sent a disapproving glance at his lost guest.

- Names change, young man! Always! Look at the Eye! What do you call him now? Quiet? That was not his name before.

Lyndon wanted to argue, but the old man held up a hand.

- You call that town Kingsport now, but that is just another human name that will change – he went on. – Besides, it is a bad name now, it doesn't tell what the place really is. Nest of Wrath, I say!

Lyndon jumped on his feet, grabbed Meshif by the collar and easily lifted him off the ground as if he weighted nothing, angrily boring his own eyes into the green ones.

- You had better start making some goddamn sense before I cut your throat, Meshif, or whoever the hell you truly are! – he growled. – I have no time for games or riddles, you understand?!

- Yet you stand here, bickering with us, instead of accepting our help – the old man pointed out, grinning again.

- How do I know you are not just a crazed demon, trying to lead me into a trap?! You have already attacked me with your puppets!

- Oh, that was just a test, to see if the Eye really was in good hands or not – Meshif waved. – You are decent. Still need some practice, though. The foresight is blooming, but the rest has yet to show. You are doing well right now, by the way. Congratulations!

Lyndon realized he was actually holding another human being up in the air for minutes by now, with only one hand. His arm suddenly buckled and he set the old man roughly down the ground.

- How? – Lyndon hiccupped, absolutely bewildered.

Sure, the old man was smaller than him, but he was still a good 50-60 kilos, probably. Lyndon was never good at lifting such weights, let alone with one hand!

- Oh dear, shouldn't have said a thing – Meshif sighed then began arguing with himself. – See, I told you, guys! We should have stayed silent! Now we knocked him out of the course, see?! What—no! He needs to know. Clearly, he needs hints! Look at him, he is completely clueless—They all bloomed best when left in the dark! It builds character—You are not making any sense, seriously—

- MESHIF! – Lyndon shouted angrily.

He had questions. Goddamnit, he had so many questions he felt his skull would split any minute! But he realized he couldn't ask, at least not now. This—these things were needed to be focused on the problem at hand, questions would only raise the already big chaos.

- Johanna is close, remember?! – he snarled angrily. – Get your shit together!

- Oh right, she—she is close! – Meshif shook his head, knocked out of the inner argument. – Kid speaks reason, you see, guys?!

- How do we get to Kingsport? – Lyndon asked, hauling his backpack onto his shoulders. – Or Hive of Anger, or whatever the hell you are calling it, I don't care!

- Hive of Anger is good too! – Meshif exclaimed happily. – The ship she will choose to sail with is very fast, and your half a day head-start won't help, if we go by boat.

- How did you—?

- That is why we will use a non-traditional method! Come, come! – Meshif ran out of the house, the seven jade figurines lifting off and going after him.

Lyndon could barely keep up with him.

- Arrriyt? – Quiet chirped uncertainly on his back.

- I am not so sure about that anymore, Quiet – Lyndon grumbled angrily.

oooOOOooo

The old man was a surprisingly fast sprinter, the scoundrel really needed to step it up to keep up with him. The seven jade statues followed them around without trouble. A part of Lyndon tried to picture what kind of sight this convoy made, if there was anyone around.

- Where is everyone? – he panted, realizing that the village was truly empty.

- Oh, we scared them off when we saw you coming – Meshif called over his shoulder, not even sounding out of breath. – You needed the space to fight. But beware, in the future you will not have this luxury. Be careful where you swing that dagger, alright?

- You just keep your lecturing to yourself—yourselves—whatever! – Lyndon spat. – Where the hell are you even taking me?

Instead of answering, Meshif stopped abruptly, causing the scoundrel to nearly bump into him. Before them was the edge of the docks, under the wooden planks the Twin Seas waved gently. The endless water surface before them sparkled in the moonlight. The white light, combined with the bottomless darkness gave a sight that was beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Had it not been for the sound of waves breaking on the planks and the wooden pillars, Lyndon would have thought they were standing on the very edge of the world.

- It is time to move on – Meshif announced, then he promptly collapsed onto the floor.

The seven statues zoomed over his head and plunged head-first into the sea, by the time Lyndon shouted in alarm. The scoundrel crouched down besides the old man and rolled him on his back, trying to shake him awake. There was no reaction, so Lyndon pressed his ear against the chest. There was no heartbeat. Sucking in his breath, the scoundrel slowly drew away from the unmoving form and sat down onto the planks, staring before himself emptily.

He felt Quiet climbing out of the bag and scuttling to Meshif as well. The little angel placed his hands onto the chest.

- Leendonn? – he turned to Lyndon, unsure of what just happened.

- He is dead, Quiet – the scoundrel said softly.

- Dedd?

- Dead. Not waking up again. Not coming back.

Quiet turned back to Meshif, looking at his face. He seemed peaceful, as if content with what he had achieved. Lyndon closed the eyes of the corpse with two fingers and uttered a half-hearted prayer for this poor bastard's soul.

- I just don't know what to do now – he then sighed heavily, boring his eyes into the endless blackness of the sea. – Where to now?

Quiet climbed into his lap, and pointed at the moon.

- Wat dat? – he chirped.

- That is the moon.

- Pretty.

- Yes, it is – Lyndon smiled sadly. – It shines at night. Just like the sun shines during the day.

- Liyt gud – Quiet nodded, staring at the moon.

- Yes, light is very good. We can see in the light, we know where we must go – Lyndon patted his head gently. – Unlike now… I do not know what we are going to do, Quiet. We got dumped, big time.

Quiet glanced at Meshif on their left again, then buried himself into the hug.

- Dis niyt no gud – he mumbled.

- No… it is not – Lyndon agreed solemnly.

He thought about walking back to the port and just steal a boat. Hoping for the best, they might be able to make it across. He stared at the water in a kind of trance. The waves were barely visible in the moonlight, but they were there, reminding the scoundrel that he wasn't just staring into an abyss. He believed he had seen true nothing when they journeyed across Pandemonium, but that desolate place paled in comparison to this. At least there were the bubbles to break the monotony of the waves.

Wait.

Bubbles?!

The sea suddenly churned violently, causing Lyndon and Quiet to fall on their backs in alarm, holding onto each other for dear life.

A giant shape burst from the darkness, the moonlight stroking its scales. With a strange distant, almost song-like call it crashed back into the sea, washing the two startled onlookers with gallons of salty water. Shaking the stinking liquid out of his eyes, Lyndon squinted, while simultaneously crushing Quiet to himself. After minutes of staring and blinking to vanquish the irritating water from his eyes, Lyndon thought he finally understood what he was seeing, sort of.

It was a sea monster.

An actual sea monster, with a long and wide finned back, scales as large as cartwheels and as sparkling as minerals, floated patiently before them.

- Are you coming or what? – it suddenly called out, and seven small green shapes appeared in mid-air, dancing over what appeared to be the head of the monster.

- Wat dat?! – Quiet asked hysterically, flailing towards the creature with his arms.

- Why, your ride to the Nest of Wrath, Eye! Hop on!


Y'know, considering what an ARMY of cardboard cutout characters Diablo2 had (no wonder, considering that there was NO STORY DURING DEVELOPMENT!), it is kind of fitting that in the end I chose a vessel/puppet role for good old Meshif here.

Anyway, WTF-moments, full swing. I couldn't help it. Sanctuary is the capital of WTF-moments, if the Adventure mode had taught me anything. So just lean back and enjoy the madness! I know that I do! ;) Despite this apparent idiocy, I did enjoy writing this chapter very much. :)