WOW! So many reviews… a huge welcome to Elise Davidson, InnerFire and Icy Mike Molson! I DO try and reply to every review, unless you send a few at a time, which then I will only reply to a fraction of the amount. I shouldn't be so naïve as to think that having English (yes; Australian English IS English, Icy Mike, and there's a semicolon for you) as my second language should justify my incompetence as a good writer, though; so any con-crit, FIRE AWAY!! Just no flames… irony unintended.

I haven't written for two weeks, during which I have been manifesting a new-found interest in Chemistry.

I'll tell you now: If you read on and find anything strange, it's doable. I've done the out-of-place things in this chapter with my Amazon before, and it works.

Disclaimer: Blizzard owns the Diablo series; Ophelion owns everything else, including all the REVIEWS!!

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Chapter 14: Evil's Brewery

I had expected for us to be setting out after another week or so; but despite her initial reaction, Oread seemed actually quite glad that Atma had asked such a task of us. Four days later, we were wandering about town, talking to a few inhabitants, in the hope of getting a bit more prepared than having no idea whatsoever.

A few people of Lut Gholein were quite eccentric – amongst the most eccentric of everyone I had ever know; but then again, I had not known too many – Falcon commented to me a few times, mainly about the scarily lustful way Elzix stared at her in the inn, and Lysander's senility, of which she found mildly amusing and strangely adorable. Oread was reserved on her opinions, as she bought a dozen bottles of antidote, and, while handing me half of it, advised Falcon to do the same.

Then we got to the palace. As we attempted to enter, the guard there prohibited us from doing so in a pretty rough manner. Oread looked at the guard, looking both undeterred and uninterested, and then she whipped around casually.

'Let's go, then.' She began walking off.

I was about to follow suit when a voice stopped us all upon our tracks. 'I'm sorry; you three must be the newly-arrived warriors. My greetings and apologies to you.'

I turned around to face the owner of that humble, polite, and smoothly masculine voice. His face is one of a local person, but he was somewhat taller, and less stout. With his cleanly-shaven face and soft eyes of dark, midnight-blue, he looked no more than twenty. However, by his clothes – white shirt, white trousers, a long blue outer-garment and sash, completed with a white cap with a red gem set into it – one could easily tell that he was one of royal descent.

Atma had told me of the only survivor of the royalties that had fallen to the evils within the palace. This young man was Prince Jerhyn.

I contemplated kneeling before him, but Oread's indifference and Falcon's ignorance kept them both standing, and so I remained standing also, my hand wanting to fly to my neck for that comfort jewel again. I pushed it back down beside me.

'Yes, indeed.' Falcon grinned her wide, sunny grin, and held up a hand as a casual salute. 'Nice meeting you. I'm Falcon of the northern Druids.'

I meant to introduce myself, but Oread's voice cut mine off when it was about to manifest itself in my voice box. 'And you are?' She asked, in a dark, interrogative tone that starkly contrasted with Falcon's.

'I'm Jerhyn, the former prince of Lut Gholein.' He from Oread, to Falcon, then his eyes came to me and stayed for a few seconds, before looking back at Oread. 'But now that my family has fallen, my responsibility is to protect my people, mainly from the evil within this palace. This is the reason why you are not to enter. It is for your own safety.'

'We're no mere travellers.' Falcon contributed to the conversation. 'We're able to defend ourselves. We came here to help – '

'Actually,' Oread cut her off. She was still speaking to Jerhyn as she continued. 'She came to help willingly, so the credit is hers. I only came here to bother Fara for a bit, and I think it's only fair that I repay you somehow, so that I won't owe anybody.' She glanced at the palace; she must also have felt the strange, worming poison that was seeping out, from beyond the confines of the palace itself. 'Maybe we should give this a try.'

'You mustn't.' Jerhyn replied, still composed but with a hint of anxiety in his expressions. 'The evil within is beyond our imagination. Many of my men have tried to rid us of it; and so far, none have returned but one. He was driven into wild madness, and the day after he returned, he mutilated and killed himself.' He bowed his head, his face communicating both grief and terror.

Oread and Falcon stared at the young man before them, Falcon looked startled, but Oread's face remained cold and hard. I took a few steps forward to look at him, trying my best to generate reassurance in my eyes. His eyes met mine, and I smiled. He returned it with his eyes, though it had not reached his lips yet.

I could have said a few words of comfort, but again, Oread's voice came before that. 'Well, then.' I looked back, seeing her beginning to walk off, while Falcon still stood where she was, deciding whether to follow or not. 'Guess we'll just have to sort out this Radament business first.'

'You're going to Radament?' Jerhyn asked. 'The Greater Mummy?'

'Is there another Radament around here?' Such was Oread's rhetorical response. 'Are you going to talk us into being afraid of him, too?'

Jerhyn looked hurt. A flare rose up within me; not really anger, but frustration. When Jerhyn spoke again, however, his voice was assertive. 'My people have died in attempts to slay him.' Oread turned her head, not facing him, but looking at him out of the corner of her eye. 'If you shall try, I am not going to stop you. This is an evil we know, and I have hope in you, from what I have heard from Warriv. If you go to Greiz, I'm sure that he can offer you some help, in one form or another. I only ask you to return alive; if you fail to kill him, don't die trying.'

Oread looked for another second, then turned back and kept walking. Falcon turned to follow, calling back to me. 'Let's go, Celadon.'

'We'll be fine, Prince Jerhyn.' I grinned at him, and this time, he smiled back. 'See you later, then.'

I got ready to catch up to the other two when Jerhyn spoke again. '"Celadon", is that your name?' I turned back to him; the grin was still there. 'Will you promise me that you'll come back alive?'

'Yes, that's my name.' I smiled even wider. His voice had such a quality that can easily cheer people up – when he was himself cheerful, that is. 'And yes, I promise.'

Greiz was a stout, broadly-built man of his prime time, though his crudeness in speech and posture made him somewhat repulsive – to me, anyway – and with his full chain mail armour in such heat, I believe that his smell might be just as repulsive, if not more.

Oread and Falcon apparently felt the same, for they stood on the side opposite him of the large trapdoor built into the ground, and stayed there even as they conversed.

'This leads down to the Sewers, yes.' Greiz spoke up, in his rough and somewhat guttural voice. 'It's tough down there; some of my men had perished; but there are a few that had returned, and they can offer you some help if you want.'

Just then, fear leapt into my throat, and so did my heart. This was what some Rogues had spoken of – the exchange and subsequent forced resignation of Rogue mercenaries. Many of them had returned from Lut Gholein, when their masters had opted for one of Greiz's mercenaries. I realised then about the unspoken rule of the Sanctuary – one mercenary per warrior. You could have multiple minions that you conjure, but only one mortal, human mercenary. That rule was probably set because one warrior cannot have too many lives under his or her command, for the journey was too perilous; lives should not be wasted.

I was not sure if Oread or Falcon knew of such a rule, but they both looked uninterested, anyway. 'I have enough allies of nature at my command, thank you.' Falcon replied, a little defensive from her confidence in her minions.

'That's for her.' Oread went on after Falcon, before Greiz could reply. 'As for me, I work in solitude.'

'Then who would that be?' Greiz nodded at me, his chain mail chinking. 'That pretty golden-eyes is a Rogue, I believe. A mercenary.'

Oread turned to glance at me as she spoke. 'A mercenary? No… she's not exactly a mercenary. She's more like…'

She trailed off for a split second, and within that time, my mind raced. She sounded genuinely thoughtful. I wondered what my position was in her mind; was I a companion? An apprentice? A disciple? My thoughts were along those lines, and so when she continued, I was taken by huge surprise.

'A slave.' Oread concluded.

My jaw dropped. Beside me, Falcon's did the same, but she recovered more quickly, and her shock was soon converted into poorly-stifled laughter. Oread's face retained that feigned thoughtfulness. She nodded. 'Forced, unpaid slavery, that's about right.' Her eyes were again on Greiz, who was also taken by surprise; though he managed to keep his jaw in place. I quickly snapped mine closed. 'So thanks, but no thanks.' She crouched down over the trapdoor. 'Falcon, Celadon, let's get in through this entrance.' Atma had mentioned two entrances to the Sewers, but I thought Oread wanted to show Greiz, straight up, that she did not need his help.

'Wait, Master Oread,' something came to the forefront of my mind, and it was urgent. 'You don't have a spear with you.'

Oread froze, and looked up at me. Her expression was that of a person whom had just awoke from a dream so real that the line between reality and imagination was blurred. For a few seconds her face was set in that expression, and I realised that she must have totally forgotten about it.

Then she voiced out a single word: 'Damn.'

I was afraid that I might have embarrassed her, but if I had, she did not show a bit of it. She got up and faced Greiz again. 'All right, Greiz, if you're still keen to help,' she had no shame in her voice at all; 'can I borrow a weapon from you? I heard that all your men are skilled in the wielding of two-handed and polearm weapons; surely you have a spear that you can lend me?'

'Hmm… I don't know…' Greiz had a triumphant look on his face; I knew that Oread's actions would have their consequences. 'All my spears are out, if I recall correctly. It's the fastest and most versatile weapon that I have, and my men quite favour those qualities.' He smirked, and restrained it. 'I have a few polearms, but they wouldn't do you much good; I mean, Amazons are spearwomen, are they not? Polearms might be a little heavy and foreign to your hands.'

'I'll take it, regardless.' Oread's voice was firm, and somewhat impatient.

'If you say so.' Greiz went back to his tent. For the minute that he was gone, Oread seemed to have zoned out, and neither Falcon nor I dared to interrupt her. When Greiz came back, he had a scythe with him. 'I had a war scythe back there, but even I wield it with difficulty.' He stepped over the trapdoor, and handed Oread the scythe. I thought he expected her hands to sink due to the weight, but when Oread took it, she did so with unexpected ease. It fitted into her hands snugly, and she looked almost… at home with it.

I walked up and examined the weapon over Oread's shoulder. The blade was sharp and smooth, but it was coated with a layer of dried blood – it was a weapon of good quality and bad maintenance. Though it still looked quite new, and Oread did not protest.

'Good.' She exclaimed, almost excitedly. 'I'll bring this back to you with poison added as interest. Now if you'll be so kind as to excuse us, we'll be off to sever some undeads' heads.'

'Be my guest.' Greiz stepped back, and helped her open the trapdoor. Oread did not react to this; rather, she cringed back as the putrid stench of the Sewers leapt out from the hole in the ground.

'This is a rotten task.' Falcon commented, apparently not realising the irony in her statement. 'We better get something good out of this.'

'Let's get this over with, then.' Oread disappeared into the ground. Uttering a moan, Falcon followed, and I reluctantly got up to the entrance.

'Don't die down there, girl.' I looked up, and Greiz was smiling down. Not a mocking smile, though; it seemed genuinely well-meaning.

Not knowing how to respond, I climbed down the ladder into the Sewers.

The pungent stink was overwhelming. A wave of nausea washed over me and I struggled to steady myself and my stomach. Ahead, Falcon's voice, though barely a whisper, echoed. 'My allies won't be happy, being summoned here.' This was followed by a series of pulsating sounds of her life force, made visible as they took on the forms of wolves, ravens and vines. 'It's so dark down here.' She stated.

Oread used Inner Sight; the surroundings were slightly illuminated, revealing an interior made of weathered sandstone, broken in pieces in some places with the holes filled in by smaller pieces of stone. Some parts were walled with strong meshes of steel, showing the sand and stone that threatened to collapse into the space. Beyond our vision, the slow trickling flow of part-liquid hummed.

I wanted to get out of here. I was about to urge the company to get going when something glowing with its dim-green life force came into view. I let fly a Cold Arrow and the foe went down with a dull groan. I ran up to investigate, but Oread quickly yanked me back by the shoulder.

'Watch out for it.' She voiced with urgency and severity, as a cloud of green fume exploded into the air. Poison.

'Whoa.' Falcon exclaimed. 'Hey, Oread, why didn't you just go and buy a spear? Then you wouldn't have to put up with that sucker.'

'I haven't told you before, have I?' Oread turned a little to Falcon. 'I'm a miser.'

As I have been before, Falcon was silenced straightaway.

The first level of the Sewers were not very exciting; we cleared out the small groups of walking corpses quite easily, taking care not to be too close to them. Falcon's wolves got mildly poisoned a few times, but her Carrion Vine – Lava, she called it affectionately – made up for their losses. There were piles of greenish-brown goo on the ground, seeming to promise treasure; but when Oread shot at one at a distance, just in case anything happened, something did happen – an explosion of muck, and a whoosh of poisonous cloud. We veered far from those piles of goo from then on. It was only in the second level when things got a bit more interesting.

There were still some of those blasted corpses, but the majority were weapon- or magic-wielding skeletons – similar to those that once infested the Rogue Monastery, but with a fresh coat of blood over their yellowing bones – and some that are known as 'Sand Raiders', according to Atma, which were lanky, four-armed humanoids with horrifyingly diminished facial features, armoured in thick plates and armed with a sharp knife in each hand. The Sand Raiders, despite their giant size, were easily taken down compared to the skeletons, which were much faster, and much deadlier with their ranged attacks.

This was when Greiz's scythe came in handy, as much as Oread tried to refrain from relying upon it. We tried, for a while, to use ranged-attacks on the skeletons, but we had to keep dodging and ducking behind walls, and Falcon had to keep supplying more mana to her minions to keep them alive. This was not a situation that Oread liked very much, and she made her point very clearly when she slung her bow over her shoulder, readied the scythe, and ran out.

'Hey, Oread!' Falcon tried to pull her back, reaching out an arm; but a burning sphere came flying, and Falcon pulled her arm back with a moan and fell to her knees, cradling a badly-burnt forearm.

'Master Oread!' I turned the corner of the wall, after seeing Falcon pull out a red potion and drained it with a few gulps. Oread was swinging the scythe freely and quickly – not as fast as some would be able to swing it, but faster than I had expected her to be capable of – shattering bones as the blade cleared a radius of several feet around her. With her being the main target, Falcon's minions and I made use of the distraction, and added a few kills of our own.

'Oread! Celadon! Step back!' Falcon's voice rang over the symphony of massacre. A chill overtook the surroundings, nearing us as it intensified. Oread, the wild minions and I retreated back to Falcon, as a small tornado ripped through the crowd of skeletons, filling up their empty bones with snow before ripping them apart into shards of ice.

I was slower than Oread, and a skeleton caught up with me as I ran. I heard the zipping noise of an arrow; knowing that it was too close to be dodged, I unsheathed the short sword and tried to somehow deflect it. The blade cut the arrow cleanly I half as I felt a sharp pain where my neck had just curved into my shoulder, just beyond where my shoulder plate ended. Before my eyes, the tornado ripped the skeleton apart.

Then all was still. For now.

'Celadon.' Oread's voice from behind me. I had dropped to the floor and was sitting down. I felt her thin fingers over the cut, and cringed. 'It's only shallow. If you hadn't deflected it, it would have buried itself straight through your neck.'

I shuddered as Oread's merciless words established meaning in my head. I heard another set of footsteps before Falcon squatted down in front of me. 'You all right?' She beamed.

I nodded. 'What was that?' Oread asked her.

Falcon's deep-azure eyes shone with pride as she replied. 'That was the Northern Winds agreeing to help us out a little. It's a blast, isn't it?' I looked at her left arm; it had stopped smoking and oozing, and there was little swelling. Still, the burn was blackened and looked raw and painful.

'Why didn't you do it before?' Oread asked, trying not to sound annoyed.

'I didn't have enough spiritual energy to make the exchange with the Winds. I had to supply it to the wolves first.' Her three wolves came to her, and she stroked them. Soleil nudged Falcon's face with her nose and whined, while the two cubs made soft grunting noises and lied down beside her. Her two Falcons also settled down, one upon her shoulder, the other on a metal ring upon the wall, originally intended to be used to support torches. Falcon's face was filled with innocent concern. 'Maybe we should take a short break before we go on; we seem to have cleared this level.'

'Agreed.' Oread got up slowly and walked to the wall beside us, and sank down onto the ground with her back to the wall. Then she began to breathe deeply and quickly.

'Are you okay?' I asked her, after re-plugging the half-emptied bottle of a health potion. She had a few bruises and cuts over her, as well as grey soot.

'My passive skills really came in great use just then.' She smiled distantly. 'I didn't get hit too many times, no. Don't worry.' Nevertheless, she took out a rather large bottle of health potion, and drained it very quickly. I realised that she was resting her left arm, and after she had tossed the empty bottle away, her right hand went to press on her left shoulder.

'Master Oread, are you really well enough to go on?' I asked after a few seconds of hesitation. 'Your injuries shouldn't have healed that soon – '

'I'm fine.' She did not allow me to continue. 'Shall we go? The sooner we get out of this darn stinking brewery, the better.' She got to her feet.

'Took the words right out of my mouth.' Falcon grinned and jumped to her feet quickly, before offering me a hand. 'Come on, Celadon.'

We held our breaths as we descended into the lowest level, but the spectacle – or there lack of – was anticlimactic. There were no monsters to greet us, and the place was relatively silent.

Suddenly, a few corpses, two skeletons and a Sand Raider came towards us. A few arrows, and seconds of the wolves' frantic mauling later, their mutilated bodies lied before us.

Falcon got up to examine the bodies, but as she crouched down to the Sand Raider, both Oread and I saw –

'Falcon! Watch out!' I screamed to her, and the wolves yelped and sprang. As she looked back questioningly, the Sand Raider lifted two of its arms, the knives held high.

But Oread was faster than any of us were – in fact, I think she had ran up to her before I had cried out – and before the Sand Raider could divide Falcon into three pieces, she had tackled her out of harm's way and returned with a few arrows, first freezing it then shattering it with another two arrows. While this happened, I did the same to the remaining corpses, who also took their turn to stand back up.

'Oh, I'm sorry, Oread…' Falcon's voice was soft, much unlike with her usual cheery tone. 'I didn't know.' She opened a bottle of health potion for her, and I saw what happened to Oread – it seemed that she was a little slow after all, and the Sand Raider had left a deep gash across her right thigh. However, this was not what caused her slight paleness and pain; she was on her feet, but slightly bowed over, her hands clutching at her shoulder and her side. She must have re-injured herself; the fragile, newly-re-knitted scar tissues must have been forced apart from her sudden movements.

'I thought I could hold it together if I'm careful enough.' Oread said apologetically. 'I guess what happened was uncalled for.'

'We have to return to town!' I said as I took out one of the scrolls I had with me, a Scroll of Town Portal, and broke the seal.

Suddenly, a sting of numbness hit me; blackness shrouded my vision for a split second. I felt the scroll disintegrate into frosty ashes within my hands, and when I regained my vision, I was falling backwards.

Before I could impact with anything hard, my back landed on something soft and furry, but tough. I was pushed forward, and as I regained my footing, Dusk, the brown wolf cub, came up beside me. His hair was on ends, and he was growling at the shadows before us.

I quickly cast Inner Sight, illuminating the shadows, and regretted it. Standing before us was an army of corpses and skeletons, with three Sand Raiders; and in the centre was a man-like figure, twice my height and with skin of acid-gold stretched thinly over the rock-hard bulges of its muscles.

I stretched my neck to look up to its head. What I saw was no more than an enormous, monstrous skull, with blue-green flames dancing in its hollow sockets.

'Too late.' Oread concluded, as Radament's undead army stormed towards us.