Wow. Thanks so much everyone, for the reviews!

I'd like to publicly thank Lady Elfdragon a.k.a. Virali for tickling Murex, my muse, and made him so happy that he worked overtime to come up with a whole new characterisation for the survivor in the Harem! She's dedicated to you, milady!

Of course, one should not forget the great reception that other characters got, especially Falcon… I'm really surprised at how loved she is, actually. Falcon, in turn, is dedicated to The Phrenologikal Cat a.k.a. Phreno.

This chapter is solely used for characterisation and development. I'm skimming over the battles at Tal Rasha's Tomb, because about twenty fights with uniques are just… too exhausting.

Disclaimer: Blizzard owns Diablo; Ophelion owns Murex.



Chapter 21: Tools of Slaughter

Screw manners. We had to get away from this place and I knew where Oread's tome of Town Portal scrolls was, so I took it out and activated one. The page crumbled into ash and blue smoke as the portal opened up. I returned the tome, and got ready to drag both Falcon and Oread through the portal. This was going to be hard work; I was exhausted.

I got Oread through, and went down the stairs to get Falcon, as well as Oread's bow that she had left behind. It was laborious to work my way up the stairs, but I just wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible.

As I shuffled past the altar towards the portal, I noticed the book atop the marble altar – it was a thick hardback book, covered by what looked like worn-out, scaly leather. A certain kind of… energy seemed to be emitting from it, one that was unlike the chaotic, delusional atmosphere of the Arcane Sanctuary; like the calm eye of a turbulent storm.

In any case, it might be important. I snatched it up, and quickly went through the Portal before Falcon could slip and fall from my other arm.

I was dead tired, but I had to alert someone that we were back, and there was something on my mind all this time – the child that we found in the Harem.

When I got to Fara's, I had to ram on the door for a minute or so before someone came. When the door finally opened I got ready to cuss and complain about the delayed response, but before I could look up at the person who opened the door, I was enveloped in a solid but gentle pair of arms.

"Oh, you're safe. You've been gone for a long time…"

"It's good to see you, Jerhyn." I hugged back, worrying, at the back of my head, about stains on his white garments.

"You're not hurt badly anywhere, are you?"

"I'll live, but I'm exhausted and need some help to get the others here. They're at the portal."

As it turned out, Cain, Atma and Drognan were also there. Drognan went with Jerhyn to get Oread and Falcon back, while Atma attended to me – Fara should better spend her energy on the other two.

I was chowing down on some supper that Atma made earlier when they returned. Falcon had regained her consciousness and was complaining loudly about her head and her back, but Oread was still out, with Jerhyn half-supporting, half-dragging her. At this sight there was a sharp tug at my chest – I later identified this as jealousy – but I quickly dismissed it and got up to help.

Fara performed her healing with the two lying on the benches in the living room; I wondered about the guestroom and the bed that Oread had occupied before, but thought better than to question her about accommodation. That would just sound plainly rude.

Oread woke up as Fara finished treating her injuries. We all went to sit around the table, Falcon, Oread and I sipping the medicinal drinks that Atma had prepared.

"You must be wondering why we're all here." Drognan began. "It's because of that survivor that you've found and rescued from the Palace."

"How is she?" Asked Oread; she was exhausted, and I could tell that even speech was an effort, but she must be concerned, considering her reactions back at the Harem.

"She's asleep in the room as we speak," Fara replied this time, leaning forward onto the table, her muscular forearms crossed before her. "Her condition's stable – she's suffered malnutrition for a long time, but she's hanging in there. Mentally, however, I can't tell for sure. She's suffering from extreme shock and anxiety, shaking uncontrollably until I've had to drug her and put her to sleep. We're going to have to keep a close eye on her, in the case where she might snap and do something… well, out of place.

"Physically she seems to be aged around ten. We gathered that she was probably born deaf, but her voice box had been forcibly removed. We've been trying to come up with a kind of a profile and figure out who she is, and we've got a pretty solid hypothesis."

It was Jerhyn who continued. "My sister and I escaped from the Palace sixteen years ago, when I was three. Since then, apart from you three, only two people had managed to come out of the place – one was a travelling warrior who escaped after he was maimed; he disappeared soon after. Another one was Drognan here."

He glanced at the mentioned mage, and Drognan accepted as the role of the speaker was passed onto him. "I was an indistinctive student of Horazon's, and that's all you need to know for now. Anyway, fourteen years ago, a female mage from the east, of the clan of Zann Esu – the commonfolks know people like her as 'Sorceresses' – arrived in our town and attempted to cleanse the Palace. She never returned.

"You may say that the child could have been born within the Harem after the corruption began, from a local woman who was already within the Palace at the time; however, there are things that set her apart from an offspring of the people around here. Now, this girl here has the brown skin of the Eastern people, but her small, narrow bone structure is a distinct characteristic of the Zann Esu clan and is contradictory to the more stoutly-built people in this region. Her hair is dark brown with golden strands here and there rather than the common even dark brown or black, and her eyes are maroon rather than other common dark shades."

Cain rolled out a parchment before him; there was an organic design drawn on it, with two smaller runes below it. "The most important point, though, is a large tattoo on her back, one that was burned into her skin by magic and coloured by blood. This is a copy of it here." Cain turned the parchment around to show us. "You see, this seems like a spontaneous, random design, but in fact it is made up by two runes overlapping one another, one upside-down, and the other upright. The upright one reads 'Tir', while the inverted reads 'Ral'.

"We've searched both the words of 'tirral' and 'raltir' in ancient literature, and only came up with one match – 'tirral' belongs to the sacred language of the Zann Esu clan, and it means 'leaf'. It's an ancient Zann Esu spell associated with the element of fire and pyrokinesis.

"The rune stones that you might have found have symbols that represent letters, and these sacred stones can be arranged and put into objects to give them additional magical qualities. Similarly, the runes may be carved into objects by a specially-trained magic-wielding craftsmen to grant them such qualities; but in any case, the object must already be enchanted to a certain degree, depending on the strength of the rune words, in order to utilise the rune-granted abilities.

"There is a practice of the Zann Esu that's deemed as a taboo and suicidal ritual, and the Zann Esu had banned such a practice, during which a person carves the runes into a human with her own blood, in order to awaken him or her with magical assets. The Sorceress must bleed to death in order to complete the ritual. This ritual had been thought to be extinct for a long time, because of the heavy punishments – anyone involved in the practice of it would be killed, their bodies thoroughly destroyed, and their families banished from the Zann Esu."

"From what we've gathered, like the prerequisite associated with runes on objects, this ritual would not work on someone who has no skill in magic." Drognan's sentence flowed on flawlessly as Cain's speech took a brief pause. "From the physical age of the child, as well as her unusual hair and eye colour, we've deduced that she must be the product of the interbreeding between the Sorceress and a human-turned-demon, and so her demonic blood would allow the ritual to take effect. The pyrokinetic abilities may be awakened when she is under threat – we're uncertain how she would know how to use the magic – and that might be what has enabled her to stay alive for so long."

The speech concluded; we stayed silent for a long time, arranging and revising the information that our tired minds had just been forced to process.

After what felt like a few minutes, Oread spoke. "So, the girl is a weapon."

She pushed the chair back and got up.

And bolted towards the guestroom, taking her spear with her.

"Oread!" A few people cried out, including me. Jerhyn was the quickest on his feet, and by the time we caught up, he had drawn back the curtain at the doorway of the room, and Oread's spear was within two inches of the girl's chest.

Either the girl was drained dry of her powers at the moment, or the ability could only be awakened when she was conscious.

"We don't understand what the girl can do." Oread stated, coldly, softly. "She's a part-demon, and a threat to all of our safety. We can't have her just hanging around here."

"Oread, you wanted her to live!" Falcon shouted, seemingly angry at her.

"I should have killed her back there in the Palace." Oread's face was expressionless, her voice icy and flat. I recognised this as a denial and detachment of her own emotions. She did, and would later do this often in order to get the job done.

I also realised that by now, in this state, she was not going to hesitate in killing the child.

I ran up and took the spear in my hand, placing myself between my master and the child. Oread's features softened, just by a little, and some human emotions returned to her eyes. "Celadon, move aside." She ordered.

"We'll take her with us." I was holding the tip of the spear at my throat; I was worried that Oread might be heartless enough to take me with the child, but the softening of her face assured me otherwise. "I'll watch her. I'll sleep in the same room with her and take her with me around the place. If she does threaten us somehow, I'll kill her myself. Until then, I won't let an innocent victim like her die if I can help it, even if it means that I have to disobey you, master. It's just not right."

Oread and I locked our gazes for a moment, and then she pulled away – both her spear and her eyes. "If you fail, if you don't do what's necessary, Celadon, I will. Even if it means taking you down in the process." She swept her eyes – her bloodshot but fierce eyes – across everyone else. "If anything becomes a burden, anything at all, and it's blocking my way, I'll move it."

Despite how worn out she was, she managed to walk out and back to the inn.

After she left, that was when I realised – the bruise on her forehead had faded completely, her weak aura had returned to the shade of indigo, but the smell of crimson, however faint, had not disappeared.


We rested and recuperated. The child had woken up the next day. She was very sensitive to light, and seemed to have a huge fear of crowds and, oddly, loud noises – although she did not hear it, she still cringed every time there was a bang of the door or someone shouting. I tried to talk to her, and after three days she finally looked me in the eye. I brought her to the inn with me and got a room with two beds at first, but after the persistent nightmares, I moved to one with a larger bed and hugged her close while she slept and I tried to do the same.

"You'll make a great mother, Celadon." Jerhyn commented as I yawned repeatedly during our conversations.

I wondered often, during the long sleepless nights as the child twitched and quivered in my arms, like a dragonfly with torn wings trying to fly…

How was it like to be born into a life of abuse, fear and pain? To be born into utter darkness, where all that you saw, day-to-day, were people being tortured and ripped apart in more ways than one, and all that you knew were death and darkness?

I also thought about her mother, about how it must have felt to be captured and raped, to realise the doom that awaits her, to give birth to a child that she did not want to have in chilling darkness, the hard stone wall the only thing supporting her, the scream-filled air the only thing embracing her.

How desperate would a mother feel? So much so that she finally had to sacrifice her own life, and possibly those of her family back home, for the slim chance that her child might survive?

In this world we live in, is a warrior's identity more than that is told by the piles of slain bodies of the enemy? Yes, but this fact is oft-forgotten. To the outside, each life engaged in battles is just another tool of slaughter.

Perhaps Oread had the right idea, the more sensible idea. But to me, this child was much more than that.


I brought up the book that I found at the Arcane Sanctuary with Oread and Falcon, and together we brought it to Cain and Drognan. It was in the same old language as that on the tablet that opened the portal to the Arcane Sanctuary, but I thought perhaps Oread would not remember the incident. Every time the icy blue aura came about, she would later forget all that she did with the aura.

Though I wondered if it was the same with the crimson aura; after all, I could still smell it.

It turned out that Horazon was killed a few years ago, but he had completed his studies on the link between Tal Rasha and the corruption of the deserts, and recorded them in this book. Drognan had discussed this with Jerhyn and Cain, and found that Diablo himself must have passed through the deserts, disguised, and tried to wreck havoc. Tal Rasha was a great Horadrim – I have finally figured that part out after such a long time; Cain always spoke about him, but I never bothered to ask – who had passed away a short time ago. He had famously built seven tombs and sacrificed himself in one of them, in order to strengthen the seal that kept Baal, as well as most of the powers of his brothers Mephisto and Diablo imprisoned. Diablo had not managed to break the seal, but he had weakened it somehow.

Cain went onto explaining that the book contained the symbol of the true tomb of Tal Rasha, and if we wanted to help stop the corruption and chaos that was getting worse day-by-day here in Lut Gholein, we must seek out Tal Rasha's tomb and investigate thereon.

So we prepared to set out within a week. Cain had also mentioned that since Tal Rasha was a Horadrim, the Horadric Staff may play some role in this mission. Falcon was not pleased, but she later went and bought a nice staff with a deadly, spiked, metal adornment at one end that looked like quite a perfect replacement for the Horadric Staff (of course, it was nowhere as enchanted), as well as a small blade that was a little longer than my own short sword.

"But… honestly, Falcon, you're… not very proficient with the blade." I just had to remind her of this fact.

She just smiled and continued to polish her weapons.

Two days after we were deemed to be sufficiently recovered, we were still hanging around town. Not a word was said as to when we were to set out again; Oread was as quiet as usual, but she was quiet even to me. Even Falcon was not smiling as much, or as heartily. There was much danger in this mission, and without a word being said about this, we had all perceived it.

The only person that assured me otherwise was Jerhyn. I would talk to him, and become stressed and worried, then he would hug me close and whisper that he believed in my abilities; that it would be all right in the end.

Perhaps I knew that it was false hope, and perhaps he did, too… but it was nice to know that somebody was still at least trying to look at the bright side.

I often tried to mirror his smile, but when Oread and Falcon finally agreed to set out the following morning, I could not help but think back to the fight with Andariel, when I was still oblivious and unfamiliar to the notion of danger, and its intimacy with this journey. I have learnt since then, and I thought I had learnt the hard way – that was then, I would later find that there were harder ways that that – of the closeness of death to a warrior in this world, this which we called the Sanctuary.

So that night, I broke down. I cried and cried, my tears soaking the front of Jerhyn's tunic. He just hugged me, ran his hands down my back in a soothing motion, and lifted my head with a gentle hand after I calmed down a little.

"I know that you'll live through this, Celadon." He said.

"My master almost died last time we faced Andariel, and this time we don't even know what we're up against!" I retorted, tears welling up again. "Jerhyn, you know I trust you with everything. If anything happens to me, will you please make sure that the child is safe?"

"You're talking as if it's your last night – "

"What if it is?"

"Then," Jerhyn reached out and brushed my bangs – they were getting longer – off my face, then he leaned in and kissed me softy on the lips. I kissed him back. "We'll make the most of it."

We kissed again, our hands working over the contours of one another's face and body, locking the tactile sensations into our memories. The image of us being in the same bed flashed in my mind, but I knew that would be irresponsible. I wanted him to have the best in his life, and I knew that a travelling mercenary, such as me, in this perilous world, was not a good match for anyone. I would only leave him tied to an unattainable love, if not, a corpse. Perhaps this passion was only forced by desperation, like a plant blossoming when it senses its own approaching doom.

But for tonight, just for one night, we could at least pretend that we were lovers.


In Horazon's journal, there contained a page of inscriptions that opened up a portal, coloured a liquid-like silver-grey. This portal led to the Canyon of the Magi, and we accessed the tomb with the right symbol marked upon it – again, this was recorded in the journal.

We battled; battled like mad. There was a time when I felt like a simple tool, where all I did was identify the enemy and eliminate them. My mind was elsewhere, back in Westmarch, revisiting my first battles, the fallen town of Tristram, the Forgotten Tower, my mother's body, and all that happened within the holy confinements of the Rogue Monastery.

Where had all those feelings gone? I remembered feeling guilty and ashamed every time I took a life. Now, plunging my sword through the chest of another foe, its lungs welling up with blood as it drowned in its own fluids, all I could sense was the smell of metal, the colour of red, and the dull thud of the body.

Every time one kills, one also kills a part of one's self. That was what I had learnt since then.

As we stood before the Tomb of Tal Rasha, the wall being blasted open by the concentrated force of the disintegrating Horadric Staff, I was surprised to find that I was not nervous. Alert, but not nervous.

The light faded, and the hole before us led to a place that seemed as dark and distant as my own emotions were. Little did I know that the emotions would later return, in only a few days' time, and it would come back with full force.

But for now, the battle was here, outside my mind, and my body only knew that it had to take me there, whether my mind liked it or not.