I don’t own Diablo

I don’t own Diablo.

Author: The Gar’En

Homepage: http://www.geocities.com/darkforcepro

Well, this part really isn’t too exciting, and the title doesn’t fit too well. I expected more to happen, but I decided I’d just cut it off where I did. I didn’t cut anything out of the actual story, I just divided a would-be part 2 into part 2 and 3.

A Hollow Victory

Part 2: The City of the Dead

Even though Mephisto was gone from the mortal realm, the jungles of Kehjistan where he had reigned were still infested with evil and were still far from safe. The jungle was supposedly in recovery, but a place would take many years of healing to forget the presence of the Lord of Hatred. Some doubted that the jungle would ever be as it was, and there was even talk of evacuating the Kurast docks. In any case, no one had left the docks yet, so there were still plenty of people there when one of the mystical gateways of the Horadrim, known to the uninitiated as Town Portals, opened in the docks. The gateway vanished as the four heroes emerged. While any practicing mage could invoke the nearest Portal, Cain was the only man alive who knew how to access any Portal from any point. This was one of the benefits of having an initiate of the Horadrim travel with you, and Cain and his three young comrades had been able to travel from Barok’s village to the docks in a matter of minutes.

Barok looked around at the dilapidated settlement, frowning. “Looks to me like this place hasn’t changed much.”

“Your perceptions do not lie, warrior,” a wise, familiar voice said. The group turned to see a shaman of the native, Skatsimi people of Kehjistan, dressed very lightly and holding an elaborate staff in his hand.

“Greetings, Ormus,” Cain offered. He noted the complete lack of surprise on the Skatsimi shaman’s face. “You were not expecting us, were you?”

“Ormus did not expect you to return. But he did pray for you to come, and you have answered his prayers,” Ormus said, referring to himself in the third person.

“Why? What has happened since we left?” Marn asked quickly. She didn’t like the look of the situation at all so far.

“The grief of the jungle has not died in the absence of Mephisto. The dead walk from their graves and strike at the living, and we dare not set foot near Kurast,” Ormus said. “Ormus thinks that there is yet a great evil in our lands. Can you not feel it?”

“Are you sure, Ormus?” Velanna argued. “The undead were the lead of Mephisto’s minions. It may take months more for the energies that animate them to expire.”

“Ormus has thought of this,” the shaman said. “But he doubts it is so. The undead very rarely exist without a master, and you have seen to it personally that Mephiso no longer walks this world. Ormus thinks that this is not the work of a Prime Evil, but rather that this is the conjuring of a human necromancer.”

Those words were both a comfort and a terror to the four adventurers. That the offender was mortal meant that his powers could not be too extreme, and that he could be feasibly dealt with. But it also implied a variety of things, none of which were definite, but none of which were good.

“Ormus suggests that you go quickly to the City of the Rathma, the hub of mortal necromancy. If his fears are true, then the evil that now plagues the jungle has at least a root in that City,” the shaman concluded.

“We were on our way there, anyway,” Barok said. “We’re looking for Tol’Rath. Remember him?”

“Your necromancer friend. Yes, Ormus and he spoke much during your days here. They spoke of Ormus’s stock of wands and his stock of legends. The necromancer seemed particularly interested in Ormus’s stories concerning the World Beast.”

“The what?” Marn asked.

“Trag’Oul, a dragon that carries the world on its back in the mythology of Rathma,” Cain said. “It is no surprise that Tol’Rath would be interested in the legends. It is his religion.”

“Have you heard anything from Tol’Rath, Ormus?” Velanna asked hopefully.

“Indeed. And Ormus may yet be able to help you in locating him,” the shaman replied, giving the group some hope to go by. “After the defeat of Baal, the necromancer passed through here on his way home. He gave Ormus a map, describing the way to the underground city.” He withdrew a scroll from his belt. “This is that map. You are truly fortunate; mortal men have never known the location of the city, save to those who live there. Tol’Rath must have had great trust with you,” Ormus finished as he handed over the map.

“Could have fooled me,” Marn said callously. There had always been friction between her and the necromancer, almost as great as the bitterness between Tol’Rath and the paladin, Luther. Marn and Tol’Rath simply disagreed on many points(albeit very many); with Luther, both men conflicted with the other’s personal and religious beliefs, which led to untold arguments. They were the only ones who found the necromancer especially unpleasant, though. Indeed, Velanna’s thoughts towards Tol’Rath were as far from Marn’s as possible…

“He was raised in the company of death. It is hardly his fault if he seems a little dark,” the sorceress disagreed readily.

Marn gave an exasperated sigh, recognizing the glint she saw in Velanna’s eyes. “Gods, I wish I knew what you saw in that creature.”

Velanna made no retort to this, only blushing ever so slightly. The sorceress was aged roughly 20 years, not much older than Luther and not much younger than Tol’Rath(though the necromancer acted much older. Growing up in the City of Rathma always brought about an early maturity). Marn and Barok were older, more seasoned warriors, both aged somewhere between 30 and 40 years. Marn and Barok respected each other’s prowess as warriors, but nothing else. Luther had taken a voluntary vow of celibacy years before, in an attempt to rid himself of temptation, leaving any sort of relationship with anyone out of the question. But while Tol’Rath seemed oblivious to Velanna’s feelings for him, it was an established fact for everyone else that the sorceress loved him so much it hurt.

“Ah, to be young again,” Cain said, giving a thoughtful smile for a moment. “But come, friends, we mustn’t forget our purpose. Time is of the essence.”

Barok nodded, unrolling the map in his hands. Cain noted the baffled look on his face as he saw the map, and walked over to take a look himself. The rest of the group, including Ormus, gathered around to look at the parchment.

“What kind of language is this thing in?” Barok frustrated as he looked over the assortment of odd symbols. He wasn’t even sure what symbols were letters or words and which ones were landmarks on the map.

“It is the language of the priests of Rathma,” Cain said as he looked at it. “I am afraid that even I know little of it.”

“Wonderful,” Marn said sarcastically. “Now we have a map we can’t even follow. Well, I’m open to suggestions.”

After a pause, Ormus spoke. “Ormus may be able to help,” the shaman replied, seemingly reluctant to volunteer himself. “Over the years, he has learned a good deal of the language of the Death Priests from their trafficking in this place.”

“You can read the map, then?” Velanna asked hopefully.

“He can,” Ormus said, again with an apparent unwillingness. “If you truly need a guide to interpret the map, Ormus shall come with you. But be warned, as has been said, the jungle is perhaps just as dangerous as it was under Mephisto. Keep your wits and your weapons about you.”

“Very well, then we must leave at once,” Cain said. “Time is of the essence...”

Ormus had told the truth; the jungle of Kehjistan was still incredibly dangerous. Only a day’s march found the heroes fending off monstrosities of every shape and size, many of which were familiar to the wanderers from their first trek through Kehjistan. The familiarity didn’t make the terrors any less dangerous, though, and it was a miracle, as always, that they made it through alive.

Finally, after having to spend three hellish nights in the jungle, the group arrived in front of a tall, foreboding mountain. It was a large, jagged crag, occasionally becoming blindingly bright with the reflection of the lightning bolts that now danced in the sky. Storm clouds were gathered overhead and it rained hard, a common site in the rain forest. Ormus, usually resolute and unflinching, strangely seemed disturbed by the rain.

“What’s wrong?” Marn asked, noting the look of unease on Ormus’s face.

“The rain. As children, the Skatsimi are wisely taught to stay near their homes when the rain comes. For when one hears the fall of the raindrops, one cannot hear enemies approaching.”

“It matters little. If I read this map correctly, we have come to our destination,” Cain said, looking at the parchment, trying his best to shield it from the rain. Ormus had been able to teach him a little of the language of the map, and while Cain still only knew a speckling of the language of Rathma, he still knew enough to read the map.

“That is correct,” Ormus said, seeming a little relieved. He took a look at the map himself, then turned to the three younger adventurers. “Move the ivy aside,” the shaman said, pointing to a section of wild plant growth that had climbed up the wall of the mountain. Barok, Marn, and Velanna obeyed, pulling the vegetation apart like a curtain. Still, there seemed nothing underneath but a sheet of bare, wet rock.

“No entrance,” Barok observed. “Do you think Tol’Rath gave us bad directions?”

“That does not seem like him,” Velanna said. She seemed worried. “Do you…think we’re too late? Maybe there was a cave in...” her voice trailed off.

“That remains to be seen. There is not supposed to be any visual entrance,” Cain said. He approached the entrance, standing as straight as he could while still leaning on his staff for support. He cleared his throat and, reading off the map, spoke loudly and clearly:

“Eld homaro belendal, sircu viz delvatonthon.”

Immediately, there was a noticeable change in the stone. There was a very straight line going down the middle that no one had seen before, and the line grew larger as the stones slid apart, revealing a dark, spiraling staircase leading downwards.

“There you are,” Cain said proudly. “Now, we go forth, into a place where no uninitiated man has ever gone.”

“You first,” Velanna said to Barok, who in his almost blind courage was already on the top of the staircase.

“Ormus wishes you luck, heroes,” Ormus said, keeping his distance from the entrance. “May you find the city and your friend as well in good health.”

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Marn asked, right behind Barok.

“This is as far as he shall go with you,” Ormus said. “I have interpreted your map, and I doubt you shall have need for an interpreter in the city. Though no man who was not born there has ever seen this place, Ormus has no wish to enter. He has heard things of it that he has no intention for seeing himself.” With that, he closed his eyes and held out his staff, conjuring a blue portal of light. “When you leave, please return to the docks with news of your adventure, be it happy or sad.”

“Very well. May we meet again soon, and with good news,” Cain wished.

“May the Light guide your way,” Ormus wished as he stepped through the Town Portal, returning to the docks. The portal vanished behind him.

“Let us go,” Velanna said as the four began their downward trek...

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Coming soon: our heroes travel down into the bowels of the world, finally entering into the long-lost City of Rathma, and none can imagine the terror and surprises that wait for them there. And while they have thought little of him, the reader must wonder what has become of Luther the paladin. And what of Tol’Rath, the heretofore unseen necromancer? You shall have your answers in Part 3 of A Hollow Victory: Ambush.