Chapter 1: Ashes to ashes
"In other words," continued the Paladin, "you're saying that Tristram has fallen?" The young Paladin, none to worthy of his title, but nonetheless a Paladin, gripped his sword tightly in fear.
"Now young master Garret, your training with the Zakarum Order hasn't ended. Besides, there are thousands of foul demons and Barbarians." "Hey! I heard that you little man!" sounded a voice from behind them.
Towering over Garret and the portly little man stood a 6 and a half-foot man, clad in heavy plate armor, stained crimson with crusty blood of his foes. He wielded a hammer and a larger great sword held in their respective scabbards. A huge axe, engraved with runes and sorts, which at one time was supposedly a weapon of the Barbarian war god, Bul-Kathos.
This Barbarian, Araikdorn, simply chuckled. "Ha, master Garret needn't worry. If you haven't heard, that old coot, Deckard Cain came back to the Monastery. He says two of the three Evils"-(the old man shuddered at these words)-"Mephisto and Diablo are dead. Tristram may never be saved however."
In a much lower, conspiratorial tone, he continued, "Rumor has it that the rift between our world and Hell was never sealed."
"What the hell?" Garret exclaimed. He startled a nearby-cloaked man, who just grunted back. Araikdorn said quickly, "Don't worry, a couple of people are heading there tonight to seal it as best we can."
Day past to quickly for Garret, well into the night, he awoke. The night sealed the house in a sort of aura, a dreamlike state of silence. He slipped into the storeroom undetected.
He fumbled inside, but only found his chain mail, shield and mace. Outside, he heard voices and saw torches. A shape transformed, unseen through the window. Garret raised his mace to strike the shapeless form, which was.
Araikdorn's head popped in. Alarmed to see his friend wield a mace, he quickly said, "Blast it! You think you know a guy until they got a mace. C'mon, the 'hunting party' is ready to leave." He turned his head a little and quickly shut his eyes. "For God's sake man! Are you really going to face the power of evil with out pants?" Garret nodded, chuckled and pulled on his pants and covered his armor in a cloak: armor protects from cold blades, not the cold itself.
A good party met outside under the torches. An Amazon and Assassin appeared to be the only women in the 20-member group. Garret held his torch high to see the leader of the group (Araikdorn warned, "Please don't burn my face with that thank you."). He gasped at the results. The cloaked figure from that day was a leader, and not just that, was a Mage killer, or Assassin. A male one at that.
The cloaked figure simply pointed out the way through the Tamoe Highlands. The uneventful trip lasted well into the night. They met no opposition from monsters, which appeared to just been abandoned. Only the trees in the wind made a sound.
After a good 3 hours, the group cautiously marched into the Stony Field. Nothing met them, nothing made a sound. Nothing seemed right.
The Cairn Stones, the only safe mode of transportation to Tristram, was open. The red swirling portal gleamed at them innocently. A man stood by it, a humbled man hunched over with a staff. He smiled and said to the crowd, "Where is Nizgar?"
To be continued.
"In other words," continued the Paladin, "you're saying that Tristram has fallen?" The young Paladin, none to worthy of his title, but nonetheless a Paladin, gripped his sword tightly in fear.
"Now young master Garret, your training with the Zakarum Order hasn't ended. Besides, there are thousands of foul demons and Barbarians." "Hey! I heard that you little man!" sounded a voice from behind them.
Towering over Garret and the portly little man stood a 6 and a half-foot man, clad in heavy plate armor, stained crimson with crusty blood of his foes. He wielded a hammer and a larger great sword held in their respective scabbards. A huge axe, engraved with runes and sorts, which at one time was supposedly a weapon of the Barbarian war god, Bul-Kathos.
This Barbarian, Araikdorn, simply chuckled. "Ha, master Garret needn't worry. If you haven't heard, that old coot, Deckard Cain came back to the Monastery. He says two of the three Evils"-(the old man shuddered at these words)-"Mephisto and Diablo are dead. Tristram may never be saved however."
In a much lower, conspiratorial tone, he continued, "Rumor has it that the rift between our world and Hell was never sealed."
"What the hell?" Garret exclaimed. He startled a nearby-cloaked man, who just grunted back. Araikdorn said quickly, "Don't worry, a couple of people are heading there tonight to seal it as best we can."
Day past to quickly for Garret, well into the night, he awoke. The night sealed the house in a sort of aura, a dreamlike state of silence. He slipped into the storeroom undetected.
He fumbled inside, but only found his chain mail, shield and mace. Outside, he heard voices and saw torches. A shape transformed, unseen through the window. Garret raised his mace to strike the shapeless form, which was.
Araikdorn's head popped in. Alarmed to see his friend wield a mace, he quickly said, "Blast it! You think you know a guy until they got a mace. C'mon, the 'hunting party' is ready to leave." He turned his head a little and quickly shut his eyes. "For God's sake man! Are you really going to face the power of evil with out pants?" Garret nodded, chuckled and pulled on his pants and covered his armor in a cloak: armor protects from cold blades, not the cold itself.
A good party met outside under the torches. An Amazon and Assassin appeared to be the only women in the 20-member group. Garret held his torch high to see the leader of the group (Araikdorn warned, "Please don't burn my face with that thank you."). He gasped at the results. The cloaked figure from that day was a leader, and not just that, was a Mage killer, or Assassin. A male one at that.
The cloaked figure simply pointed out the way through the Tamoe Highlands. The uneventful trip lasted well into the night. They met no opposition from monsters, which appeared to just been abandoned. Only the trees in the wind made a sound.
After a good 3 hours, the group cautiously marched into the Stony Field. Nothing met them, nothing made a sound. Nothing seemed right.
The Cairn Stones, the only safe mode of transportation to Tristram, was open. The red swirling portal gleamed at them innocently. A man stood by it, a humbled man hunched over with a staff. He smiled and said to the crowd, "Where is Nizgar?"
To be continued.