The world of Diablo belongs to Blizzard Entertainment and Blizzard North (as if there's a difference), but this story and its characters, with a few exceptions, belong to me.
Untitled (so far)
Prologue
Blood. It trickled down his face and into his eyes until his vision was awash with red. The colored sea before him blurred with figures that hissed and roared; terrible creatures that had no place in the world. He fought them, charging into battle and roaring in kind. In his path, many of the beasts fell to his enormous axe Sleidnr.
H'Taro of the Barbarian tribes fought wildly, swinging his giant weapon, which was nearly his own full height of seven feet, three inches. As the attackers' numbers dwindled, he lapsed from his berserk state and began to take in more of his surroundings once again. The Druid whose name he still could not remember had shape shifted into a wolf man and was tearing at throats, clawing at vital points, and snarling with rage. It was a ghastly scene, the wake of their battle, but watching the Druid work satisfied him in a grim way, and H'Taro laughed heartily before entering the fray once again with abandon.
Both warriors at heart, the two men were perfectly at home hacking their way through an army of enemies, no matter what the odds. However, their companion, who kept away from the devastation, casting spells and aiding them with runic talismans, was far too weak to be mired in melee combat. A Necromancer, the young man used poisons and a small army of resurrected skeletons to help slay their enemies.
Much more aware now, H'Taro worked diligently at finishing the battle as quickly as possible, for the boy was clearly tiring. His frail constitution caused him to drain his energy quickly when casting too many spells. This battle was taxing his every reserve.
However, the beasts of the desert just kept coming. There were piles of their dead all over the sandy ground, and yet there seemed no end to those remaining. The Barbarian began to grow desperate. It did not look as though the young man could handle any more, and once he wore himself out, his skeletons would cease to exist and he would have no defense against the hoards. H'Taro and the Druid were surrounded and unable to protect him.
The other man began to catch wind of their dilemma as well. Looking back toward the boy, he called out to H'Taro in a desperate tone, but what he said could not be heard over the din of the ravenous throng. H'Taro knew what it was about though. Spent of his energy, the young Necromancer would be having another one of his fits. When this happened, it became difficult for him to breathe, and his entire body shook with fever. However, unable to allow his friends to be overtaken by their adversaries, the lad would attempt to continue to control his minions. To stop him from killing himself, H'Taro turned to him to shout, but before he could utter a single word, something happened.
The boy had been on his knees, heaving and hacking. An arm had still been raised, bidding the undead things under his control to keep up the fight. But then the arm dropped.
Just when the two warriors thought they were too late, the slumped form of the boy floated to its feet with a demonic glow. It was something H'Taro had seen a time or two since he had met the boy. He breathed uneasily, wondering if Lok would survive this time.
With a blank, almost empty expression on his face, the Necromancer raised his arms toward the sky and darkness fell over the desert. Thunder rolled through the land, causing beast and man alike to step back, frightened and completely awed of the spectacle. Among the beasts rose each and every one of their dead brethren. Vulture Demons and Sand Leapers shrieked, Swarms scattered to the winds, and Scarabs and Saber Cats tried to flee, but their undead ilk slew them where they stood pushing against one another to get away.
In moments, it was all over. The sky returned to its natural color, the clouds drifted away as quickly as they had gathered, and the boy, finished his task, collapsed once again to the ground. The older men held still for several minutes, looking around them at the outcome of the boy's loss of control. The butt of H'Taro's great axe hit the ground, and he leaned against it and whistled. Giant of a man that he was, he made quite an intimidating impression. Old and grizzled, he could nevertheless still do battle as fervently as he had in his prime. He returned Sleidnr to its strap across his back and rushed to Lok's side.
"He is alive," he sighed, relieved.
"Poor fools didn't know when they were already dead," the Druid sniffed.
"They were probably frightened by the strange things that have been happening in the world. I cannot imagine what else might have driven them to attack so mindlessly. I have not seen it this bad since the days of Baal and his two infernal siblings…" H'Taro mused.
"I did not think it possible of such a fragile boy, but you were right" the Druid remarked after a moment's pause, "he is quite the little powerhouse." His eyebrow rose in amusement.
"I hate it when this happens," H'Taro muttered, concerned for Lok, "you, my young friend, are certainly a handful." He scooped the boy up into his arms, and the party left the graveyard they had created.