Disclaimer: Diablo is property of Blizzard Entertainment. No money is being made from this.
This is my first Diablo FF, so PLEASE be gentle. Please?
Chapter 1 – The Den of Evil
A cloaked man wandered, seemingly aimlessly through the plains of Westmarch. Clutching a wooden wand in one hand, and a bloody bag in the other, he dragged his feet through the mud as he made his way to a nearby encampment. When he had gotten no closer than fifteen paces from the encampment entrance, an arrow shot at the ground near his foot, stopping his progress.
"Halt!" a feminine voice shouted. The man looked up towards the source of the voice. It was a woman, no older than twenty-five. Her body was covered with leather, although most of her legs and arms were exposed. Her hair was limp and wet, most likely from the rain that had passed mere minutes before. She had a bow in her hand, drawn and ready to fire. "Who goes there?"
"I am a weary traveler, seeking shelter from the wilderness!" the man shouted in reply. "I humbly request that you allow me sanctuary within your encampment!"
For a moment, he received no response.
"I cannot let you into the encampment!" the guard shouted at last. The man sighed; he knew that it wouldn't be this easy. Slipping his wand into his belt, he reached into his bag.
"Perhaps this will allow me entry!" he shouted. He pulled out a long length of rope, approximately seven feet in length, from his bag. And strung along the rope were the decapitated heads of six Fallen demons, their faces contorted to the ugly grimaces of death.
He waited, holding the grim trophies high, waiting for a response. Finally, the woman lowered her bow. Putting the string of heads back into his bag, he walked past her without a word, dropping the sack at her feet. The man looked around at the humble sight before him.
There were several tents set up around the camp. Near the entrance was a large campfire, being tended by a man in loose blue clothes. Standing near the fire was a redheaded woman dressed in chain mail, who emanated an aura of strength around her. She was obviously the captain of the archers.
Further into the encampment, there was a large wagon behind a round man dressed in white, with a towel around his neck, laughing heartily at himself.
At the very back was a makeshift smithy, with a large blonde woman hammering at a sword. Her body seemed to be made from pure muscle.
To the right was a tent with a small cauldron bubbling, along with various trinkets. But there seemed to be no one there.
The man sat down on a large chest next to the fire, ignoring the look of obvious displeasure coming from the woman. The man in the blue clothes looked up and smiled cheerfully.
"Greetings, stranger! I am Warriv," he said, extending his hand. Hesitantly, the hooded man took it.
"Korven," he said simply. Warriv took out a small loaf of bread and tore it in two, offering half to Korven. He took the offering and nibbled at the hard bread without a word.
"Where did my seat come from?" Korven asked suddenly. Warriv, his mouth full of bread, looked confused for a moment, then looked down at the chest Korven was sitting on, and shrugged.
"'Twas hear when I arrived some two months ago. I don't know who owned it before, but I've seen no one claim it." They continued to eat in silence until a woman in purple robes walked towards them.
"May I see you in my tent, stranger?" the woman asked, her features hidden by her hood. Korven merely nodded in agreement, before offering his unfinished bread back to Warriv.
When Korven and the old woman walked into her tent, he saw various ingredients for potion making on little shelves and hanging from the poles. There were also various scented candles strewn throughout the tent. Sitting down on a fur mat, the woman lowered her hood. She was an older woman, easily in her fifties, but unnamed horrors had taken their toll on her, making her appear much older. Her hair was short and black, with white mixed in. She looked up at Korven with her gray eyes and offered a seat. He sat down and lowered his hood. His hair was long and white, but his skin was pale and drawn tightly against his face, making it unclear as to his age.
The woman looked at him, her face betraying no emotion.
"I am Akara, High Priestess of the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye. You are a priest of Rathma, are you not?" Korven merely nodded in confirmation. "I believed so, traveler. I welcome you to our camp, but I'm afraid I can offer you but poor shelter within these rickety walls. You see, our ancient Sisterhood has fallen under a strange curse. The mighty Citadel from which we have guarded the gates to the East for generations has been corrupted by the evil Demoness, Andariel." Then, tears started welling up in Akara's eyes. "I still can't believe it…but she turned many of our sister Rogues against us and drove us from our ancestral home. Now the last defenders of our Sisterhood are either dead or scattered throughout the wilderness. I implore you, stranger. Please help us. Find a way to list this curse and we will pledge our loyalty to you for all time."
Korven bowed his head in respect. "By the glory of Trang-Oul, I will help you in any way I can, Priestess Akara."
Akara remained silent, although she seemed pensive. Finally, she spoke up.
"I do not care for your practices, Necromancer, but as a fellow practitioner in the magicks, I respect the powers at your disposal, and any help is welcome. So therefore, I shall speak to you in a matter I have been hesitant about.
"There is a place of great evil in the wilderness. Kashya's rogue scouts have informed me that a cave nearby is filled with shadowy creatures and horrors from beyond the grave. I fear that these creatures are massing for an attack against our encampment. If you are sincere about helping us, find the dark labyrinth and destroy the foul beasts. May the Great Eye be with you." She also offered two scrolls, one in red and the other in blue. Taking the scrolls, Korven bowed his head, and left the tent.
As he walked to the chest, Korven heard two women arguing. Figuring it was none of his concern, he simply ignored it.
Korven opened the chest and, seeing that it was empty, took off his cloak and flung it in. Not dressed in only gray pants, an open black leather shirt, and simple cloth shoes, Korven strapped on a small buckler and walked out of the encampment.
Korven turned around to see the string of heads that he had brought had been hung over the wall, probably as a ward against other demons who tried to attack. Grinning to himself, he muttered, "All who oppose me, beware."
About quarter of a mile from the encampment, Korven found the small Fallen camp that he had decimated hours before.
Six of the corpses had been decapitated, and would serve Korven no use. There was one corpse, however, that was intact, and would serve his purposes well. Shooing away the scavengers that had congregated to feast on the rotting flesh, Korven began his ritual on the Fallen corpse.
"Orior oriri ortus quod victum meus hostilis," he chanted, shaking his wand over the corpse as he did so, and then stepped back.
At first, nothing happened. Then the body started convulsing, and blood and gore exploded around as the small demon's skeleton tore itself from its flesh. The bones began to lengthen and alter their shape, until a perfect human skeleton stood before Korven, armed with a simple hatchet made from bone.
Satisfied with his work, Korven walked deeper into the wilderness, his undead servant following mutely behind him.
Korven wandered through the bloody moor for what seemed like hours. Korven and his skeleton companion had slaughtered countless Fallen, Quill Rats, and even a few Zombies, but beyond a few pieces of gold and a leather shirt that offered some form of protection for his exposed chest, Korven reaped little reward for his efforts, and certainly did not find this alleged "Den of Evil" that he had been sent to cleanse.
Thinking that this endeavor had simply been a story fabricated to get him killed, or at least away from the encampment, the frustrated Necromancer began his journey back to sanctuary, when he saw a cave mouth. It was so large, that Korven mentally chastised himself for not finding it sooner. Crude images of skulls and horned demons were painted on the surrounding rock.
Stepping closer, Korven sensed an aura of evil emanating from the dark pit.
Figuring that this was the Den of Evil, Korven slowly walked into the den, his Skeleton following him.
Even with his eyes used to darkness, Korven found it difficult to see in the dank cave. Sending his Skeleton ahead of him, Korven cautiously explored the cave.
It wasn't long before Korven spotted a campfire, the high-pitched shouts of "Colenzo!" and "Rakanishu!" deeming it a Fallen camp.
Korven quietly snuck up on the red demons. Holding out his wand, he muttered a spell. "Bis poena," the Necromancer whispered, and ethereal flames started dancing around the demons' heads.
While they looked around in confusion, jibbering in their strange tongues, the Skeleton walked up and swungs its hatchet, nearly cleaving the nearest Fallen in two. Korven grinned to himself; the Amplify Damage curse made attacks to the flesh more potent; attacking such a weak demon like a Fallen would be like chopping rotten fruit.
Stepping out into the open, Korven raised his wand and cast another spell: "Animositas dentibus!" he shouted. Two magical teeth shot out of the end of his wand, blowing off the heads of two Fallen. Within minutes, the entire encampment was slain.
Even though he and his Skeleton companion slew countless Fallen, Zombies, and even a couple of Wendigoes ("Smelly bastards," Korven muttered disdainfully.), Korven was growing bored. He had not spotted any monsters that were a challenge. Then he saw a cluster of about six Zombies shambling around a blue Zombie.
Korven and his Skeleton quickly picked off the normal Zombies, leaving only the blue one.
"Iiiii…ah…Coshiyehhhh…" the Zombie growled, its jaw hanging loosely. Not impressed, Korven merely snapped his fingers, and the Skeleton prepared to attack. But the Zombie got the first hit in, and the Skeleton staggered under the Zombie's surprisingly strong blow, sparks jumping from its fists upon impact.
Unfazed, the Skeleton continued its attack, this time managing to hack one arm off. But using its other arm, the Zombie mauled Korven's Skeleton again, this time shattering it in a shower of ice. Now Korven was nervous.
Korven hastily cast another Skeleton, and cast another Amplify Damage curse on it. This time, it fell easily to the Skelton's onslaught.
After making sure that it was dead, Korven carefully checked the Zombie's corpse. He found some gold, a pair of gloves of decent quality, a small potion vial with blue liquid, and a serrated knife.
Intrigued by the weapon, Korven unraveled the red scroll and laid the knife on top of the parchment. After a moment, words began scrawling on the parchment, as if written by an invisible hand.
"Jagged Dagger," Korven read aloud. "A jagged dagger will do slightly more damage to flesh than a smooth blade." Then the parchment disintegrated into dust.
Sliding the dagger into his trousers, Korven broke the seal of the blue scroll and threw it in front of him. Almost immediately, the parchment glowed and morphed into a blue-and-black portal. Korven stepped through it, and found himself back at the Rogue encampment.
"Stand by the fire," Korven told his Skeleton. The undead sentinel for its part just walked to the prescribed destination, oblivious to the piercing glares it got from Kashya. Korven then went to Akara's tent to tell her of his feats.
"Gods bless us, you have cleansed the Den of Evil," Akara exclaimed, after hearing of Korven's adventure. "Thank you, Korven, You have gained my trust, and may yet restore my faith in humanity. Go now, you deserve some rest." Bowing his head, Korven walked to the large chest by the fire and curled up next to it, to sleep till morning.
A/N: Well, love it? Hate it? Please review and tell me your opinion!
Oh, and for those who are wondering why I butchered Corpsefire's name, try opening your mouth, then say "I am Corpsefire" without moving your jaw. See what I mean?