A Different Kind of Deadly

Chapter I: The Meaning of Relaxation

Note: I do not own Diablo III or any of its characters, even the names and general history of the OC can be found in the short story on the Diablo III site. Otherwise, literary merits belong to me.

She'd thought the ringing would go on forever.

Bastion's Keep had been little more than a blur in her memory, both during the fighting and at its end. People cheered so loud she couldn't hear herself think. She didn't bother trying. Angels. Demons. In that moment it didn't mean a damn to her. Valla wanted to teeter her way to her room, lock herself in, and let sweet, merciful exhaustion take her in its embrace.

It was awkward, waving and wading through the throng of people. Her gear and exposed flesh were caked in blood. Much of it was her own, though she was loathe to admit it. She stunk of gore and fallen debris, of burnt flesh and grotesque excrements she couldn't name. One whiff of her was enough to invoke images of Terror itself into the minds of the passerby. When several guards staggered back at the stench of her, she found a reason to be glad for her filthiness.

"Come alon' now, get back all of ya! Can't ya see the woman needs to breathe!"

This voice was louder than the others. Valla turned her head just in time to have her arm grasped by a meaty hand. It pulled her so strongly and so suddenly that her legs threatened to buckle beneath her own weight.

"She's wounded ya' bunch of fools! There'll be no celebrate'n while she's raining puss on the floor!"

Puss.

So that's what it was.

It didn't take long for the owner of that same meaty hand to drag her into their hold and lift her off the ground. She could hardly feel her legs. A small part of her was glad for the lift, though Valla was certain she looked ridiculous, slung over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She hoped she would remember to thank the stranger for their help. Now she could go someplace quieter, where she could finally-

"Stay with us now, Valla!"

-sleep.

"-la..."

Rain beat steadily onto the dirt mound.

"-alla..."

She numbly stared at the cold headstone before her.

"Valla!

The Demon Hunter gasped loudly, frantically scanning the room. Could she move, Eirena knew that her hands would be on her weapons, and her weapons, by now, would be embedded deep within someone's carcass.

"Be thankful she cannot move," the Enchantress said to the healer. "It has saved your life."

The large man gawked back at her over his shoulder, but Eirena had already reverted to staring absently through the air, tracing with her eyes something that he couldn't see, and he was glad for it.

Valla swore under her breath.

The aching.

Nine Hells, every muscle in her body was screaming in agony. It hurt so much she couldn't even find the strength to scream.

"Thank whatever Gods ya pray to, Hero," the healer shook his head. "Had ya come a moment later, I can't guarantee ya'd be alive right now."

"Pain!" she coughed. "Something for-"

"Allow me."

The familiar voice was accompanied by a rush of warmth. Valla felt her limbs revitalize. She breathed with far greater ease than before.

"I am sorry I couldn't arrive earlier, my friend," Kormac announced. "I was helping the Keep's men fill in holes in their defenses. When I heard about the state of your wounds, I came as soon as I could."

Valla nodded weakly. Bullets of sweat dripped down her pale face. Her dark eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room, home to but a handful of candles.

In it were Eirena, Kormac, the healer, and various other patients quietly resting on their cots.

She squinted her eyes.

"They're...not breathing," she stated.

"Aye." The healer wrung out a wet towel, patting her arm and collarbone. "This is a cellar we're usin' for the morgue. All the other stretchers were full, and I figured your stench could raise the dead elsewise."

The Demon Hunter nearly smiled at the joke. She'd been hoping to get a bath for the longest time.

"Kormac," she called. "When can you cast another healing spell? I really want to take a bath."

"Preparing one now," he answered dutifully. "It should be enough to have you on your feet in the next hour."

The healer rubbed his hands clean at a nearby basin. He huffed, amused at the exchange.

"Looks like you don't need me anymore then. I'll ready that bath of hers. Just be sure to keep her awake. And you-" he looked to the Enchantress. She muttered incomprehensible things to the air, tracing something with her finger. "You just...stay as you are."

"Hmm?" Eirena turned around moments after he had left. Her eyes brightened upon spotting her companions. "Valla! You're awake now. And...when did you get here Kormac?"

Lyndon sat perched where he usually did in the Keep; at the tower.

There was something about being high above the world that seemed so very comforting. The largest of people resembled ants. Mountains and oceans were in full view. The horizon was just a breath away from his fingertips. It was as if all the glories of the Gods-forsaken world they lived in were magnified, its atrocities mitigated, and all these treasures appeared to be within a single man's reach.

What more could a thief want?

Fine, he was lying to himself.

Well...mostly.

The real reason Lyndon sat up there was to be alone; alone with his thoughts; alone with his spoils; alone with loneliness in an intimate setting. This adventure was fun, if one would call barely escaping unspeakable deaths on numerous occasions fun, that is, but it too was coming to a close. He and his stalwart companions had killed Terror incarnate, The Prime Evil, in a battle that would be remembered and passed down through the ages. Hell, thought Lyndon, I might even make it out as a hero myself in a song or two. But the point was this; it was over. The fun and games were over. The death and dying were over. He was a hero, blah blah blah, all in a day's work, etcetera...

But he was alone, just like it began and just like it was going to end time and bloody time again.

"I've been looking everywhere for you."

Lyndon blinked, swerving around to find Valla standing before him. She wasn't in her armor; an unusual sight, though a welcome one –he'd certainly whined she stunk enough to raise more dead than a necromancer now and then. Her black hair was wet, freshly washed just like the rest of her. It appeared as though she borrowed some flimsy fabric to wear. Lyndon swore under his breath.

"You're going to die of frostbite the second you defeat the greatest evil there ever was? What a glorious story that'd be!" He shrugged off his coat, throwing it in her direction.

It fell to the ground with a thud.

"You know, dear Valla," he began sweetly, "You're supposed to catch the coat when a gentleman hands one to you, and use it, preferably."

Her teeth chattered. "I wasn't aware you qualified as a gentleman."

He wrinkled his nose at the remark, but gracefully picked up the jacket and slung it around her shoulders.

"I'm a gentleman of convenience," he said adamantly. "Since you go through the trouble of finding me, you may as well make yourself comfortable. Now what do you need of my humble self?"

The Demon Hunter raised a black eyebrow at his self-address, but didn't press the matter. Instead she followed with, "We're going to Kingsport tomorrow. Best get that debt of yours settled quickly, and get your brother out from his cell."

His eyes nearly bugled out of his head. "Tomorrow?" he gawked. "You damned woman, you nearly died and you can't even take a week off or something?"

She motioned to herself, perfectly able and standing before him in the icy gale.

"I knew I should've burned that Templar's prayer books when he wasn't looking," Lyndon growled. "You've got to learn the meaning of relaxation sooner or later."

"Oh, but I do know the meaning of relaxation, Lyndon," she replied lightly.

"And what would that be?"

"Baths."