The Journey Home
Chapter 1 - Andariel's Bane
The stranger wrapped his cloak tightly around himself, as though trying to squeeze whatever warmth was left in the flimsy length of cloth. His hood concealed his face, just as the cloak concealed the shining armor beneath. He leaned against an old war chest, his dragon shield and sheathed sword piled beside him. He kept himself well away from the fire in the midst of the rogue encampment, where many warriors and adventurers were gathered. He wanted to keep a low profile, and kept a wary eye on any who would happen to stray near him.
He tried to sleep, but the roar of the merry crowd around the fire kept him awake. It was well into the night, and the adventurers were busy boasting to each other their various exploits in the battles to rid the Tamoe Highlands of the demonic infestation and clear the Rogue Pass. The fighting had been going on for weeks, and the stranger had been there for a good length of the time. When he had first arrived, somebody had boasted of killing a certain Corpsefire in a nearby cave. That night, he had heard some assassin boast of finding great treasure in some abandoned tower, while hearing a barbarian dismissing the feat as nothing compared to his crushing the head of a certain Blood Raven. For all he knew, that Blood Raven could have been some red bird; for he himself had not participated in the fighting. He simply listened, and the last interesting bit of news that he heard of was the rescue of Deckard Cain. After all, he had known the man during the wars he had fought in Westmarch and Khanduras. Other than that, he spent most of the time huddled in his place in the rogue camp, eating nothing more than leftover bread and water. He had also noticed the looks given him by several of the adventurers, and knew that they had derided him as a coward and free-rider. While he would normally mind such insulting thoughts on his honor, he was in no rush to go to battle. He didn't feel the need to.
"Good evening, stranger."
The man looked up, and saw a middle-aged woman robed and hooded in purple looking at him. Her kindly, old eyes set him at ease, something that he hadn't been for weeks. Nothing more than a few words had been said to him during the last few weeks, and was anxious whenever anybody would say anything to him. He nodded, careful not to reveal his dark-skinned face to the woman.
"You must be the priestess Akara," he said, trying to conceal his accent. "Is there something wrong?"
"I noticed that you're the only able-bodied man not to enter combat," she said.
"I'm sorry if I am wasting camp space," he said. "If you wish, I will compensate you and your rogue followers in gold for a place to rest my head at night."
"Our camp is open to all who seek refuge," the priestess said, smiling. "I do not ask for payment. I simply find it strange that a man like you would shy away from combat, Sir Cyrus Origen Belisarius. I wouldn't think that the Wolf of Westmarch would suddenly lose his teeth."
The man bolted upright at the mention of his name. His hood fell, revealing his face to the priestess. His piercing brown eyes stared at the kind woman before him. "How did you recognize me?"
"The heraldry on your shield is unique to your house." Akara sat herself on his bulky war chest. "So, will you tell me why a Paladin would miss an opportunity to shine the glory of the Light on a demon-infested battlefield?"
The young paladin sighed. "I have seen my share of war. I left glorious Kurast when I was only sixteen. I have served a tour of duty spanning the breadth of Sanctuary, from the tropical island of Lycander, to the cold steppes of the North. I haven't had a breath of my homeland's air for ten years now. After leading the Paladins of Westmarch against mad King Leoric's armies on my superior's orders, I am have become world-weary. My sword is rusty, and my shield is dented. I just want to go home."
"I see," Akara said, nodding her head. "That explains why you don't fight. But why don't you eat? I've noticed that you never get in line for the camp meals."
"I'm fasting," Cyrus said. "Besides, the food is for the warriors. I am not among those fighting.I do not deserve to eat their food."
"I see honor still follows you," she said. "But I have a feeling that you'll be eating the same food, in time." She gave him a knowing smile, and left him to his business.
The paladin shook his head. He took another glance at the adventurers by the fire. He saw many powerful men and women, and in his heart, he felt that they were enough to contain whatever threat would come from Hell's gaping maws. He even saw some familiar faces. Cerularius, Andreus, Eldric..all were members of the Hand of Zakarum, the same order he served. Their presence among the warriors and adventurers gave him peace of mind.
"God help them all." he muttered as he slumped back onto his war chest.
~~~
The next few days passed in an almost dream-like state for Cyrus. He spent most of the time drifting slowly between consciousness and slumber. His battlefield bread rations sustained him, but the lack of activity left him with little else to do. He had become intent on waiting it out until the rogue Monastery has been cleared.
But one morning, he felt apprehension within the camp. It was already midday when he woke up, but the skies were overcast. Rain pelted his face, but it wasn't the wetness that bothered him. He heard moaning and words of anger and fear. He saw the warriors and adventurers that were harbored within camp withered of their former confidence and bravado. Various adventurers were streaming back to camp; most were wounded. Some walked back into camp, while others were carried back in. Others brought dead comrades with them. Defeat was written on all their faces. On one side, he noticed a hulking barbarian hunched over a wounded comrade, shouting words of encouragement to the dying warrior. Scenes of the last war he had fought in flashed in his mind, and the pain of those memories returned.
Out of compassion, he summoned his strength and got up to end his detachment from the rest of the adventurers. He calmly approached the barbarian and laid a hand on his shoulder. He knew he risked angering the agitated man, but the healing warmth radiating from his hand calmed the fur- clad North man. The warrior looked up at him.
"What happened here, friend?" asked Cyrus.
"My brother," the barbarian said. "He is the slayer of Blood Raven, and the destroyer of the Smith. But even as he defeated that monster of the forge, he could not escape the anger of his steel. I dragged him all the way back here, along with the Horadric Malus. I am afraid that while he deserves the honor of the reward, he may not live to take it."
Origen knelt down and observed the wounded brother. His face was contorted as he wrestled with the pain. As with barbarian fashion, he refused to scream in pain, for it was a sign of weakness. "He does not want the wounds to win," said the North man.
"Then, let's give him a hand."
Cyrus clasped his prayer beads and began chanting in a soft, low voice. As he prayed, a blue glow surrounded his body and enveloped the heavily-wounded barbarian. Slowly, his grotesque wounds began to close, and the bone jutting from the his side began to set back into place. The pale, dying color of his skin disappeared, replaced by a healthier tone. His face became more relaxed. As Cyrus ended his prayer, the barbarian's eyes opened. The large warrior immediately sat up.
"What happened?" he asked. "I thought my spirit was headed for the Halls of Bul-Kathos!"
"Brother! You're alive!"
The barbarian brothers laughed and slapped each other's shoulders. Cyrus smiled and made preparations to heal another wounded adventurer. But before he could get far, the healed brother gave him a bear hug. While the six-foot paladin was far from being small, the huge barbarian effortlessly picked him up and crushed his ribs, all while praising the wonderful "medicine man". After a few seconds, Cyrus was forced to tap the man's arms.
"Can't.breathe."
The barbarian let him down. In the process, the hood fell from his head, revealing his face. The barbarians did not recognize him, though, and turned their attention elsewhere. Cyrus turned his attention to the other wounded, praying over the severely bloodied and administering final rites to the dead. He gained strength for each that he had redeemed, but the large numbers of wounded had him spent to the point of exhaustion. After healing a wounded sorcerer, he stood to return to his tiny corner near the camp walls. But when he turned around, he found the Kashya, the fiery rogue commander, standing in front of him.
"About time you joined us, general," she said, glaring at him. "Oh, don't look so surprised. Who do you think told Akara of the heraldry on your shield? Are you through letting the fodder fight, o mighty one?"
"No need to be hostile," Cyrus said, looking the embattled rogue commander in the eye. He felt the rest of the adventurers slowly gather around them. "I do not intend to usurp your authority. I just wish to."
"Sit there and watch while the rest of us shed blood for your passage east?" she said, cutting him off. "Its not about authority. Why won't you fight?"
Before Cyrus could answer, Akara came in between them. She lay a hand on Kashya's shoulder. "He has his reasons," she said. "Leave him be."
"But we need him. We need all the swords we can get."
"General!"
Cyrus turned to see who had called. The voice was familiar. Out of the gathered crowd, a man dressed in plate mail made his way to the front. He somehow managed to squeeze his way in. Once he was standing before Cyrus, he fell to one knee and looked up to him.
"General, it is good to see you here," the man said. "Since when did you get here, sir?"
Cyrus dodged the question. "Get up, Eldric, and tell me where the rest of our brothers are."
Eldric cast down his glance. "Sirs Cerularius and Andreus died leading the rear guard, sir. All of the warriors here, under Kashya's advice, decided it was the time to take the monastery in force. But she had anticipated our plan. A barbarian managed to kill one of Andariel's lieutenants, but that was our last great victory. As soon as we were all within the barracks, preparing to descend into the jails, the building was surrounded by flames. Wave after wave of monsters came at us."
"We fought back as hard as we could," said an Amazon standing near the front, continuing the story amidst sounds of agreement from the other adventurers. "But the demon queen sent so many against us. We were overwhelmed. Even Andariel herself came out of her lair to add to the brunt of the assault. As our defenses were crumbling, the two paladins organized a small force to distract Andariel while the rest of us fought our way out of the trap."
Eldric nodded. "After the others had managed to fight their way out, we faced Andariel. But the battle had left us weak, and with few potions between us, we didn't stand a chance of beating her. Sir Cerularius was killed. Sir Andreus ordered me to run, so I did. I wish I hadn't. I heard screaming..I don't think any of the rear guard made it back, save for me."
Cyrus' fist was trembling as he heard the story, but he concealed it under his cloak. There are so few of us left, he thought. And now two more are dead.who would be left to serve the Light?
He turned to Kashya once again. "Fine. You win. My sword is yours..."
Young Eldric was elated. "It would be an honor to fight alongside you again, sir."
His youthful excitement was contagious among the adventurers, all who were desperate for a reason to pick their spirits up. No sooner had Cyrus left them to find his weapons, they were already gathered around the camp fire, singing songs of vengeance and of regaining lost glory. But before he could get far, Kashya stopped him again.
"So, what is your plan?" she asked.
"I go along with whatever the group decides to do."
"No, general, I was wondering if you had a strategy in mind."
"Don't call me that. My commission is resigned. I'm just a plain paladin now."
"You're not going to get out of this that easily. I'm sure you already have some plan in mind, something you would have done if you were in charge."
Cyrus decided to indulge her. "My plan would be to attack at first daylight."
Kashya was nearly dumbstruck. "What? These warriors are all newly healed! Many are still weary from today's loss!"
"So will Andariel," explained Cyrus. "She's expecting an attack into next week, considering the damage she would think she had caused. If we wait for all these warriors to heal, she would have licked her own wounds clean and raised an army twice the size of what she used today. If we attack at first light, she would not be expecting it. We can have her play right into our hands."
Kashya nodded slowly. "Alright, I'm listening."
"We assemble most of the warriors into a massed force," continued Cyrus. "Let them wait outside the Monastery Gates. Andariel would be anxious to finish them off, and will send her demons out onto the open. Once the monastery has been emptied, a small force will sneak in and engage the demon queen. If you doubt my assessment, then, you can go ask Deckard Cain. That man has seen enough demonic behavior."
Kashya nodded again, and left him. Cyrus went back to his war chest and cast off his cloak, revealing the rough-hewn surcoat of his order above shining ancient armor; an old relic of the House of Belisarius. He sat down, leaning back into his war chest again. He took his sword out of its sheath. The rune sword Shadow Cleaver gleamed dimly.
"Well old friend, one more time before Kurast," said the paladin grimly.
"Do you always talk to your sword?"
Cyrus looked up and saw a young maiden and a large man standing before him. The woman had dark brown hair, which contrasted well with her fair skin. She wore the robes of an apprentice Zann Esu sorceress, covered by enhanced quilted armor. Her bright green eyes shone of innocence, and her smile radiated a warmth that seemed out of place in a camp filled with grim warriors. Her companion was a north man, younger and slightly smaller than the two brothers he had met earlier. He had wild blond hair, and skin made red from countless hours under the sun. His face was riddled with tattoos and battle scars. He wore a tattered chain shirt that barely fit his massive physique, as well as furs common to his homeland. The barbarian warrior carried his great axe on one hand, and a staff on the other. The sorceress was carrying an odd-looking bowl. Cyrus smiled bemusedly and sheathed his sword.
"What's in the bowl?" Cyrus asked. "New potion?"
"It's actually for you," the sorceress said sheepishly. "I was watching you for a while and noticed that you never ate. Now that you decided to fight and all, I thought you'd might want something to eat. Since all the bowls were used, I had to make do. Don't worry, its just good old camp stew!"
She held out the bowl to him. Cyrus accepted graciously, and sipped the stew from the bowl's edge. When he had nearly finished, he noticed that the two were still there, watching him eat. They were now sitting on the soft grass.
"I didn't catch your names," said the paladin, breaking the silence. "Mine is Cyrus Origen Belisarius. But most people call me Cyrus."
"My name is Selene," said the sorceress. "My friend here is Dagan, of the Mountain Lion tribe. He is sort of like my bodyguard. He goes with me everywhere."
"And what brings you to these lands?" he asked. "Though you are of the Zann Esu mage clan, you look far too young and inexperienced to be in the middle of a war zone."
"I've been practicing magic for ten years now," she answered. "I spent a lot of time up north to perfect the use of cold magic. That's where I met Dagan. My mentor told me that he would accompany me, and keep me safe while my magic was yet to develop. I can't really tell how far I've come, that's why I came down here. I need to test what I have learned, though Dagan here has kept me away from the big fights. And besides, it was getting lonely up there."
Selene was about to continue, but her barbarian companion interrupted her. Kashya was calling the attention of all the adventurers within the camp. The young sorceress grabbed her staff from her friend and hurried along with him to the camp fire. Cyrus stood and buckled his sword belt into place.
And so it begins...he thought.
~~~
It was already first light, and yet the rain continued to pour. It was as if the bloodshed caused by the demons have rendered even the very heavens to tears. But it didn't matter. To Cyrus, all that mattered was that everything was moving as he had expected it.
Once on the Tamoe Highlands, he had the warriors arranged into formation. The spell casters were placed in the rear, while the middle was filled with ranks of Amazon and Rogue archers. The frontline bristled with large barbarians and armed mercenaries, with a few paladins mingled in. Kashya herself had taken charge of leading the main body. Cyrus, as a point of honor, took up the task of leading the small strike force in. He had asked for volunteers the night before.
With him were the warriors he had hand-picked to join him. The barbarian brothers he had helped, Olaf and Leif of the Whale tribe, were among the first to volunteer, and the first he had chosen. A young Amazon archer named Dyna was volunteered by her leader, the Amazon who had spoken up the day before. The Amazon leader said the young woman had potential, and was in need of a baptism of fire. With her came were two rogue guides, Alicia and Mina, who claimed to know the Monastery inside and out. The last member of the group was an old mage named Tarsil, a spell caster who had claimed to have battled Diablo himself in Tristram. The young sorceress he had met also tried to volunteer, but was wisely restrained by her barbarian friend.
As expected, the Monastery Gates opened and the legions of Hell came pouring out. But from the massed formation of human warriors rose a dreadful battle cry, the likes of which sent the first wave of demons reeling back in fear. But a greater fear from within the monastery drove them into a mad, frenzied charge. The stream of demons from the gates came at a steady pace, as each new wave of demons smashed and floundered against the wall of well-prepared warriors. Arrows poured alongside the rain as death came to the demons from both sky and ground. Bursts of fire, ice and lightning trapped many of the demons within their own doom. Eventually, the stream of demons thinned out, though hundreds were already on the battlefield. As with the plan, the main body of warriors feigned a slow retreat further into the fields, drawing the huge mass of demons further away from the monastery. It was at this time that Cyrus chose to strike.
The small group silently entered the gates. The Monastery was eerily empty, but the warriors kept their wits about them. Cyrus drew Shadow Cleaver from its sheath, using the low gleaming light as an impromptu torch as they entered the barracks.
"I don't like the way the air feels," said Leif, who carried the brand new axe Charsi had forged from the Horadric Malus. "It's the same as when we first came in here."
"The malice that hung over this place is yet to vanish," said his brother. "That, or the bitch queen is near."
Alicia and Mina led them through the jail, and out into the Inner Cloister, with little incidence. But as soon as they reached the courtyard, they realized that not all the demons have been emptied out into the wilderness. They ran into Andariel's honor guard, the demons she usually surrounded herself with. The demon queen herself was standing by the Cathedral doors, apparently preparing to enter the battle outside herself.
The demon queen was surprised by the sudden intrusion. She retreated back into the Cathedral, letting loose her demonic guard in order to weaken the invaders. The guard consisted of two battalions of goatmen, a large group of Yeti, an entire phalanx of spiked fiends, a small company of dark hunters and a host of undead. Both parties stared each other down, in a brief calm before the storm of combat.
"Everybody ready?" Cyrus asked, tightening his grip on his sword and shield.
"That's not important," Dyna answered. "Got a plan?"
"Olaf, Leif, Alicia, Mina and Tarsil will stay here and keep these demons busy," said the paladin. "Dyna, you and I will try to break through and engage the demon queen. Does anybody have any objections?"
"It is a good day to die," Olaf growled. His brother howled in agreement. A small smile formed on Tarsil's face.
"Let's get to it then."
Before anybody made a move, Cyrus prayed for the sanctuary of the Light to protect him and his companions. The strength of the Light crushed the undead host, which had brought up the middle. The barbarian brothers were the first to charge. Their vicious battle cries temporarily stunned the demons as the two leapt past the line of spiked fiends. The two warriors crashed into the goat men battalions, their weapons swirling in a violent maelstrom of rage and blood-frenzy. Blood and body parts of goat men flew and scattered around. Tarsil fired multiple ice bolts in rapid succession, temporarily freezing the spiked fiends in their tracks. The two rogues engaged the dark hunters in a duel of arrows, felling two with the first volley.
Cyrus raised his shield and launched himself into the fray at breakneck speed. He smashed through the frozen spiked fiends in his path. Dyna followed closely behind. Cyrus ran on, and found the door within a few paces of him. But he found his way blocked by an angry Yeti. He stopped and raised his dragon shield just in time to block a furry fist aimed at his head. Dyna quickly jumped back, an arrow already notched on her bow. She let loose a quick volley of arrows as she strafed down the Yeti wildly bellowing near the door. Her assault dropped five of them with well-placed shots to their heads. Cyrus smote the Yeti in front of him with his shield, knocking the monster back. Then, he drove Shadow Cleaver straight into the beast's heart. The beast's carcass was pinned to the door. Cyrus kicked the beast through the doors and into the Cathedral as he pulled out his blade.
Inside, Cyrus saw Andariel waiting for him. She was surrounded by Dark Ones, who rushed him as soon as they saw him. He prepared to meet their assault, but several fell before they could engage him. He noticed that Dyna had already followed him in.
"Take out the Shamans," he said. "I shall go after Andariel!"
Dyna easily killed both Shamans with well-placed shots, but it cost her in time. The Dark Ones closed with her and swarmed her, knocking her arrows away. She drew her scimitar and slashed at the crowding imps, allowing a berth for herself in order to mount her defense. The Amazon calmly parried the quick blows of the Dark Ones, slowly killing them whenever they proved too slow to recover.
Cyrus came face to face with the demon-queen. Andariel hissed at him viciously, taunting him with hateful words. But his confidence was unperturbed. He could sense that she was still wounded. She was still covered in blood oozing from semi-open wounds, and Sir Andreus' sword was still sticking out of her side. Before the demon queen could launch her vicious magics at him, he charged her. Up close, she fought him in melee combat. Cyrus called upon his great zeal to slash away at Andariel's leathery hide, while the demon-queen tried to pound his heavy armor with her six arms.
Cyrus' blows came much swifter, and soon, Andariel was visibly floundering. In one last desperate attack, her four larger arms grabbed his shoulders and torso and lifted him high above her head. The move caught the paladin unaware, and for a second, he was helpless in mid-air. But before Andariel could throw the paladin into a nearby pillar, the Amazon had managed to retrieve a single arrow lying on the floor. She picked up her bow and let fly the lone arrow straight at Andariel. Her aim was true, and the arrow struck Andariel in the right eye. The demon queen howled in pain as she dropped the paladin. Cyrus quickly regained his focus and hacked off one of Andariel's larger limbs with one strong blow. Then, he stabbed one of Andariel's scaly legs. When she fell on one knee, he moved in and plunged Shadow Cleaver into her throat.
Before he could pull out his sword, Andariel's dying corporeal form exploded as the demon queen's hate and anguish burst from her temporal body. Her spirit was banished, screaming, back to the Burning Hells from whence she came. In the explosion, Cyrus was hurled back many feet, and was knocked senseless onto one of the Cathedral walls.
When Cyrus regained consciousness a few minutes later, he saw the Amazon standing over him. She was smiling at him, the only time he head ever seen an Amazon warrior smile. He managed a weak grin.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"I believe I should be asking that," she countered. "You're pretty reckless for a paladin, you know. Most paladins go by the book."
"Daring and initiative are sometimes required in battle," he pointed out. "Where are the others? I am sure they would wish to celebrate this great victory."
Dyna lost the smile on her face. "They're waiting outside."
Cyrus gingerly got back on his feet and stepped outdoors, followed by Dyna. He was saddened by what he saw. Many of the demons lay dead, mostly mangled and mutilated. But among the goat men corpses lay the gigantic barbarian Leif, his new axe severed at the handle. The blades of many demonic weapons were lodged into his bulk. Not too far off was his brother, Olaf, also lying still in a pool of blood and body parts. At the other end of the courtyard lay Tarsil, crushed under the weight of a dead Yeti.
Somewhere along the corridors lay both Alicia and Mina. Mina lay coldly on the floor, her chest riddled with arrows, while Alicia was impaled by a spear and pinned to the wall. At that point, even the legendary stoicism of the Amazon faded. She fought a losing battle to hold back the tears that ran down her cheeks. Both of the valiantly fallen rogues were the first and closest friends she had made among the Sisters, and had spent more time with them than even with her captain.
Cyrus heard a loud gasp. He quickly rushed to the side of Olaf, who weakly clutched at his surcoat once he had knelt down beside him. As he prepared his healing prayer, the barbarian pulled him lower.
"Olaf, you must be still," Cyrus said. "Or I won't be able to save you."
"I am beyond help, my friend," the barbarian said.
"No, don't say that!"
The barbarian ignored his pleas. "Did you kill the bitch queen?"
"Yes."
"Is my brother dead?"
"Unfortunately."
"Then let me die, paladin," said the barbarian, his breath beginning to hitch. "My brother and I, we died honorable...warrior deaths on the battlefield..with the task accomplished...now I can go the Halls of Bul- Kathos...with pride and honor..."
The paladin gently removed the barbarians hand from his surcoat and held it until he felt the great warrior lapse. He then administered the final rites. He crossed the dead warrior's forehead and said, "May eternal rest be granted unto thee, and may perpetual Light shine upon thee. Rest in peace."
The paladin and the Amazon began the arduous task of hauling the bodies of the dead together. Cyrus administered the last rites to all of the fallen heroes, while Dyna watched in solemn silence. After blessing the dead, they gathered the weapons and skulls of the vanquished demons and lay them at the feet of their fallen comrades, while laying their own equipment above their heads. Cyrus then retrieved Sir Andreus' sword, and planted it on the soft earth near the courtyard's entrance. On the ground, he marked in runes the words: "In memory of fallen friends". After finishing with the inscription, he too, began to feel overwhelmed. He knelt before the sword and wept. The Amazon wept alongside him.
Whatever bounty that could be gathered was placed within the Cathedral. Before the others could arrive, the two remaining warriors decided to claim their share. The Amazon looked at the pile thoughtfully.
"You have first pick, paladin," she said. "After all, you killed Andariel."
"No, m' lady," he said. "Your steady wits and your arrow led to Andariel's downfall. You have the honor of the hunt."
The Amazon tentatively grabbed a shining suit of ring mail, carefully measuring if the piece of armor would fit her. She looked at the paladin, searching for some sign that the item was what the paladin had wanted.
"You keep it," he said, anticipating her thoughts. "You need it more."
For himself, he took only a small ring, and a helm to sell for a few gold pieces. He was tired, and the allure of war bounty had forever been lost to him. He looked once more at the mess that had been Andariel.
It is done. The Light has won, and home grows ever near...he thought. Then, he looked at his fallen comrades.
But at what cost?
~~~
Chapter 1 - Andariel's Bane
The stranger wrapped his cloak tightly around himself, as though trying to squeeze whatever warmth was left in the flimsy length of cloth. His hood concealed his face, just as the cloak concealed the shining armor beneath. He leaned against an old war chest, his dragon shield and sheathed sword piled beside him. He kept himself well away from the fire in the midst of the rogue encampment, where many warriors and adventurers were gathered. He wanted to keep a low profile, and kept a wary eye on any who would happen to stray near him.
He tried to sleep, but the roar of the merry crowd around the fire kept him awake. It was well into the night, and the adventurers were busy boasting to each other their various exploits in the battles to rid the Tamoe Highlands of the demonic infestation and clear the Rogue Pass. The fighting had been going on for weeks, and the stranger had been there for a good length of the time. When he had first arrived, somebody had boasted of killing a certain Corpsefire in a nearby cave. That night, he had heard some assassin boast of finding great treasure in some abandoned tower, while hearing a barbarian dismissing the feat as nothing compared to his crushing the head of a certain Blood Raven. For all he knew, that Blood Raven could have been some red bird; for he himself had not participated in the fighting. He simply listened, and the last interesting bit of news that he heard of was the rescue of Deckard Cain. After all, he had known the man during the wars he had fought in Westmarch and Khanduras. Other than that, he spent most of the time huddled in his place in the rogue camp, eating nothing more than leftover bread and water. He had also noticed the looks given him by several of the adventurers, and knew that they had derided him as a coward and free-rider. While he would normally mind such insulting thoughts on his honor, he was in no rush to go to battle. He didn't feel the need to.
"Good evening, stranger."
The man looked up, and saw a middle-aged woman robed and hooded in purple looking at him. Her kindly, old eyes set him at ease, something that he hadn't been for weeks. Nothing more than a few words had been said to him during the last few weeks, and was anxious whenever anybody would say anything to him. He nodded, careful not to reveal his dark-skinned face to the woman.
"You must be the priestess Akara," he said, trying to conceal his accent. "Is there something wrong?"
"I noticed that you're the only able-bodied man not to enter combat," she said.
"I'm sorry if I am wasting camp space," he said. "If you wish, I will compensate you and your rogue followers in gold for a place to rest my head at night."
"Our camp is open to all who seek refuge," the priestess said, smiling. "I do not ask for payment. I simply find it strange that a man like you would shy away from combat, Sir Cyrus Origen Belisarius. I wouldn't think that the Wolf of Westmarch would suddenly lose his teeth."
The man bolted upright at the mention of his name. His hood fell, revealing his face to the priestess. His piercing brown eyes stared at the kind woman before him. "How did you recognize me?"
"The heraldry on your shield is unique to your house." Akara sat herself on his bulky war chest. "So, will you tell me why a Paladin would miss an opportunity to shine the glory of the Light on a demon-infested battlefield?"
The young paladin sighed. "I have seen my share of war. I left glorious Kurast when I was only sixteen. I have served a tour of duty spanning the breadth of Sanctuary, from the tropical island of Lycander, to the cold steppes of the North. I haven't had a breath of my homeland's air for ten years now. After leading the Paladins of Westmarch against mad King Leoric's armies on my superior's orders, I am have become world-weary. My sword is rusty, and my shield is dented. I just want to go home."
"I see," Akara said, nodding her head. "That explains why you don't fight. But why don't you eat? I've noticed that you never get in line for the camp meals."
"I'm fasting," Cyrus said. "Besides, the food is for the warriors. I am not among those fighting.I do not deserve to eat their food."
"I see honor still follows you," she said. "But I have a feeling that you'll be eating the same food, in time." She gave him a knowing smile, and left him to his business.
The paladin shook his head. He took another glance at the adventurers by the fire. He saw many powerful men and women, and in his heart, he felt that they were enough to contain whatever threat would come from Hell's gaping maws. He even saw some familiar faces. Cerularius, Andreus, Eldric..all were members of the Hand of Zakarum, the same order he served. Their presence among the warriors and adventurers gave him peace of mind.
"God help them all." he muttered as he slumped back onto his war chest.
~~~
The next few days passed in an almost dream-like state for Cyrus. He spent most of the time drifting slowly between consciousness and slumber. His battlefield bread rations sustained him, but the lack of activity left him with little else to do. He had become intent on waiting it out until the rogue Monastery has been cleared.
But one morning, he felt apprehension within the camp. It was already midday when he woke up, but the skies were overcast. Rain pelted his face, but it wasn't the wetness that bothered him. He heard moaning and words of anger and fear. He saw the warriors and adventurers that were harbored within camp withered of their former confidence and bravado. Various adventurers were streaming back to camp; most were wounded. Some walked back into camp, while others were carried back in. Others brought dead comrades with them. Defeat was written on all their faces. On one side, he noticed a hulking barbarian hunched over a wounded comrade, shouting words of encouragement to the dying warrior. Scenes of the last war he had fought in flashed in his mind, and the pain of those memories returned.
Out of compassion, he summoned his strength and got up to end his detachment from the rest of the adventurers. He calmly approached the barbarian and laid a hand on his shoulder. He knew he risked angering the agitated man, but the healing warmth radiating from his hand calmed the fur- clad North man. The warrior looked up at him.
"What happened here, friend?" asked Cyrus.
"My brother," the barbarian said. "He is the slayer of Blood Raven, and the destroyer of the Smith. But even as he defeated that monster of the forge, he could not escape the anger of his steel. I dragged him all the way back here, along with the Horadric Malus. I am afraid that while he deserves the honor of the reward, he may not live to take it."
Origen knelt down and observed the wounded brother. His face was contorted as he wrestled with the pain. As with barbarian fashion, he refused to scream in pain, for it was a sign of weakness. "He does not want the wounds to win," said the North man.
"Then, let's give him a hand."
Cyrus clasped his prayer beads and began chanting in a soft, low voice. As he prayed, a blue glow surrounded his body and enveloped the heavily-wounded barbarian. Slowly, his grotesque wounds began to close, and the bone jutting from the his side began to set back into place. The pale, dying color of his skin disappeared, replaced by a healthier tone. His face became more relaxed. As Cyrus ended his prayer, the barbarian's eyes opened. The large warrior immediately sat up.
"What happened?" he asked. "I thought my spirit was headed for the Halls of Bul-Kathos!"
"Brother! You're alive!"
The barbarian brothers laughed and slapped each other's shoulders. Cyrus smiled and made preparations to heal another wounded adventurer. But before he could get far, the healed brother gave him a bear hug. While the six-foot paladin was far from being small, the huge barbarian effortlessly picked him up and crushed his ribs, all while praising the wonderful "medicine man". After a few seconds, Cyrus was forced to tap the man's arms.
"Can't.breathe."
The barbarian let him down. In the process, the hood fell from his head, revealing his face. The barbarians did not recognize him, though, and turned their attention elsewhere. Cyrus turned his attention to the other wounded, praying over the severely bloodied and administering final rites to the dead. He gained strength for each that he had redeemed, but the large numbers of wounded had him spent to the point of exhaustion. After healing a wounded sorcerer, he stood to return to his tiny corner near the camp walls. But when he turned around, he found the Kashya, the fiery rogue commander, standing in front of him.
"About time you joined us, general," she said, glaring at him. "Oh, don't look so surprised. Who do you think told Akara of the heraldry on your shield? Are you through letting the fodder fight, o mighty one?"
"No need to be hostile," Cyrus said, looking the embattled rogue commander in the eye. He felt the rest of the adventurers slowly gather around them. "I do not intend to usurp your authority. I just wish to."
"Sit there and watch while the rest of us shed blood for your passage east?" she said, cutting him off. "Its not about authority. Why won't you fight?"
Before Cyrus could answer, Akara came in between them. She lay a hand on Kashya's shoulder. "He has his reasons," she said. "Leave him be."
"But we need him. We need all the swords we can get."
"General!"
Cyrus turned to see who had called. The voice was familiar. Out of the gathered crowd, a man dressed in plate mail made his way to the front. He somehow managed to squeeze his way in. Once he was standing before Cyrus, he fell to one knee and looked up to him.
"General, it is good to see you here," the man said. "Since when did you get here, sir?"
Cyrus dodged the question. "Get up, Eldric, and tell me where the rest of our brothers are."
Eldric cast down his glance. "Sirs Cerularius and Andreus died leading the rear guard, sir. All of the warriors here, under Kashya's advice, decided it was the time to take the monastery in force. But she had anticipated our plan. A barbarian managed to kill one of Andariel's lieutenants, but that was our last great victory. As soon as we were all within the barracks, preparing to descend into the jails, the building was surrounded by flames. Wave after wave of monsters came at us."
"We fought back as hard as we could," said an Amazon standing near the front, continuing the story amidst sounds of agreement from the other adventurers. "But the demon queen sent so many against us. We were overwhelmed. Even Andariel herself came out of her lair to add to the brunt of the assault. As our defenses were crumbling, the two paladins organized a small force to distract Andariel while the rest of us fought our way out of the trap."
Eldric nodded. "After the others had managed to fight their way out, we faced Andariel. But the battle had left us weak, and with few potions between us, we didn't stand a chance of beating her. Sir Cerularius was killed. Sir Andreus ordered me to run, so I did. I wish I hadn't. I heard screaming..I don't think any of the rear guard made it back, save for me."
Cyrus' fist was trembling as he heard the story, but he concealed it under his cloak. There are so few of us left, he thought. And now two more are dead.who would be left to serve the Light?
He turned to Kashya once again. "Fine. You win. My sword is yours..."
Young Eldric was elated. "It would be an honor to fight alongside you again, sir."
His youthful excitement was contagious among the adventurers, all who were desperate for a reason to pick their spirits up. No sooner had Cyrus left them to find his weapons, they were already gathered around the camp fire, singing songs of vengeance and of regaining lost glory. But before he could get far, Kashya stopped him again.
"So, what is your plan?" she asked.
"I go along with whatever the group decides to do."
"No, general, I was wondering if you had a strategy in mind."
"Don't call me that. My commission is resigned. I'm just a plain paladin now."
"You're not going to get out of this that easily. I'm sure you already have some plan in mind, something you would have done if you were in charge."
Cyrus decided to indulge her. "My plan would be to attack at first daylight."
Kashya was nearly dumbstruck. "What? These warriors are all newly healed! Many are still weary from today's loss!"
"So will Andariel," explained Cyrus. "She's expecting an attack into next week, considering the damage she would think she had caused. If we wait for all these warriors to heal, she would have licked her own wounds clean and raised an army twice the size of what she used today. If we attack at first light, she would not be expecting it. We can have her play right into our hands."
Kashya nodded slowly. "Alright, I'm listening."
"We assemble most of the warriors into a massed force," continued Cyrus. "Let them wait outside the Monastery Gates. Andariel would be anxious to finish them off, and will send her demons out onto the open. Once the monastery has been emptied, a small force will sneak in and engage the demon queen. If you doubt my assessment, then, you can go ask Deckard Cain. That man has seen enough demonic behavior."
Kashya nodded again, and left him. Cyrus went back to his war chest and cast off his cloak, revealing the rough-hewn surcoat of his order above shining ancient armor; an old relic of the House of Belisarius. He sat down, leaning back into his war chest again. He took his sword out of its sheath. The rune sword Shadow Cleaver gleamed dimly.
"Well old friend, one more time before Kurast," said the paladin grimly.
"Do you always talk to your sword?"
Cyrus looked up and saw a young maiden and a large man standing before him. The woman had dark brown hair, which contrasted well with her fair skin. She wore the robes of an apprentice Zann Esu sorceress, covered by enhanced quilted armor. Her bright green eyes shone of innocence, and her smile radiated a warmth that seemed out of place in a camp filled with grim warriors. Her companion was a north man, younger and slightly smaller than the two brothers he had met earlier. He had wild blond hair, and skin made red from countless hours under the sun. His face was riddled with tattoos and battle scars. He wore a tattered chain shirt that barely fit his massive physique, as well as furs common to his homeland. The barbarian warrior carried his great axe on one hand, and a staff on the other. The sorceress was carrying an odd-looking bowl. Cyrus smiled bemusedly and sheathed his sword.
"What's in the bowl?" Cyrus asked. "New potion?"
"It's actually for you," the sorceress said sheepishly. "I was watching you for a while and noticed that you never ate. Now that you decided to fight and all, I thought you'd might want something to eat. Since all the bowls were used, I had to make do. Don't worry, its just good old camp stew!"
She held out the bowl to him. Cyrus accepted graciously, and sipped the stew from the bowl's edge. When he had nearly finished, he noticed that the two were still there, watching him eat. They were now sitting on the soft grass.
"I didn't catch your names," said the paladin, breaking the silence. "Mine is Cyrus Origen Belisarius. But most people call me Cyrus."
"My name is Selene," said the sorceress. "My friend here is Dagan, of the Mountain Lion tribe. He is sort of like my bodyguard. He goes with me everywhere."
"And what brings you to these lands?" he asked. "Though you are of the Zann Esu mage clan, you look far too young and inexperienced to be in the middle of a war zone."
"I've been practicing magic for ten years now," she answered. "I spent a lot of time up north to perfect the use of cold magic. That's where I met Dagan. My mentor told me that he would accompany me, and keep me safe while my magic was yet to develop. I can't really tell how far I've come, that's why I came down here. I need to test what I have learned, though Dagan here has kept me away from the big fights. And besides, it was getting lonely up there."
Selene was about to continue, but her barbarian companion interrupted her. Kashya was calling the attention of all the adventurers within the camp. The young sorceress grabbed her staff from her friend and hurried along with him to the camp fire. Cyrus stood and buckled his sword belt into place.
And so it begins...he thought.
~~~
It was already first light, and yet the rain continued to pour. It was as if the bloodshed caused by the demons have rendered even the very heavens to tears. But it didn't matter. To Cyrus, all that mattered was that everything was moving as he had expected it.
Once on the Tamoe Highlands, he had the warriors arranged into formation. The spell casters were placed in the rear, while the middle was filled with ranks of Amazon and Rogue archers. The frontline bristled with large barbarians and armed mercenaries, with a few paladins mingled in. Kashya herself had taken charge of leading the main body. Cyrus, as a point of honor, took up the task of leading the small strike force in. He had asked for volunteers the night before.
With him were the warriors he had hand-picked to join him. The barbarian brothers he had helped, Olaf and Leif of the Whale tribe, were among the first to volunteer, and the first he had chosen. A young Amazon archer named Dyna was volunteered by her leader, the Amazon who had spoken up the day before. The Amazon leader said the young woman had potential, and was in need of a baptism of fire. With her came were two rogue guides, Alicia and Mina, who claimed to know the Monastery inside and out. The last member of the group was an old mage named Tarsil, a spell caster who had claimed to have battled Diablo himself in Tristram. The young sorceress he had met also tried to volunteer, but was wisely restrained by her barbarian friend.
As expected, the Monastery Gates opened and the legions of Hell came pouring out. But from the massed formation of human warriors rose a dreadful battle cry, the likes of which sent the first wave of demons reeling back in fear. But a greater fear from within the monastery drove them into a mad, frenzied charge. The stream of demons from the gates came at a steady pace, as each new wave of demons smashed and floundered against the wall of well-prepared warriors. Arrows poured alongside the rain as death came to the demons from both sky and ground. Bursts of fire, ice and lightning trapped many of the demons within their own doom. Eventually, the stream of demons thinned out, though hundreds were already on the battlefield. As with the plan, the main body of warriors feigned a slow retreat further into the fields, drawing the huge mass of demons further away from the monastery. It was at this time that Cyrus chose to strike.
The small group silently entered the gates. The Monastery was eerily empty, but the warriors kept their wits about them. Cyrus drew Shadow Cleaver from its sheath, using the low gleaming light as an impromptu torch as they entered the barracks.
"I don't like the way the air feels," said Leif, who carried the brand new axe Charsi had forged from the Horadric Malus. "It's the same as when we first came in here."
"The malice that hung over this place is yet to vanish," said his brother. "That, or the bitch queen is near."
Alicia and Mina led them through the jail, and out into the Inner Cloister, with little incidence. But as soon as they reached the courtyard, they realized that not all the demons have been emptied out into the wilderness. They ran into Andariel's honor guard, the demons she usually surrounded herself with. The demon queen herself was standing by the Cathedral doors, apparently preparing to enter the battle outside herself.
The demon queen was surprised by the sudden intrusion. She retreated back into the Cathedral, letting loose her demonic guard in order to weaken the invaders. The guard consisted of two battalions of goatmen, a large group of Yeti, an entire phalanx of spiked fiends, a small company of dark hunters and a host of undead. Both parties stared each other down, in a brief calm before the storm of combat.
"Everybody ready?" Cyrus asked, tightening his grip on his sword and shield.
"That's not important," Dyna answered. "Got a plan?"
"Olaf, Leif, Alicia, Mina and Tarsil will stay here and keep these demons busy," said the paladin. "Dyna, you and I will try to break through and engage the demon queen. Does anybody have any objections?"
"It is a good day to die," Olaf growled. His brother howled in agreement. A small smile formed on Tarsil's face.
"Let's get to it then."
Before anybody made a move, Cyrus prayed for the sanctuary of the Light to protect him and his companions. The strength of the Light crushed the undead host, which had brought up the middle. The barbarian brothers were the first to charge. Their vicious battle cries temporarily stunned the demons as the two leapt past the line of spiked fiends. The two warriors crashed into the goat men battalions, their weapons swirling in a violent maelstrom of rage and blood-frenzy. Blood and body parts of goat men flew and scattered around. Tarsil fired multiple ice bolts in rapid succession, temporarily freezing the spiked fiends in their tracks. The two rogues engaged the dark hunters in a duel of arrows, felling two with the first volley.
Cyrus raised his shield and launched himself into the fray at breakneck speed. He smashed through the frozen spiked fiends in his path. Dyna followed closely behind. Cyrus ran on, and found the door within a few paces of him. But he found his way blocked by an angry Yeti. He stopped and raised his dragon shield just in time to block a furry fist aimed at his head. Dyna quickly jumped back, an arrow already notched on her bow. She let loose a quick volley of arrows as she strafed down the Yeti wildly bellowing near the door. Her assault dropped five of them with well-placed shots to their heads. Cyrus smote the Yeti in front of him with his shield, knocking the monster back. Then, he drove Shadow Cleaver straight into the beast's heart. The beast's carcass was pinned to the door. Cyrus kicked the beast through the doors and into the Cathedral as he pulled out his blade.
Inside, Cyrus saw Andariel waiting for him. She was surrounded by Dark Ones, who rushed him as soon as they saw him. He prepared to meet their assault, but several fell before they could engage him. He noticed that Dyna had already followed him in.
"Take out the Shamans," he said. "I shall go after Andariel!"
Dyna easily killed both Shamans with well-placed shots, but it cost her in time. The Dark Ones closed with her and swarmed her, knocking her arrows away. She drew her scimitar and slashed at the crowding imps, allowing a berth for herself in order to mount her defense. The Amazon calmly parried the quick blows of the Dark Ones, slowly killing them whenever they proved too slow to recover.
Cyrus came face to face with the demon-queen. Andariel hissed at him viciously, taunting him with hateful words. But his confidence was unperturbed. He could sense that she was still wounded. She was still covered in blood oozing from semi-open wounds, and Sir Andreus' sword was still sticking out of her side. Before the demon queen could launch her vicious magics at him, he charged her. Up close, she fought him in melee combat. Cyrus called upon his great zeal to slash away at Andariel's leathery hide, while the demon-queen tried to pound his heavy armor with her six arms.
Cyrus' blows came much swifter, and soon, Andariel was visibly floundering. In one last desperate attack, her four larger arms grabbed his shoulders and torso and lifted him high above her head. The move caught the paladin unaware, and for a second, he was helpless in mid-air. But before Andariel could throw the paladin into a nearby pillar, the Amazon had managed to retrieve a single arrow lying on the floor. She picked up her bow and let fly the lone arrow straight at Andariel. Her aim was true, and the arrow struck Andariel in the right eye. The demon queen howled in pain as she dropped the paladin. Cyrus quickly regained his focus and hacked off one of Andariel's larger limbs with one strong blow. Then, he stabbed one of Andariel's scaly legs. When she fell on one knee, he moved in and plunged Shadow Cleaver into her throat.
Before he could pull out his sword, Andariel's dying corporeal form exploded as the demon queen's hate and anguish burst from her temporal body. Her spirit was banished, screaming, back to the Burning Hells from whence she came. In the explosion, Cyrus was hurled back many feet, and was knocked senseless onto one of the Cathedral walls.
When Cyrus regained consciousness a few minutes later, he saw the Amazon standing over him. She was smiling at him, the only time he head ever seen an Amazon warrior smile. He managed a weak grin.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"I believe I should be asking that," she countered. "You're pretty reckless for a paladin, you know. Most paladins go by the book."
"Daring and initiative are sometimes required in battle," he pointed out. "Where are the others? I am sure they would wish to celebrate this great victory."
Dyna lost the smile on her face. "They're waiting outside."
Cyrus gingerly got back on his feet and stepped outdoors, followed by Dyna. He was saddened by what he saw. Many of the demons lay dead, mostly mangled and mutilated. But among the goat men corpses lay the gigantic barbarian Leif, his new axe severed at the handle. The blades of many demonic weapons were lodged into his bulk. Not too far off was his brother, Olaf, also lying still in a pool of blood and body parts. At the other end of the courtyard lay Tarsil, crushed under the weight of a dead Yeti.
Somewhere along the corridors lay both Alicia and Mina. Mina lay coldly on the floor, her chest riddled with arrows, while Alicia was impaled by a spear and pinned to the wall. At that point, even the legendary stoicism of the Amazon faded. She fought a losing battle to hold back the tears that ran down her cheeks. Both of the valiantly fallen rogues were the first and closest friends she had made among the Sisters, and had spent more time with them than even with her captain.
Cyrus heard a loud gasp. He quickly rushed to the side of Olaf, who weakly clutched at his surcoat once he had knelt down beside him. As he prepared his healing prayer, the barbarian pulled him lower.
"Olaf, you must be still," Cyrus said. "Or I won't be able to save you."
"I am beyond help, my friend," the barbarian said.
"No, don't say that!"
The barbarian ignored his pleas. "Did you kill the bitch queen?"
"Yes."
"Is my brother dead?"
"Unfortunately."
"Then let me die, paladin," said the barbarian, his breath beginning to hitch. "My brother and I, we died honorable...warrior deaths on the battlefield..with the task accomplished...now I can go the Halls of Bul- Kathos...with pride and honor..."
The paladin gently removed the barbarians hand from his surcoat and held it until he felt the great warrior lapse. He then administered the final rites. He crossed the dead warrior's forehead and said, "May eternal rest be granted unto thee, and may perpetual Light shine upon thee. Rest in peace."
The paladin and the Amazon began the arduous task of hauling the bodies of the dead together. Cyrus administered the last rites to all of the fallen heroes, while Dyna watched in solemn silence. After blessing the dead, they gathered the weapons and skulls of the vanquished demons and lay them at the feet of their fallen comrades, while laying their own equipment above their heads. Cyrus then retrieved Sir Andreus' sword, and planted it on the soft earth near the courtyard's entrance. On the ground, he marked in runes the words: "In memory of fallen friends". After finishing with the inscription, he too, began to feel overwhelmed. He knelt before the sword and wept. The Amazon wept alongside him.
Whatever bounty that could be gathered was placed within the Cathedral. Before the others could arrive, the two remaining warriors decided to claim their share. The Amazon looked at the pile thoughtfully.
"You have first pick, paladin," she said. "After all, you killed Andariel."
"No, m' lady," he said. "Your steady wits and your arrow led to Andariel's downfall. You have the honor of the hunt."
The Amazon tentatively grabbed a shining suit of ring mail, carefully measuring if the piece of armor would fit her. She looked at the paladin, searching for some sign that the item was what the paladin had wanted.
"You keep it," he said, anticipating her thoughts. "You need it more."
For himself, he took only a small ring, and a helm to sell for a few gold pieces. He was tired, and the allure of war bounty had forever been lost to him. He looked once more at the mess that had been Andariel.
It is done. The Light has won, and home grows ever near...he thought. Then, he looked at his fallen comrades.
But at what cost?
~~~