Prologue
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She seemed strange, in so many ways. Perhaps it was her penchant for black clothing with silver lining. Or her strange, slightly glowing eyes. Or how her face was young, but her hair was almost completely white, and though it was unusual, everyone knew that the way it was styled – it was long, reaching the small of her back, and slightly hid one side of her face - gave her an undeniable sort of beauty. Slightly unsettling, maybe. But it still drew second looks from the men who saw her.
But what was probably the strangest thing of her many couldn't tell at a first glance. The most unusual thing about Claudia? She was a Priestess of Rathma. Secluded and not very social, there was very few that was known about the sect. And what was known was generally hearsay and rumors.
But it is this same isolation that allowed them to pursue their distinct kind of arcane science. For it is through the teachings of Rathma, as well as through years of research and physical experimentation, that these priests have come to understand and hold sacred the delicate balance of life and death and are able to twist the line that borders the two. For although the minions of Hell have long possessed this power, among mortals the knowledge to reanimate and control the dead belongs to these priests alone. It is this practice that has lead outsiders to refer to them asNecromancers. They truly comprehend the balance of all things, and understand and accept their place in what they refer to as the Great Cycle of Being.
Their culture has subsisted in the shadow of the great mage clans from the earliest days, and in most ways their practice reaches back to a time before magic was formalized into strict disciplines.
Although their art is considered "dark," and the people of the outside world shun the priests who practice these arts, these mysterious cultists never suffered the epidemic of corruption that plagued the ancient Mage Clans. Pragmatists in the truest sense, they are above temptation. They see death merely as a natural part of life and do not seek to deny its arrival. Their singular knowledge of the unknown allows them to face death without fear. These ideals, coupled with an understanding of the natural balance between Order and Chaos, explain why they have not fallen prey to the influences of evil.
The mere presence of these Prime Evils on the mortal realm upsets the natural symmetry of not only the mortal realm, but also the Great Cycle of Being, itself. The followers ofRathmaseek to right the balance by ridding the mortal realms of non-mortal intervention altogether. They resent any force that would treat humans as pawns in a cosmic game, though they are apparently willing to ally with the forces of Order…but only until such time as the balance is restored.
It wasn't just that she was of Rathma's 'cult' that was strange. It was rare for women to be in it. The Balance was once more in peril, and her superiors – Master Mendeln, in short - had told her that the way she must go was East, to the Rogue Monastery. The long, chainmail-like half-skirt she wore around her waist clinked – the way coins do in a pocket or pouch – as she walked. Underneath this she wore a long black skirt, and tall boots. Over a high-collared shirt, she covered the whole ensemble with a long, gray cloak. So far, her journey had been filled with rumors of how the Monastery has fallen, of horrific demons, and of the dozens of adventurers who had fallen trying to help the decimated forces of the Rogues trying to reclaim their home. The last inn she had stayed in before nearing her destination, she learned that a few of the members of the Sisterhood – which was what the Rogues apparently called themselves – had set up a sort of camp for housing…and for protection.
Well. That must be the place now. Claudia thought to herself, as she crested a small hill, she caught sight of what looked like the wooden walls of an encampment. Standing only for a moment more in the gathering darkness, she resumed walking. A few minutes of traveling the worn path, she reached a well, with a few trees surrounding it. It was nearly evening now, so she took a drink from the well, set her pack down near a tree, and started making a fire for the night.
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Nightfall.
The sounds of clatter and battle, metal ringing and demonic shrieking woke her up. Bolting upright, she saw around her several bodies of what looked like miniature red men with demonic faces and topknots. Walking to one, she saw that it was a Fallen. Reaching back into her studies, she remembered the text she once read on these. An excerpt from the Demonicus de Zoltun Kulle, if she recalled correctly. It was one of the earliest things taught to initiates of the Priesthood who were inclined to read about the demons.
As hard as it is to believe, the Fallen were once exalted demons of the Burning Hells. They served asAzmodan's hands, performing acts that he would not, could not involve himself in. They were the instrument of Azmodan's first failed attempt to usurp power from Diablo and his brothers, and after that failure, the fallen were subjected to the full wrath ofDiablo. They were twisted into small, ridiculous imps, in contrast to their previously powerful forms. Moreover, if they expected Azmodan to reverse their condition, they were sadly mistaken. The infuriated Azmodan held them responsible for the Prime Evils' continued reign, and so he left the fallen in their new bodies, where their degradation would serve to amuse him for all eternity. Their failure provided him with the information he required to succeed in dethroning Diablo and his brothers - the event now known as the "Dark Exile" - but that fact did nothing to soften his heart toward the Fallen.
When unleashed upon our realm by their master, Azmodan, these impish terrors display a tendency to swarm like flesh-hungry locusts, and they have been known to tear apart a sleeping village in minutes. Small of stature and simian in appearance, these creatures possess surprising strength and unnatural agility. Other than feasting on human flesh, the only act that gives these unspeakable horrors pleasure is breeding; hence the tendency to encounter them in large packs.
However, due to their small size, cowardice appears to be one of the chief features of this species. They quickly retreat when one of their brethren falls in battle.
Apparently, they had tried to ambush her. But what had killed them? Drawing a small sword out of her pack, she crept cautiously to where she thought she heard sounds of fighting.
It was a man. Dressed in black, much like she was, he was moving among the Fallen with shield and curved sword, slicing through them with ease. It looked like they couldn't touch him – not from the want of trying, of course – but he flitted to and fro, blood spurting from wounds on the small demons. Drawing the small, white dagger from its place behind on her belt, she stood and decided to help.
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Strike, spin, block, strike. It was all routine for him, and these little demons were nothing special. He had been walking along the path when he heard the faint sound of them attempting to creep up on what looked like a lone woman asleep underneath a tree. No time to warn her, he had moved silently behind the fiends and took them out. Until, of course, one got away and met some friends. The Blood Moor was still apparently filled with these things.
Knocking away a scimitar with his shield, he did a spun around, slamming the heel of his boot onto the demon's head. Another pirouette and he cut the thing's throat – while bashing another's face with the shield.
I've got to get Charsi to try to sharpen this shield's edge. Might have interesting results. He mused, aiming a kick at another Fallen, simultaneously lopping another's arm off. His long black hair animated with a life its own, moving this way and that as he continued dancing around, avoiding blades, axes, and the occasional spiked club when he could, blocking them when he couldn't.
He was bashing one of his opponent's faces in with the hilt of his sword when he saw several bones of the dead Fallen rip from their bodies, then fly towards the remaining ones with unerring accuracy. If that wasn't curious enough, they were surrounded by what looked like a bluish-white aura. That can only be one thing.
Looking up, he saw a hooded figure of what looked like a white haired woman holding up a small dagger, - shining bright white in the moonlight – and chanting. He stood up from his crouched position, and then walked towards her. And realized that it was the lady he saw under the tree. A Necromancer. He thought.
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For her part, Claudia finished the spell and noticed the raven-haired combatant, with the demise of the little fiends, was walking towards her. Given that she no longer had to concentrate on the battle, she took more notice of the man.
Dark leather boots and black-red pants, a black shirt underneath simple armor, and a small pack. A sword in his left arm, held – unusually – with the hilt facing forward, the blade curving backwards. The shield he carried seemed well-cared for. But then, so did all his equipment. His hair fluttered in the wind, much as her own did, though it was shorter than hers.
"Are you all right?" He smiled at her. Interesting question, as he was the one spattered with blood.
Claudia nodded. "Was it you?" Who stopped the Fallen from ripping me to bits while I was asleep? Was the unspoken addition to the question that both understood.
The man kept his smile in place. "Perhaps it would be better if you went to the Rogue Encampment? It's not very far from here you know, Miss…?"
"Claudia. And the…encampment, it looks far from here." She replied, looking at the wooden walls.
The man looked at where she was looking, and smiled. "Not if you know the way. Come on, I'll take you there."
She looked at him, deciding to trust him, then walked back to pick up her pack.
Following a rough path, they soon reached a river of sorts, with a stone bridge. On the opposite bank was the wooden palisade of the Rogues' current home.
"Right now, we're in the Blood Moor." Her companion glanced at her. "Over the river is the Rogue Encampment, where I suspect is your destination." Claudia wondered what he was. A simple traveler? Despite his sword and shield, he didn't seem like one of the paladins. Certainly not a druid either, not by the cut of his clothes. Or a barbarian, mainly because he was wearing clothes. He was no sorcerer, either. He seemed…unusual.
Something wet hit her cheek. It started raining. Her new friend was smiling.
"Hey, rain. Finally ,something to be happy about."
A/N:
A few weeks ago, I woke up with the urge to play Diablo again. This itch led me to reread The Sin Wars, and ooting around a few storage boxes, I found my old CDs, and installed Diablo II again, inviting a few of my friends to play with me via LAN. This we did, having fun with weird build ideas - one of which is the inspiration for our yet-unnamed male character. You guys already probably have an idea what class he is, anyway. As for the female Necromancer idea, well, it was just some idea I had and thought would run with.
I also lost my password to an older account, prompting me to use this one. Dumb, huh?
Anyways, credits to diablowiki for the stuff in the italicized walls of text in the story - the parts about the Priests of Rathma, and about the Fallen.
So, till next time (hopefully) then?