Author's Notes: Well, here's my first Diablo II story. I am totally addicted to this game! I was in Spain up until about a month ago visiting relatives (mom's a Spaniard), and my PlayStation (which I took with me) got busted. So, I couldn't kill zombies AT ALL. It was hell, man. And now that I'm back, I've been playing D2 nonstop. Plus, I picked up the expansion pack from a friend, so it's been great. I've got this totally ASS-KICKING Amazon named Sawa (I'd watched Kite recently) and she's so cool. I rock! (And my Werewolf Druid IS DA BOMB!)

Disclaimer: I don't own Diablo 2. It belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. However, the characters are mine, even if they're based on the templates of the game.

~*~*~ = indicates a POV switch. (not in first-person.)

Searching for Heaven

By Asphyxia

~*~

Chapter One: Interesting Beginnings

I will not get mad, I will not get mad…

Nike trudged unhappily over the wet, soggy field, rain spattering cheerfully against her already-soaked leather cloak. Although it'd only been a few days since she'd left her home on Philios, it felt like years and years had passed. She'd never really been one for travel, especially if it was disgusting and wet, like it was here. Thankfully, though, she was well-trained and was able to cover much distance without feeling very tired.

Suddenly, a tree sprang up in front of her and she went sprawling over one of the thick roots. She threw her arms out to take the brunt of her fall and managed to avoid going face-first into the mud. As she sat, covered in grass and mud, she clenched her teeth to keep from screaming in frustration. She noticed her bow had been thrown from her shoulder, and she snatched it up, frustration forgotten. She checked fearfully for any damage, but was relieved to see there was none. Getting to her feet, she slung the bow over her shoulder once more and gazed towards the horizon.

Her jaw dropped as she saw the tall, wooden gates that surrounded the camp of the Sisters of the Sightless Eye. Nike grinned happily and set off at a light jog, so overjoyed at finally getting to her destination that she'd completely forgotten her misery. She reached the gates quickly and skirted around one, entering through the gap behind it.

The camp was large, populated with rogues, wagons, chickens, and a few cows. A pretty blond woman stood in front of a fire pit, deep in conversation with a hefty man dressed in blue. Nike thought that she must be the camp's leader, as she wore chain mail over the typical leather jerkin of the rogues. There was the sound of a blacksmith's hammer, and Nike noticed another blond, muscular and powerful but still feminine, pounding away at a sword. Another woman, dressed in long purple robes, was in a small enclosure with a tent set up behind her and a cauldron bubbling out front. Rogues were posted at various places within the camp, guarding or making arrows or something similar. A ways behind the fire pit was a large tent that could probably fit several people.

Nike's observation was interrupted when she noticed a handful of the rogues watching her oddly. She licked her lips and hoisted her bag, ignoring the rogues as she headed for the woman she thought was the leader. As she approached, the blond turned around and studied her with hard, flinty green eyes. Those eyes roved over Nike, taking in every little detail. Nike didn't move, allowing the leader to do her inspection. Finally, the woman spoke.

"An Amazon. I never expected to see one of your people here."

Unfazed by the remark, Nike nodded. "Yes," she said. "I came from the island of Philios to aid you in your quest to get rid of the evil present."

The woman raised an eyebrow, as though she was less than confident in Scyleia's abilities. "Very well," she said simply. "I am Kashya, leader of the rogues." Ha, I was right. "You can stay in that large tent over there." She gestured to the tent that Nike had noticed earlier. "There are a few others who have your objective in mind, too. They'll be in there, I think."

"Thank you," Nike said, inclining her head slightly as a gesture of respect. Kashya repeated the gesture, then turned back to the man in blue. Shrugging inwardly, Nike headed over to the tent quickly, once more ignoring the questioning gazes of the rogues. She lifted the heavy canvas flap and stepped inside.

There were three people already in the tent. One was a big, powerful man with a shaved head, save for a ponytail at the top of his head. He had a long, blue tattoo of a dragon running over his right eye onto his chest. Next to him, sharpening a broadsword, was a smaller, dark-skinned man with a handsome, intelligent face. He smiled at Nike and nodded, just as she'd done to Kashya. The last person was a lithe, small young woman, dressed in somewhat scanty clothing. Her long black hair fell in a wild mane down her back, and her gleaming amethyst eyes locked onto Nike. The big man, who hadn't seen her yet, noticed the woman looking over and did the same.

"Well, well, well! Another hero coming to join us!" he roared jovially, grinning. He strode over to Nike and clapped a huge hand on her shoulder. "Welcome, friend! I'm Ajax, from the Northern Steppes, and this is Gabriel" he pointed to the dark man "and that's Circe. How about you?"

Nike was sure that she was staring at him, as she had never seen a barbarian closely before, and fought to cover it. "My name is Nike," she said. "I am an Amazon from the island of Philios."

Ajax's grin grew wider. "Excellent! Apparently our friend over there thinks we need a ranged attacker. I don't see the point, but to each his own, eh?"

The dark-skinned man—Gabriel—rose to his feet and held out his hand. When Nike reached out, he took it gently and kissed it, his eyes kind. "A pleasure," he said, his voice quiet. "I come in the name of the true Zakarum Church, serving as a paladin. I have resisted its corruption, and hope to turn my brothers back into the men they once were. May the Light be with you."

Unsure of how to respond, Nike settled for a simple "Thank you". She glanced over at Circe, who had also risen. She inclined her head and spoke in a low voice replete with hidden depths. "I have come from the mage clan of the Zann Esu. Welcome, Amazon. Perhaps we can leave our people's history behind."

"Surely," Nike said, mind racing. A sorceress, huh? She had been unaware that she'd been suspicious of the slight woman, but she was definitely aware now. Her people had always been extremely wary of sorcerers and sorceresses alike, yet Nike knew that she couldn't allow her feelings to surface. Smiling tightly, she placed her gear in a corner of the tent that seemed unoccupied. A glint of white caught her eye, and she saw another pack lying over in the opposite corner, a thin stick adorned with feathers and carved symbols sticking out of it. She turned to the tent's occupants, puzzled. "Whose things are these?" she asked.

Gabriel's face grew hard, but he said nothing. Circe remained quiet, too, so Ajax answered her. "That's Dante's," he said, and Nike noticed he wasn't as jovial as before. "He's…he's a necromancer. He's outside right now. I don't know where, though."

Nike's eyebrows raised at this small announcement. So there was a necromancer, too? The Amazons hadn't had much contact with the priests of Rathma, but she knew that they control the dead. Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she fought off the negative judgements and nodded. "I see," she said carefully, intent on not provoking any of the three people. She got up from her crouch and gently laid her bow on her pack. She wanted to see this man—this human who held dominion over the dead. "I'll be back in a second," she said aloud, already headed for the tent flap. "I must consult Kashya over what she wants me—or us—to do."

There were three sounds of agreement, and the conversation that they'd been holding before she came resumed. Nike stepped out of the tent and scanned the camp with shrewd eyes. She didn't seen anyone who looked like a necromancer, but that woman in the purple robes was most likely a witch or healer of some kind. Perhaps she knew where this Dante was.

The woman glanced over at Nike as she came closer, and a small smile crossed the tired, weary face. Nike smiled and nodded in return, walking towards her. The woman spoke once she was close enough.

"I am Akara, traveler, the High Priestess of the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye. You have something to inquire?"

Well, she'd been close enough. "Yes, I do. Am I correct in assuming you are a healer?"

Akara nodded and gestured for Nike to sit down on a large boulder near the tent. "You are correct. Are you in need of aid?"

"No, but I was told by the northern man—Ajax—that there was a man here who…who could raise the dead. I believe his name is Dante. Ajax said that he was outside somewhere—do you know where he is?"

The old woman sighed lightly and sat down on the boulder. "Yes, I know where the necromancer is. He troubles me a great deal and it is not only because of his powers." Akara pursed her lips. "He is filled with sorrow, that man. He has seen a great deal of tragedy, and because of his calling has never found someone who could give him comfort. He is so young…I feel pity for him, though I should not."

Silence met this speech as Nike processed what Akara had said. Could it be that he wasn't evil, as his magic suggested he was? She turned to Akara, who held up her hand and smiled. "He is just outside of the camp, sitting by that tree." The healer pointed towards a large tree that could be seen from inside the gates.

"Thank you," Nike said, rising from the boulder. Akara did the same and waved as she walked to the gate. She looked outside for the tree, and saw a figure siting at the base, back leaning against the trunk. Not wanting to startle him, Nike moved quietly to the tree. She was about to speak when the man did, interrupting her before she'd begun.

"Good afternoon," he said, his voice quiet like Gabriel's but in a very different way. He stood and turned to face Scyleia, and her eyebrows shot up—but in surprise this time.

He—Dante, she remembered—was very tall and thin, with skin so pale it was almost white. His hair was white, and it fell a few inches past his collar bone. His face was composed of sharp, masculine angles, and dark eyes glittered at her from slightly darkened eye sockets. His cheekbones were high and quite hollow, making him look almost—but not quite—gaunt. He wore black leather pants and heavy boots with silver clasps, an ornate belt around his very slender waist. A black leather vest with a slender silver border covered his broad shoulders, leaving his chest bare, the bottom hanging loose around his knees. On his chest was a rather eerie tattoo: it was an incredibly intricate ceremonial dagger, piercing through a skull engraved with arcane symbols. He noticed her looking at it and smiled very slightly, almost shyly.

"That is a tattoo that is quite common for necromancers," he said. "In fact, all initiates to the Order of Rathma wear it until they are able to claim mastery over the Great Cycle of Being. Once they achieve this, the tattoo fades away and is replaced by the symbol of the Cycle."

He was a few inches taller than she was, so Nike found herself looking up into those dark, glittery eyes. Dante's pale eyebrows rose ever-so-slightly, and Nike could almost see him shying away. He stepped back, averting his gaze.

"I'm sorry," she said, taking the step he'd gone back and closing the space between them. Her throat was strangely dry, perhaps caused by Dante's presence. Nevertheless… "I…I have never met a priest of Rathma before."

The shy smile returned once more, and he spoke in that darkly quiet voice. "Most people have the fortune not to." His eyes flicked down, taking in her clothing, then said, "You are an Amazon, aren't you? I've met a few…"

Nike nodded. It sounded as though his meeting with her people hadn't been very pleasant. In truth, she really couldn't blame either of them: Amazons were quite difficult when they encountered other peoples, and of course, necromancers were widely reviled throughout Sanctuary. But it was a bit odd, wasn't it? The Church of Zakarum preached about love and light for all, and her own gods and goddesses spoke of a great unity that should be present in the world. And it wasn't there. She noticed Dante looking at her curiously, and smiled. "My apologies, again. Sometimes my mind just trails off."

"I know that feeling," he said lightly. "It happens every time I try to study."

She laughed, and she felt proud as his smile widened—like a parent whose child has just taken its first step. A drop of rain suddenly splashed onto her shoulder, causing her to glance upward. "We should return to camp," she said. "It's going to rain. Again."

Dante's handsome face clouded over as she spoke. Nike knew what he was thinking: he did not want to return to the stares, the mutters, the hatred that seemed to come from everywhere. Gingerly, almost fearfully, she placed a hand on his shoulder and tilted her head slightly. "I know it's not exactly friendly, but if we're here to get something done, it won't help if you catch cold," she said. "Come, there will be food and a fire. Besides, it's safe, and you don't have a weapon."

The necromancer sighed, following it with a nod. "I suppose—"

"Ahem."

Nike whirled around to face their companion. Relief (though it wasn't much) washed through her as she saw the leader of the rogues watching them closely. "Hello, Kashya."

"Your presence is required in the camp. We have received a choice bit of news that you should all hear." Kashya looked sourly at Dante, then said, "Even you, death mage."

"What has happened?" Nike asked, sensing that something was wrong. Kashya took a deep breath and ran a hand through her blonde hair. Finally, she spoke, and when she did, Nike understood that something was indeed wrong.

"Apparently, it is not only Andariel we have to worry about," Kashya said, her voice grim. "The Prime Evils have a plan—and it is going into effect now."