Disclaimer: I only own the Character names, and the story is my own take. The rest belongs to Blizzard, and I'm not making any money off of this. That said, DON'T SUE THE POOR COLLEGE STUDENT! I HAVE NO MONEY! On another note, please review, or I won't post. It's that simple, and I arleady have chapter 2 almost done. All reviews are welcome- just make sure I GET THEM!
He had always had a fondness for rain, even now, as it poured down from the sky like blood from a gaping wound in God's belly. He liked to think that it was blood from a wound instead of tears from an angel's eyes. His brother had always been optimistic like that; for every possible negative cause or outcome, he would always see the brighter side of things. As the hooded, black cloaked man stepped up the boulders and onto the grass from out of the deep creek rapidly filling with storm water, his dark eyes narrowed under his brow. It was that same optimism that had been his brother's downfall, and now, he was the last of the family line. He hated his little brother for that; some day, his teachers and elders would force him to marry, to procreate. It was not something he looked to with anticipation, and not for the first time in his life did he almost wish he had not been born with the burden of his fore-fathers, if only to avoid the loveless marriage that surely awaited him, ready to crush his spirit.
Forcing his mind to the present and out of his unpleasant ruminations, he stopped abruptly and crouched, pulling back the hood of his cloak in order to hear better through the downpour all around him. He was still for about five minutes, and when it was clear that he was alone and there was no threat sneaking up on him in the dark, he continued, the sad glow of the moon providing him with all the light necessary for his journey as he donned his hood once more. He walked at a steady pace, the long strides not making any noise as his black leather boots took solid steps through the increasingly soggy ground.
For perhaps the twelfth time since he set out towards his destination, he pondered whether or not he should have tried to find a new colored cloak. It was probably an unwise decision to remain in all black, with bones protruding from the mail underneath his cloak, but he was a stubborn man, if nothing else. True, the rumors spoke of a dark wanderer in black causing mayhem and destruction; even more importantly, it would make it harder for her to find him. Still. . . he had owned and used this cloak since long before the rumors started around the wanderer, and he refused to change for the simple sake of convenience; after all, his kind were always met with suspicion. It wouldn't matter if he made it worth the irritation now, would it? No, he re-affirmed himself again, he would not change his dress- especially since he was already running from one problem, and he didn't wish to compound it by hiding. Avoidant he may very well be, but a coward, he most certainly was not.
His thoughts left him as he heard the chattering of the small and irritating demons commonly called 'Fallen'. Withdrawing a sharp and wavy dagger from within his cloak without a sound, he nimbly and quietly slipped into the freezing, rushing waters of the creek until only his eyes remained visible from underneath his hood. He smirked behind pursed lips as the cold hit him; the creek water not nearly as cold as the underground rivers by the subterranean city in which he had been raised. He watched attentively as a Shaman and a half dozen Fallen came into site from the forest thirty feet to his right, carrying on with war cries as they chased a wounded deer. It collapsed and was swarmed by the ugly beasts, waiting eagerly for their leader to take his fill so they too, could eat. As they all crowded around their kill, the pale man in the water smirked again, and reached out with his magic.
There was no warning; one moment, the demons were circled above their kill as their Shaman leaned in to take the first bite of meat, and the next, the corpse exploded with the fury of a miniature volcano, bone fragments proving to be a most lethal form of shrapnel. Several tired to cry out as the bone flew through their frail, misshapen, and malnourished bodies. Blood of the deer and the demons filled the night sky, a loud 'pop' followed by shrieks, and the night was silent once more. The man's dark green eyes were neither joyful nor sad; merely satisfied. It was an unclean trick to be sure, but it never failed to work in the proverbial pinch. The smirk threatening his thin lips once more, he sheathed his blade and rose from the water onto the soggy and rainy ground, approaching his victims warily, looking for any sign of life. Finding none, he stopped about six feet from the nearest corpse. His left hand moved across his body to hold his right elbow as his right hand played across the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. This was the first contact he'd had with evil in at least a week, and he knew from previous experience that resources should not be squandered, and every opportunity should be taken advantage of. His trained ear could not detect any other threat near by, though signs of taint were abundant.
Deciding to be cautious, despite the possible ramifications should he encounter a human contingent, he willed energy back into the corpses before him. Seven skeletons rose from the bloody remains of his victims. Six bore Scimitars made from stone, the shields upon their arms made from expanded bone. The seventh simply stood, white energy dancing around it's fists, the cackling hum filling the night air before going silent, the glow remaining. Taking advantage of the possibly brief respite, he willed the ground before him into shape, a hulking humanoid taking solid form before him: a Golem. He frowned slightly; he preferred those made of fire, but for traveling at night with minimal impediments, he was forced to go with dirt. Considering his available skills, he manipulated his energy once more, bone solidifying into a cuirass around his chest and shoulders, then his arms, and legs. Thus prepared, he removed a small bottle from within his cloak, and uncorked it. Taking a brief swig, he almost smiled as the burning liquid went down, capping the bottle and returning it to it's original hiding place. Drawing a deep breath, he continued onward, his new entourage moving along with him silently and quickly into the dark of the forest.
Dawn found him in a foul mood- and the sound of distant screams and the column of smoke rising into the dawn sky most certainly weren't helping. He entered a clearing after crossing a fast flowing river and was treated to quite a scene.
Palisades stood with tired women peering over the tops, firing arrows into a swarming crowd of Fallen, Zombies, and small spiked creatures. Shamans threw fireballs at the walls over the heads of skeletons. A large man, covered in blue war paint, screamed to the heavens, the song of the Bear Clan upon his lips. Catching a glance of the scar down the right side of the big man's face, the hooded figure smiled; Aggowrath was here, as promised. Sending his skeletons to aid his friend, he summoned a Golem of fire, unleashing it upon the Shamans hiding behind the mass of smaller Fallen and Undead. Removing his Scythe from his back, the hooded figure strode closer to the mass of evil creatures, the blade of his weapon glowing brightly in the dawn's light. His own minions strode boldly into the tired mass of demons, hacking their way to the aid of the winded Barbarian. They moved in a tight formation with a discipline unseen amongst those spawned by evil, the mage releasing blast after blast as they moved through the teeming mass of evil bodies, reaching and then passing the Northman, a giant smile upon his face.
The shifting horde was slow to realize that it was being flanked by a small force; not even as massive spears of bone mowed down handfuls of zombies and Fallen did the dark creatures adapt. Eleven skeletons and a few zombies turned to assault the Necromancer, intent on cutting through the bone and cloak and into the flesh beneath. He moved towards them and the quickly stepped away, never letting more than two or three within range at a time, his back always unthreatened, and cutting them down at the same time. Having done away with his would be assailants, he watched as one of his skeletons fell under the massive fists of a large and furry creature, with disproportionate shoulders, arms, and legs compared to the rest of it's body. Unleashing more of his own power, the pale, green eyed man poured his energy into the beasts as his skeletons pushed forward. Weakened by his curse, the large monstrosities made easy prey for his superior constructions. As Aggowrath rejoined the fray, and arrows stopped targeting his own servants, the black clad Necromancer assessed the battle.
Many demons lay dead, and the seething mass had thinned, the diminished horde beginning to fall back from the palisades. His Fire Golem swung madly in the middle of it all, no Shamans standing in sight. Summoning Four more skeletons and another two magi, he unleashed them into the side of the force, hoping to drive the enemy away from the camp. He spied a pale woman in red, horns rising from her skull and a bow in her hands, screeching in her demonic tongue from the center of the mass of evil. She was obviously the leader of this assault, and it would be a good idea to remove her. As he prepared a curse, he felt three hard punches to his chest and stomach. Glancing down, he found three arrows protruding from his armor, and his eyes locked with the demon-woman's the second they rose up from his armor. Narrowing his eyes in anger, he charged forward to answer her attack with one of his own. Before he reached her, however, he was intercepted by a mass of Fallen swarming from the Palisade in a full retreat. They came at him in a wave, and he had to swing with all of his strength to keep from being overrun. He managed two swipes of his Scythe before it caught in the skull of one demon, and he was hit with four daggers as soon as it failed to come free on the return swing. He knocked away his attackers with a return swing, giving it more momentum by letting go of the weapon and flinging it towards the little demons as he withdrew two sharp, wavy daggers and began to systematically cut through the irritating beings.
A downward sweep with his right hand cut across the face of one and lodged the tip into the skull of another as the left hand blocked a rusty sword and then plunged through an eye in a return stroke, before twisting free and going through the neck of a second. Twirling the blades in his hands with un-unnatural speed, the blade in his left pointed backwards as the right one moved forward, and a step forward and to the right brought him to another target. A hard swing with his right cut through the miniature demon with ease, the left following his arm behind him as it cut another into halves. The thud to his left leg went unnoticed, but the pain that followed was not. Furiously, he abandoned all finesse, hacking and spinning the blades in his hands with a barely controlled rage. One after another, the little red demons fell beneath his hate-fuelled blows, their bodies crunching under his feet as he walked over the dead. Faster and faster, his body turning in circles with his precise steps, his blades carved a halo of blood in the air around him. When the little monsters had all either died or fled, he stopped moving, his blood spattered cloak clinging to his armor, his hood still in place, his left leg covered in blood and throbbing in pain. Seeing that the horde had fled, and the bodies remaining were still, he stood upright and took a deep breath, his rage immediately surrendering to his iron willed control. Flicking the gore from his knives with a motion of his wrists, he sheathed them once more, resting securely in scabbards strapped to his back, hilts facing downwards and out, like he preferred. Putting weight tentatively onto his now injured leg, he withdrew his trusted flask from within the depths of his cloak, and took a deep swig. Placing it once more into it's reserved spot, he turned and was met in a strong grip by the bloodied Northman.
"My friend! You finally made it! Thank the heavens!" The big man squeezed him so hard that he felt like his armor was going to become imbedded in his skin.
"Aggo. . .can't. . .breathe!" He slipped out. The bigger man immediately released him, giving him a warm thump on the back.
"Sorry, Kan. But damn if it isn't good ta see ya! I thought we'd just about had it- demons in a real army and everything, right?" They turned and moved slowly towards the encampment, Kantorakk taking great care not to limp, despite the pain in his leg. He saw, as they came nearer to the entrance, that four of his skeletons had survived, and they moved into a guard formation around the pair as they continued. Aggowrath smiled, and looked down at the pale man.
"Good thing you showed up when you did, or else I might have had to go and find you myself- guessin' that I survived the mornin', anyway." He grinned. "I see you still haven't bleached your hair." It was true. Unlike most Necromancers, Kantorakk had short cropped, wavy black hair underneath the dark hood he wore. Never taking his eyes off of the encampment- or the women eyeing him with distrust and their bows held taught- his quiet voice almost went unheard by his burly friend.
"I have yet to submit to that particular superstition, my friend. Just removing color from one's hair does not make one closer to Rathma, nor does it increase one's power."
"Rathma is supposed to be your deity, right? " Kantorakk merely nodded and continued, slowly removing his flask once more, and taking a swig. His friend noticed this and took the flask, waving it under his nose. "Whoa! This is some strong stuff, Kan. When did you start drinking shit like this?"
"Awhile ago." He responded, swiping the flask back and putting it away. "And you should know better than to take another man's liquor, especially mine. I've killed men for less." His friend laughed aloud as they arrived at the entrance, Rogues keeping their bows trained on him. A glare from the large Barbarian was enough validation for most, though one shot the pair a dirty look and ran out of view. Ignoring the blood running down his leg and the certain bruises forming underneath his armor, Kantorakk turned to the bigger man, pulling down the cowl of his cloak.
"I understand from your message that the dark wanderer passed through and now demons run wild, but I have to ask- why haven't these people evacuated to the Rogue's Monastery? Surely it would be safer there, and the horde we just fought would not have posed such a large threat." Aggowrath's face adopted a sad expression, his voice low.
"Kan, their monastery was overrun by demons. Andariel and her horde ambushed them- I don't know all the details, but they did." The shorter man stood still in contemplation. After a minute:
"How long ago?"
" 'Bout a month, maybe a little more. Why?" His friend either didn't hear him or ignored the question; Aggowrath figured the second, knowing Kan as he did.
"How many were killed?" The Barbarian shrugged and shifted his feet, crossing his arms. Looking down, then up again, deep in thought, before finally answering.
"I have no idea. Probably more than 30 or 50, I'd guess. You'd have to ask the priestess Akara, or that Kashya broad." Kantorakk smirked at this; Aggowrath normally did not voice his opinions of strong or. . . difficult women aloud. He was officially intrigued; she must be very mean for him to speak badly of her out loud and surrounded by her fellow rogues.
"I think I should speak with this Akara, Aggowrath. Care to go in first so they don't shoot me right away?" With his friend's laughter filling the air yet again, they walked past the palisades, and into the camp.
Tents were spread throughout the area, and rogues still stood on rock ledges that allowed them to see over the edge of the palisade walls. Blood stained the grass in spots and trails, showing where the wounded had been taken during the fight. Rogues stood in groups of two or three, talking quietly amongst themselves, and giving him either fearful or dark looks when they saw him. A fire was dieing down in the center of camp, and supply wagons were spread along the western side. Following the trail of blood, the two made their way to a large white tent, where several women lay in cots, all in various stages of injury. Aggowrath excused himself to go get something, and headed back the way they had come. Walking calmly through the door, Kantorakk stepped inside and out of the entrance, hoping that his dark dress would not stress the wounded too much. He saw an older woman in purple robes tending to a blond woman whose chest and abdomen were covered in blood stained bandages. walking slowly towards her, he stopped just out of earshot, waiting patiently. He had only been standing for perhaps ten seconds before the blond girl in the cot fixed him with a glare that was a mix of fear, surprise, and distrust. Her blue eyes narrowed sharply, and the woman in purple turned to face him, her face registering interest and surprise as she saw what he was, more than the fact that he bowed to her. She was, after all, a High Priestess, if her garb was anything to go by, and all senior magi should be treated with respect.
"Greetings, Necromancer. I am Akara, High Priestess and Sister of the Sightless Eye. Welcome to our camp. What brings you here?" Her voice was tired and carried the weight of a leader who has seen too many of their subordinates fall.
"I have come at the behest of my friend Aggowrath the Barbarian of the Bear Clan. I am in need of slight medical assistance." With that, he removed his cloak, the arrows and blood drenched leg coming into plain view. Akara frowned, nodded, and motioned him to follow her into the back of the tent. Before he followed her, he turned to look the Amazon in the eye. Hers were sharp and suspicious; he knew his carried no emotion, and he took some small satisfaction that this confused her. With a brief nod, he looked away and followed the Priestess into the back; he leg was starting to actually hurt. He entered the back room and sat down heavily, moving his cloak so his leg was visible. Akara went into a slight trance, and he could feel the energy swirling about them in the room. After a few moments of that, she began to dress the cut in his leg, taking care not to damage the exposed artery.
" Do you have a name, Necromancer?" She asked him as she removed several rusty bits of metal from the wound in his thigh. His reply was brief and simple, just as he liked to do.
"Kantorakk." He said nothing, nor did he shrink in pain, as she jerked the tips of the knives out and blood flowed freely.
"When did you last sleep, Kantorakk?" He took a deep breath, and was silent for a moment before simply choosing to ignore the question. Instead, he asked one of his own.
"How many sisters remain, and more importantly, how many were killed when you were forced from your monastery?" Akara sighed sadly as she began to wrap his leg.
" I take it the Barbarian told you we were driven from our ancestral home?" her voice sounded even more weary as she reflected on the loss her order had suffered. He simply nodded, not too fond of speaking when he could get away with it. She gave him a look he could not place before she answered him. "We have roughly 30 sisters left, only half of which are near an age to fight. Our order used to have 320 within it. Most are now dead and servants of the demon queen sitting in the depths of our former home."
"I am sorry to hear that." He truly meant what he said, but he knew it sounded hollow- his voice carefully trained to never reveal emotion, as it made some spells go awry.
"I'm sure. How did you meet the Barbarian?" He almost smiled, but all he really did was blink slowly, ever mindful of what his face portrayed. After a minute of silence, he decided to answer.
"When I was 17, I was ordained in the priesthood, and sent to the North to aid in quelling an outbreak of undead. He was to watch me, and ensure that I did not violate any Northern customs. While it took a few battles before we became friends, he quickly learned to show me the same respect I had to him and his people. We did some adventuring afterwards, and then he was forced to return home. He is a close friend, and when he sent for my help, I came as quickly as I could. Aggowrath is rarely humble enough to know when to ask for help." The priestess chuckled at this and sat down before him. He didn't look like a teenager, given his bearing and the way he spoke, she decided.
"We have been faced with more and more demons in the wilderness, and supplies are continuing to become harder and harder to come by. The path east has been closed since the monastery is no longer safe, so Warriv, the caravan master, has been forced to stay here, though I do not know from whence Gheed has come." The necromancer pondered the name- a shady merchant whose name was so close to greed- coincidences, in his experience, were very rare. He focused on Akara as she continued. "I have asked your friend Aggowrath to help fight off the evil that has been trying to kill all that is good in these lands. Allaria, the Amazon you saw earlier, has agreed to help him, along with a sorceress called Amarien. He had told me earlier that he had sent for help from a most trustworthy man- I presume it would be you?" Kantorakk tilted his head and stared at her.
"You expect me to believe that Aggo used the word 'trustworthy'? I am quite sure he doesn't have that large a vocabulary. Are you sure he didn't say 'not bad' or 'tough', perhaps ?" Akara laughed at the dry tone with which he spoke, and decided that the man before her knew more about the man from the north than anyone else in camp, and was not completely devoid of humor. Even as hemocked his friend, there was no harshness behind it.
Allaria stared angrily after the pale man as he followed Akara to the back of the tent, trying to hide the limp. She knew only what her battle sisters had said of necromancers, and if she remembered correctly, not much of it was good.
"Who was that?" She looked across the open path to see Amarien sitting up, pained by the sling around her arm and the bandages around her chest.
"A necromancer, and an ugly one at that." Her words hid none of her distaste. Mostly because he scared her- not that she'd admit it to anyone.
"He didn't look all that bad looking to me. Maybe a little dirty, but if you cleaned him up and took away all the black. . ." The little voice was optimistic and full of mirth.
"Are you out of your mind? The man was paler than a corpse!" Before the little woman across from her could respond, they both heard a loud and cheerful voice that they both hated and loved at the same time.
"Oh! You mean Kan is still here? That's great! I wanted to give him something, but I didn't figure he'd still be here." The burly man clomped down to the feet of their beds and smiled at both of them. Amarien raised an eyebrow and sat up further.
"'Kan?' His name is 'Kan'? I thought necromancers all had white hair and scary names." The Barbarian smiled as he looked down at the petite woman.
"Kantorakk is a bit weird, even for a necromancer. He thinks their ritual of bleaching their hair and growing it out is a load of bullshit." The Amazon looked at him incredulously, almost at a loss for words. Finally, she decided to go with a neutral tone to avoid pissing of the giant and volatile man.
"And how in the hells do you know that?" Aggowrath smiled at the challenge in her voice that she wasn't quite able to hide.
"I've known Kan for years now." He said proudly. "He and I go way back, and if it hadn't been for. . . a thing back home, we would never have parted ways. He is the best friend I've ever had, even if he does scare the shit out of most people." He looked back to where he saw his friend's shape take a drink from something through the flap that separated the back of the tent, and a frown spread across his scarred face as he watched, and he became concerned. The girls noticed this, and Amarien spoke up.
"Aggie, what's wrong?" She was the only one who got away with butchering the proud warrior's name like that, but it normally never failed to get his attention. "Aggie?" Nothing. "Aggie?" Still nothing. "Aggie!" her voice was definitely concerned now. He never ignored her. The two women traded a worried glance, and the blond kicked him hard with her foot. He turned his head to look at her.
"Amarien just called you her private man-whore, and you didn't even shit around with her. What's wrong?" The Amazon loved to antagonize the big man, mostly because the sorceress would pacify him with a word before he would try anything. His face was grim, and his voice was worried- a rarity in and of itself.
"Kan never lies. Ever. Kan is someone who is always honest- even if it's the wrong thing to say, he won't sugar coat it, even to a child or a dying man. I asked him once if he'd give up on the drinking, and then made him swear not to let it get to him." He looked back to the curtain. "I guess he lied." his voice was sad now; hurt. It was then that the cloaked man came out from the back and strode up to the three, nodding in greeting to the two women and handing an amulet to Aggowrath. He looked his friend in the eye.
"I think you might be wanting this. Akara has agreed to let me help you." The big man took it angrily from his pale friend and howled at him.
"You sun-starved sunnova bitch! I thought you promised not to touch the drink ever again! I just saw what you took, and I was willing to let the first flask go because you were traveling day and night, but if you've got more, then that's it!" The whole tent shook with the big man's anger, and went still with shock when the smaller man's eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward, looking the bigger man in the eye.
"If you were to remember correctly, Aggowrath, then you would remember that I told you to go to hell when you tried to make me swear to it! More importantly, who are you to watch my habits, huh? I seem to recall you and a certain opium den that you frequented. At least my habit is under control, and doesn't threaten my companions! Or need I remind you ofDerrik!" The barbarian looked down and his shoulders slumped as all fight left him, suddenly ashamed at a seeming failure of his past as the smaller and evidently more vicious man continued. " Don't put your paw where it isn't wanted, cub, or it may get cut! As I recall, I had to pull your ass out of the fire and you'd still have that damned habit if I hadn't knocked some sense into you! So before you go trying to control my habits, bear in mind which of us actually has control! Now, I'm going to find my damned Scythe. Try not to make an ass out of yourself while I'm gone, alright?" And with that, the pale man with the menacing aura strode out of the tent.
"What an asshole!" Amarien said aloud immediately, trying to cheer up Aggowrath. The Amazon merely watched the door where the necromancer had departed, surprised at his sudden display of viciousness, the fact that he had stood right up to a man twice his size, and wondering who Derrik was.
"No, Amarien. He may be small, but he has a temper like my people, and he's right." The big man's voice was full of remorse. "I sometimes forget that he doesn't make exceptions for his friends when it comes to arguments." He sighed heavily. "Don't worry, give him ten minutes, and it will be forgotten." The small woman was incredulous.
"You're kidding! He lands a low blow and you just forgive him! No way!" Aggowrath laughed and smiled.
"Yes, way, little one. He is my blood brother. We may fight, and sometimes violently, but it never takes more than a day. You will see- I rage at him, he lets me have it, and we share a drink in the end. I should go and thank him for the amulet. I will see you both later." He turned and strode out of the tent in the direction of the necromancer. The women shared a glance as he left, and were silent for a moment before the Amazon looked back at the doorway and voiced a thought.
"Blood brother? What the hell did he mean by that?" The sorceress could only shrug and lie back on her cot, and will her injuries to heal faster. She didn't worry about it too much, but if the necromancer gave Aggowrath any more trouble, she decided, then she would give him a piece of her mind.