Title: Footsteps of Glory
By: Emmelyn Cindy Mah
Category: Game/Diablo II, Lord of Destruction
Sub-Category: Action and Adventure/Drama/Romance
Summary: In the dark days of the Lords of Hatred, Terror, and Destruction, when all hope seems abandoned, several heroes with many differences undertake the greatest of burdens; the destroying of the three Prime Evils. This is their tale, as it is the tale of those who aid them in fighting for the freedom of the world they share.
Disclaimer: I do not own Diablo II, nor the concepts of the areas within the game, and the character classes and skills. I do, however, own the characters themselves, their names, appearances, and all other designs. All non-player characters and monsters mentioned are not my own; I do, however, lay claim to the storylines I expand on.
Prologue: The Nonchalant Druid
Twilight came gently upon the grassy plains surrounding the rogue encampment, bringing with it the rolling, chilly mist of the mountains. Beneath the calm, silent serenity—the façade, it was almost impossible to comprehend the true depth of the troubles plaguing the land.
He sat upon a log just outside the gates of the encampment, appearing completely at leisure. A long, crooked staff lay at his feet; it was adorned with a single emerald headpiece. Yet further along the log lay a pack, within which numerous glass bottles of crimson and navy were visible to the keen eye.
Several long moments passed in which he sat in silence, merely content to gaze out into the vastness of the grassy moor. He whistled softly to himself, an old tune all but forgotten save for few of his kinsmen.
"What news this day?" The voice that spoke was brisk; he knew its owner.
He made no motion to turn to her, but leaned back and stretched his arms wide. Joints popped. "Nothing."
His lack of interest seemed to irritate the other, who promptly strode forward. Even as she bore down upon him, icy-teal eyes flashing with unspoken annoyance, he smiled—brightly. "More and more of my scouts die every day, yet here you remain. Complacent." She hissed. "Do you care at all?"
He blinked placidly as he gazed at her for a moment or two, eyes mirroring mild surprise. "Your temper precedes you, Kashya. Charsi warned me of it—guess I should have listened."
Kashya narrowed her eyes, opening her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand for silence.
"I shan't attempt to satisfy your demand for news. But if I may, I will address the other complaints of me." He continued. "Obviously, I have decided to aid your sisterhood. Didn't I single-handedly clear that terrible den last week? This here, is what I call well-earned rest."
She glared at him.
"Good. I believe we are understood, then." He grinned at her.
The captain of the rogue scouts spared him one last withering look of disdain before spinning on her heels and marching back to the encampment the rogues had set up camp in.
Alone at last, he allowed himself a moment to feel guilty for his treatment of her. The sisterhood had their problems. This he could concede. Being driven from their ancestral home by hell spawn was tragedy enough; the worst came after they had set up a makeshift camp in the open. The darkness had pursued and persisted, and many of their sisters had since fallen. Soon the little grave markers in the grass would outnumber the survivors.
In the face of misfortune, the rogues chose to hold their tongues, refusing to complain and refusing to submit to fear and despair. He'd always gotten the impression they hated being pitied for all of their pride.
"Saul, I'm going to have to ask you to please leave Kashya alone."
He frowned. "Lieutenant Liene. Is your Captain shrieking her head off in there? Threatening to kill me? Wait—" He smirked, turning his head to face the second newcomer. "You aren't here to make me apologize, are you?"
Liene shook her head impatiently. "You know, one of these days, you're going to need her help out here. When you do, heaven smile upon you, because it's not going to be easy harnessing her aid after all you've said to injure her sensibilities." She lowered herself stiffly onto the log beside him, cradling her bow upon her lap as she would a precious jewel.
He ran a finger along his clean-shaven jaw, then brushed the messy fall of dark hair from his brow. "Oh, she loves me. That's why she pretends to yell at me and such." He tried for playfulness—it usually worked for him.
"Don't let her hear you say that." Liene warned, clearly unimpressed.
"She's listening. Not very amused, though."
He'd heard the Captain's footsteps, felt her presence long before she'd spoken. Still, he raised his hands into the air in a gesture of surrender, and favoured the Captain with the satisfaction of having surprised him. Beside him, Liene hopped to her feet, slinging her bow over her shoulder to greet her superior.
"Leave us." Kashya stood with her eyes narrowed, tapping one chain-shod foot impatiently upon the ground. "I need to speak to the druid alone."
Saul winced. "Goodbye, Liene. This may well be our last meeting." He released a loud, dramatic sigh, blatantly choosing to ignore the Captain's severe expression. Liene smirked, and, rolling her eyes, turned away.
Kashya stood in silence for a moment or two, her arms crossed over her chest. It was clear to him that she was going through a battle of sorts within her head; to trust the cocky stranger, or not. Saul smiled lazily at her, then leaned back, and thought of a yawn.
Like clockwork, his mouth widened into a gaping yawn.
"Will we be speaking anytime this century, then?" He quirked his brow.
"Be quiet." She snapped. "And listen."
He blinked once at her.
"Flavie has informed me that there is something afoot within the burial grounds beyond the plains." Kashya hissed. "Apparently one of our rogue sisters, Alathea, has been seen wandering the paths around the tombs."
"…and?" Almost as soon as he'd opened his mouth, he'd regretted—she'd given him a look so stony, he was obliged to fall silent once more.
"She died over two months ago." This time, the words were not hissed; neither were they filled with contempt. There was, instead, a rather strained quality to the Captain's voice. "The only conclusion to this is that she's been bought over to the dark side."
Saul blinked. "Oh."
"She calls herself Blood Raven now." Kashya seemed bolstered by his silence; the authority in her voice returned, her lips thinning to a fine line. "And she is building an army of the undead, defiling the bodies of those long gone."
Saul sat in silence for a moment. "…shall I suppose you wish me to stop her, then?"
The Captain's lips thinned further as she considered him. After a moment, she nodded. "Please."
"Right now?"
She glared at him.
He took that to mean yes.
"I'll go get ready, then." Saul began, jumping lightly to his feet.
It wasn't until he'd started for the camp that she spoke up once more. "Oy, druid."
"What?"
When you do it—" she began. He noted the slight tinge of sadness in her voice, and pretended not to notice. "—do it gently."
Author's Note: Phew, what a prologue! Don't forget to click on the review button; drop me a line!
Update: This prologue has been edited for clarity and continuity as of December 29th, 2013.