Authors Note
Hey guys, Giacomo here once again. Wow I cannot believe how long I haven't updated this story, I am going to tell you the truth and say this is all out of laziness and writers block, because this particular chapter is really heavily fact and conversation basted I kept on putting off writing to the point its been nearly over half a year since I last wrote. So first off a HUGE sorry to all those that have been SOO patient waiting for this, this chapter is dedicated especially to you guys. I really am so surprised how many views this story gets seriously, hell I go back reading what I have done and cringe sometimes, maybe I am too judgemental on my own work I don't know.
Before we go any further I wish to answer a review I got not long ago, that in the first war Molly and Arthur was not in the Order of the Phoenix. I honestly thought that they were, I know that the Prewitt brothers (Fabian and Gideon Prewitt who were Molly's brothers whom were killed) were members and I assumed they were too. If not it really is no big deal, to tell you the truth I used their inclusion in the Order cause I wanted the confrontation at the beginning to go the way I wanted, plus I love Arthur Weasley, love his character. At the moment though I am not looking to go back and edit that out, and the issue is kinda not that important to tell you the truth. I thank the reviewer for pointing that fact out though :).
At this moment in time, I have had no internet for a month and with the new year I just decided no more putting it off and just do it. So here it is, please hope you guys and gals leave reviews and even feel free to PM me about this story, give me some feedback and let me know what I could do to change this story and make it better. Well I am just going to end this ramble, hope you enjoy the chapter, here is the next instalment of Harry Potter of the Umbaru.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter Universe, all rights go to J.K Rowling; all characters and concepts of the Harry Potter Universe; both good and bad, are property of J.K Rowling. I also do not own the Diablo Franchise, all rights go to Blizzard Entertainment. This story is for the express purpose of entertainment only.
Chapter 4
A sense of determination and righteous anger filled the young Witchdoctor as he steadily glided over the burning sands and broken and worn pave stones leading to the Khasim Outpost; a small settlement outlying the far borders of Caldeum. His grip on his deadly machete did not waver as he deftly sliced right through his foe with a small shower of gore, while his back was turned some of his foes tried to sneak attack him from behind only to be showered by sharp, iron tipped bolts from the lethal auto fed crossbow of Lyndon. A deep bellow sounded out amidst the screeching of imp like bodies surrounding the hunting party of Hawe, Kormac, Lyndon and Eirena; a tall monstrosity stared savagely at the group. By appearance it looked similar to its smaller compatriots, it stood at a towering 7 foot tall, mouth full of sharp pointed teeth, dark jagged claws attached to his enlarged hands and long, ram-like horns adorned with vicious spikes and grisly looking scars from previous skirmishes. It wore a ragged looking hardened, black leather pauldron on its right, muscle bound shoulder and carried a fearsome looking club adorned with a crown of vicious looking dark metal spikes. The scarlet coloured foe bound at the party surrounded in a crowd of equally scarlet imps with a bellowing roar, its smaller allies reached the hunting party swarming them with gnarled looking clubs and needle like daggers.
Kormac charged bravely amongst the swarm of Fallen, pulverising several small skulls with his hardy looking tower shield and swiping and separating the heads of several other foes with a flick of his steel lance, with a shift of his grip on his weapon he threw his lance like a spear; impaling two imps through their spindly torsos. Dispatching another imp with a skull shattering kick Kormac retrieved his lance, only to be caught off guard by a slightly larger imp wielding a club and shield covered in nail like spikes. Just as the gnarled club glanced the deft block from Kormac's lance the imp was struck in the neck by a dark feathered bolt from the cross bow of Lydon, the neon glow of a poisoned tip ran down the imps spindly neck.
'Do pay attention Templar', Lyndon brayed with a slight grin on his moustachioed face whilst showering his foes with a click of his auto fed crossbow. A small number of imps rushed the two companions getting a little to close for comfort when an invisible magical explosion hit them with such force that blew the scarlet foes apart in a rain of gore.
'Oops I didn't mean to do that, still too much power in that spell', Eirena sheepishly said with a delicate hand covering her mouth.
The moment between warriors was cut short as a loud demonic bellow followed by what felt like a minor earthquake, as the group turned the sight of the large Fallen Overseer covered in the gore of its brethren was pinned down by what appeared to be a newly summoned Gargantuan and adding to its strength a dark shadowy pit with blue ethereal hands towing and strangling the demon to the ground, the wails of the dead crying out in vengeance covering the death bellows as Hawe ripped the life from his foe with a vicious stab through the skull with his deadly machete. None too gently Hawe brutally steadied his slain enemies head with a calloused foot as he yanked his weapon out with a satisfying fleshy scrape and slurp of metal on bone, a stoic expression covering the young witchdoctor's face.
'It seems we are not far from the Khasim Outpost, Alcarnas is supposed to be merely a days run away from the outpost', Hawe stated as he methodically cleaned the gore from his machete.
'Ahhh finally, this infernal sand is irritating', Lyndon complained as he brushed the sand from his jacket sleeve, being cautious not to get grit in his crossbow's firing mechanism.
'I agree, the sooner we get out of this scorching sun the happier I will be', Kormac said, resting his weaponry to drink from his water skin.
With a guttering sound Hawe summoned a trio of zombie dogs and the group rushed on their way, flying with all due haste over the hot sand dunes. Happenings of the past rushed in the young witch doctors mind as the desolateness of the surroundings put his actions in auto pilot, the thought of revenge for the one who had stole a cherished ones life burned in his heart.
Three Weeks Earlier
The Stranger was restless in his slumber, he dreamt of bright lights, fire, blood and falling. It had been only two days since he first laid his eyes upon the shattered remains of what was a beautiful blade of great workmanship. The blade was made with a metal unlike any that had been set eyes upon, it nearly shone with a silverish light when candlelight hit it, it was embossed by a gold like metal engraved with curious carvings with an otherworldly language that even the scholar Deckard Cain couldn't decipher. Since he laid eyes on what had been evidence of his past he would have vivid dreams of death and fire, dark times that may come. The Stranger suddenly awoke from his sleep, the names Belial, Azmodan and Imperius flashes in his mind as he is ripped out of the hands of Morpheus, a light sweat beaded from his dark brow as he palmed his face with his hand; what was it about those names that haunted him so?
Garbing himself with his travellers cloak and boots he left his room at the Inn and made his way to the abode of Deckard Cain, nodding to several New Tristram guards along the way and even greeting the blacksmith Haedrig as he passed; working on the straps of some wicked looking greaves. He knocked on the weathered door of Deckard and after a brief wait and a clicking of locks the wrinkled face of the Horadric scholar appeared in the crack of the open door. With a smile The Stranger was let in, the twinkling of various candles and candelabras illuminated the room, the scent of ink, wax and parchment engulfed The Stranger. The room was covered entirely in leather bound books and scrolls of vellum parchment, Deckard offered The Stranger to take a seat as he gingerly grabbed a flask off a shelf containing various glasses and even a strange looking cube.
'The same dreams again my friend?', Deckard queried as he filled a flagon filled with an aromatic liquid from the non distinct flask, the aroma of sweet mead with delicate spices hit his nose as The Stranger took a sip from his beverage.
'It is the same dreams of fire, destruction and death, every time my eyes close I see disturbing images of depravity and evil, I do not understand them.', The Stranger sighed as he rubbed his tired, sleep addled eyes. Deckard just poured himself a small flagon of mead and with a creaking of limbs he lowered his aching body in his chair.
'It is ominous signs my friend, it seems like dark times may be upon us', Deckard wearily ran his hand through what was left of his wispy hair, out of a beaten window the sun was just sinking as the two weary men drank fragrant mead in silence.
'I am surprise young Leah is not here by your side, I was worried about her after the venture into the Flooded Temple', proclaimed The Stranger as he passed his eyes over a particular tome in the corner of a dusty looking book case labelled "Histories and folk tales of Kehjistan".
'Ah...Leah is travelling to Wortham with our young Witchdoctor friend and his companions, they left several hours ago by ferry hoping to get there well before sunset; it is there where we believe the remaining pieces of your sword maybe hidden.' Deckard said as he scratched away with a quill at a leather bound tome covering over half the table, the tome covered in a dark chocolate brown leather that unlike other books in the room was well maintained and looked to be well looked after.
'I know you did not come to keep an old man company my friend, is there something you needed?' Cain asked as he frustratingly pushed his bushy beard off this work, thankfully not smudging any of the ash coloured ink into the delicate velum. The Stranger paused hesitantly, then after a good draught of his aromatic mead asked hesitantly,
'Does the names, Azmodan Belial and Imperius mean anything to you?' Almost like he was stung in mid sip he spluttered and coughed violently, knocking over his inkwell and narrowly missing his prised work; the dark ink staining Cain's battered and worn table and starting to drip down the right leg of his table into the already stained wooden floorboards. After several following coughs and curses uttered from the scholar's cracked mouth, Deckard's eyes snapped eerily sharp at the Stranger's startled face as he tried to mop up worst of the spilled liquid with a dirty cleaning rag.
'What did you say the names were again?' Deckard questioned in verification, a charged nervousness enveloped the once peaceful room.
'Azmodan...Belial...and Imperius...', the Stranger hesitantly repeated, an uneasy feeling rushed into the man's body at the reaction from the grizzled Horadric Scholar. Deckard's eyes shifted to one of his dusty book shelves, with a creak of his ancient body he levered himself from his chair and shuffled himself to a particularly dirty corner of the shelf and gingerly withdrew a particularly thick tome filled with lose leafs of parchments in varying stages of aging, from immaculate bone white vellum to parchments stained brown with writing barely recognised. The cover was a strange dark brown with hints that at one time could have been a crimson colour when it was made, there were spots on the leather worn through showing the delicate leaves of parchment inside, the tome closed with a brass latch at one point would have been a work of art; now only a tarnished bit of metal just holding the delicate package together.
'This tome was handed down from my ancestor, Jered Cain; the first of the Horadrim. Each generation would add information dedicated to the subject, hoping that the information would not die with them.', Deckard explained as he returned to his seat and with great care he gingerly clipped open the latch and opened what was probably the most treasured object he had in this god forsaken world. After passing over some of the newer additions to the tome he reached a particularly yellowed parchment and with a shacking hand touched the ancient object titled with a name that still struck fear in his heart.
DIABLO – THE LORD OF TERROR
The feared horned visage of a terrifyingly burly brute of a demon covered one side of the page, fearsome looking spikes stuck out from his brawny, crimson back, covered in what seemed to be like dragon like scales armouring all the way down a solid looking tail, armed with razor sharp claws and dreadfully sharp looking fangs this figure looked like the think of nightmares. Hesitantly with an aged look on his face turned to the next parchment, the next page like the same with another dreaded name.
BAAL – THE LORD OF DESTRUCTION
A picture of a the curved horned monstrosity known as Baal presented itself, the strangely bone white mask-like skull of the feared Lord of Destruction was an incredibly different figure to the burly figure of his younger brother Diablo. Strange bone like appendages with grisly looking ornaments came out the demon's shoulders, long clawed hands emitting a blood red aura of power as a cruel smirk covered his horrifying face. Deckard sat there face to face with a nightmare from the past, after a pause he again turned to the next parchment more yellowed than the others showing its age.
MEPHISTO – THE LORD OF HATRED
A skeletal figure was pictured under the title of Mephisto, just like his brothers before him he sported a pair of ram like horns; a fanged grin on his evil face. He was a bone, almost greyish in colour, he had 4 long spindly arms armed with deadly looking claws; one was seen chained to his torso, connected to a rusted, gore covered ring in the middle of his chest as if it were burned into his body. Mephisto seemed to not have any legs, he did however have a long, bony tail which would have been the same length as he was tall. In the picture he was surrounded by a mountain of bones from his victims, both humanoid and demon alike.
'Mephisto, Baal and Diablo... according to the scholar Vischar Orous these 3 demons were known as the Prime Evils of the Burning Hells' Deckard preached, using his love of knowledge and teaching of said knowledge to control his emotions. The Stranger was so wrapped up in the old man's tale he did not notice Cain's front door to slowly creep open, a purple spark entered the room. Cain took a moment to compose himself, took a sip from the remaining dregs of his mead before continuing.
'These Prime Evils were once rulers of the Burning Hells...till their reign of cruelty was usurped by the efforts of a group of nearly equal strong demons known as the Lesser Evils.', Deckard explained as he pointed out to a particularly dark coloured parchment next 'page', seemingly written by the very hands of Jered Cain himself; as indicated by a Cain family seal and signature at the very bottom of the page.
'What happened to these Prime Evils?', the dark skinned Stranger frowned, a niggling feeling in the back of his head passed as he questioned Cain...he had a feeling he knew in someway what happened to these infamous demons. Cain just frowned himself, a small bit of resentment flittered over his face as he answered.
'They were exiled in the strangest of all places, right here in Sanctuary' Cain stoically said, the brow of the Stranger lifted that little bit, he was about to ask another question but was interrupted by Deckard Cain.
'We were lucky however, we had advanced warning from a certain angel from the angelic host that their passage was imminent. The Horadrim were given instructions from the angels of the High Heavens on how to fight these demons and as they entered our world, still weakened, they were captured in three soul stones' Deckard explained, both figures though unawares that the floor at entrance to the house was, as if by an invisible hand, was being inscribed with some sort of symbols that sparkled a slight green poisonous colour.
'It was the purpose...no the very duty of the Horadrim left at this point, to guard and vigilantly keep records about the sealed Prime Evils; it is in that sense I have failed my very duty to the Horadrim before me. If only I had believed the texts in my early days as I do now, countless lives would have been spared, Tristram would have not been razed to the ground and the world would not known the horrors of the Burning Hells' Deckard grudgingly admitted as he turned to the next parchment, a particular grotesque picture greeted the men.
DURIEL – THE LORD OF PAIN AKA THE MAGGOT KING
The upper torso structure of Duriel was very similar to Diablo's, it was fairly burly with a few thick, dusky spikes covering his muscled back, this is where the similarities between Duriel and Diablo ended though. Duriel did not sport the curved horns like Diablo and his foul brothers, instead he had a wicked looking spike coming out of his oversized forehead which to scale of the pictured skull surrounding him would easily be the same size as a fully grown man. Along with his razor sharp maw, which was surrounded by two curved spikes coming out of the demon's "cheeks", instead of the usual clawed hands Duriel had an impressively massive pair of scythe like appendages attached to his thick muscled arms that easily spanned the length of three human bodies one on top of each other. His dusky skin seamlessly blending into his lower torso, his title of Maggot King apparent by the likeness of his lower body looking like an oversized maggots. Carrying the hefty load of his oversized bulk by a number of thick, centipede like legs, the lower part of his pasty white body was covered in pits dripping with green, pus like fluid; pits that were said to excrete maggots the size of a small dog.
'A Barbarian friend of mine was able to describe this demon and the demon on this next parchment, he and his party of heroes ware the ones to drive back the Lesser and Prime Evils that presented themselves on Sanctuary before the destruction of Mt Arreat' Cain explained, the picture of the next demon showed the being would have been seen as attractive if it weren't for her gruesome appendages and foul look on her face.
ANDARIEL – THE MAIDEN OF ANGUISH
The demon pictured on the parchment would have been considered above average in hight if she were human. She was finely muscled with a set of oversized breasts capped with a pair of dark metal nipple caps, attached to these caps were a set of chains that hung between her breasts which were connected to a ring which was part of a dark set of shoulder plates covering from the top of her bosom to the back of her shoulders; the tips of her shoulder plates had two thin, curved, dagger sharp spikes. Attacked to her lithe back were a set of four spider leg-like appendages armed with dagger like spikes, the complex bit of muscle controlling movement from her body blended in with her shoulder plates like as if they were bonded in one piece. These extremities were spindly thin but looked knotted with muscle, by the details on the parchment it seemed like these appendages would have been a quick and deadly weapons against her foes. Covering the lower body, the scantily clad demon had covered her privates with a skull shaped dark, metal groin guard; sharp decorative horns stretched from the sides of the skulls head ending about level with her navel.
Her feet were hooved like a horse, on the "heels" of her legs were a curved set of spurs. Her legs thin but firm with muscle like the rest of her body, her arms thin with compact muscles sported a scale like texture, her fine hands adorned with abnormally long fingers armed with sharp claws and were seen in the picture to be covered in hot, red balls of fire. With an expression mixed between a scowl and a battle scream Andariel's visage looked quite vicious, her long flowing ebony hair topped her head like a flame from whence she came; overall she cut a Valkyrie like form in midst of battle.
'These next two demons are the only Lesser Demon Lords that have not been seen by mortal eyes, Orous though gives us a few clues about them' Cain lectured as he turned to the next parchment. On the next parchment a whole bunch of notes were scrawled under a bold looking title.
BELIAL – THE LORD OF LIES
'Belial is told to be an accomplished shape-shifter, Orous tells us that the Lord of Lies is a master trickster and deceiver' Cain explains, pointing out a particular note that was added fairly early on what was looking like a fairly aged parchment. Cain mumbled to himself as he translated the early Horadric notes, a particular note stood out for Deckard.
'Belial's realm is a place of illusions; what appears to be the bosom of tranquillity might be a dungeon that flays our mind's sense of reality. Escape seems impossible. An enticing fruit may prove rotten inside, exploding upon the bite with wriggling worms. Hallways and great staircases may double back on themselves or lead to abyssal drop-offs or impassable obstructions. Seductive maidens may turn to withered crones at the touch. Conversely, maggot-ridden, rotten-smelling meat may prove to be the most savoury to taste. Walls and bottomless pits and stooped hags may prove to be nothing but illusion. Belial's laughter would echo each time it was revealed that we were victim of such misdirection' – excerpt from Book of Cain, page 38.
A worried look appeared on the Stranger's face as Deckard turned to the next parchment, were these demons really that powerful; to actually distort reality and to feed off and take pleasure from the knowledge that deception is being done? Like the last page of vellum, the subject was boldly written in; the page like the other was also quite brown in age and a tear bisected the page, the fibres of the vellum badly worn surrounding the tear, a scholar's worst nightmare.
AZMODAN – THE LORD OF SIN
'It says in this particular entry of Azmodan's love of vice, that he is a charismatic and seductive demon despite his fearsome appearance. He is a master of temptation and gets his truest gratifications from the failures of others, the more steadfast the individual the more pleasure he gets from the failure. There does not seem to be too much information about this demon, just that Azmodan enjoys tempting others with perversion and depravity and in the end watching them fall.' Deckard furrowed his brow, trying to read the last passage.
'There is also a waring left here, it says "May the Heavens help us if Azmodan should ever arrive upon the mortal plane." - excerpt from Book of Cain page 37.', Deckard finished the reading, a worried look on his ancient face, a confused and scared look on the Stranger's own; it was an extremely dark omen.
'The third name though, Imperius, I only know of one with such a name. Thank the Heavens that it is not another demon's name.' Cain said as he passed a story of creation, and other stories and articles that seemed to be scrambled around especially a truly worrying note on a type of demon called the Butcher demon. Finally after a minute of sorting through the mismanaged pages of vellum, a bold outline of the High Heavens was scribbled on a particularly aged parchment.
'The only being of that name is an angel, and just not any angel, but an angel of the Angiris Council, the ruling body of the High Heavens.'
IMPERIUS – ARCHANGEL OF VALOR
A feeling of awe cut through the room, such was the business of the angelic host, to drive such reverence. An artists rendition of what the Archangel of Valor looked like covered most of the parchment. It was a helmed, heavily armoured humanoid with large glowing wings of light, covered in thick plate armour, there was not much detail illustrated in the picture but a couple things stood out. The first being a massive ring made of some type of yellow metal floating above the stout figured head spanning to just over a shoulders width in diameter. The other was the wicked looking spear in his hand, completely unblemished from what details there were, and the craftsmanship was literally a thing not seen in Sanctuary.
'Imperius is the leader of the Angiris Council, he commands the warrior angels of the High Heavens. Here in this note' Deckard pointing at a particularly rushed note near the bottom of the page. 'It says that even in the face of defeat Imperius' bravery is unshakable, he is the first to storm out of the Diamond Gates of Heaven and has been known to charge hordes of demons by himself.'
'Anything else that might bring into account why I somehow have been dreaming his name?' the Stranger asked, a strange sparkle in his eyes flashed by so fast Deckard thought he was seeing things.
'No, just that Imperius wields a massive war spear by the name of Solarion and that, according to these texts, this weapon was forged from the heart of a dying star' Deckard exclaimed, trying to find any more relevant information that might explain for his friends ailment. Deckard then flipping through the other members of the Angiris Council while in thought, stopping at the last entry.
AURIEL – ARCHANGEL OF HOPE
ITHERAEL – ARCHANGEL OF FATE
MALTHAEL – ARCHANGEL OF WISDOM
TYRAEL – ARCHANGEL OF JUSTICE
'The biggest question of all is this, why would you be dreaming about members of not only the Lesser Demons of the Burning Hells but also why would you be dreaming about not just a member of the Angelic Host but THE leader of the Angiris Council?' Cain questioned the Stranger, a worried look on his face.
'Who are you...WHAT are you?' Deckard questioned, the Stranger with his head in his cupped hands, his brow furrowed as he tried to recall even the most smallest memory from his fractured memories.
'I...I don't...' the stranger started to reply but was interrupted by the flash of the crimson flames of hell-fire invading the room and the poisonous green flames of magic. As they blacked out by searing pain of torture they only were able to recognise the yellow and black robes of the Cultists and the evil cackling of Maghda.
It was already dusk when the group finally reached Wortham and to their dismay it wasn't what they expected. Unlike the image of a bustling but quiet fishing village with the faces of friendly villagers greeting them the group got not what they expected.
Wortham was burning.
Hawe and his comrades rushed out of the burning, ruined docks of Wortham while dodging the slain corpses of the village fisherman. Hawe had not seen something so...brutal, bodies were buried on top of each other, the bodies mutilated in some instances; barely recognisable to be human at one stage. He could not believe of the...barbarity of this cull, it was one of the most grotesque things he had seen done to other humans. There was a lot of misunderstandings about the Umbaru, some would even call them savages in some sense. Hawe admitted some of his people's practises were...strange...and sometimes even cruel but in the essence of being Umbaru was self sacrifice, never to take what you would not ever give to someone else. This slaughter, was not the Umbaru way and a sense of justice and righteous anger enveloped Hawe; he would see that who ever did this will pay!
'Look at this, its like they didn't have a chance' Kormac exclaimed with a grim look on his face, he had seen many evils but this slaughter was something he had not seen in a long time.
'They didn't, there were no fighters here, only poor fishermen, farmers and their families. They could not have stood a chance.' Lyndon grudgingly said, his usual cocky smirk gone only replaced with a grimace not seen too often on the usual smug and boisterous thief. Leah just turned slightly green, not wanting to say anything do to the ghastly sight of this slaughter.
'Who ever did this, they must face justice for what they have done.' Kormac growled out, catching a glimpse of a group of cultists in their signature yellow and black cloaks setting fire to the villager's homes as they piled the bodies outside their home. Kormac was about to sound the charge for pursuit but was interrupted by an increasing glow coming from Hawe. Focusing on his spiritual connection from the Unformed Land, with the passing of so many souls in one spot Hawe was slightly overwhelmed by the powers that came rushing back by tapping into Mbwiru Eikura via his Ghost Trance. Following the familiar feeling of moulding his Voodoo he moulded his intent to raise a group of zombie dogs but what happened next astounded even him.
Instead of the usual team of 3 zombie hounds Hawe somehow managed to call up not one group but a group of 7 zombie dogs. Never has there been a feat in Umbaru history for more than 3 zombie dogs to be called up, it was an absurd concept to conjure up more in case of losing control of the minds of your minions. But right then and there, not only was Hawe able to rise up over double the maximum zombie hounds that was supposed to be possible but judging by the behaviour of the hounds they were perfectly under his thrall. The possibilities crept in his mind of what this means but the twang of Lyndon's crossbow broke him from his stupor, now was not the time for possibilities...now was the time for action. Drawing his machete from its simple leather scabbard he dashed forward and with a mental command his army of minions followed. Lyndon and Leah with light feet were able to parlour over burning rigging and wharf equipment to catch up fairly quickly with the young witch doctor, the heavily armed Kormac surprisingly quick on his feet was able to bash his way through several burnt up wooden partitions with his trusty steel shield, also able to catch up but also to take point amidst some of the zombie hounds; cursing that although handy the witchdoctors minions nearly make even his iron stomach wretch due to the stench of decaying corpse.
Running up the main road they were faced with the scope of depravity that occurred in Wortham, the bodies of men, women and even children lined the road, left on the side of road like rubbish. They had finally caught up with the cultists, and they would not know any mercy. The young witchdoctor gave his minions the mental command to kill, the horde of hounds dashed to wards the startled cultists and tore them apart, one cultist even had the misfortune to try to run only to be jumped upon by a particular nasty hound, grabbed by the throat and having his head violently ripped off in a splash of gore.
'Hey, do leave some for the rest of us thank you' Lyndon exclaimed as he wound his crossbow back a bit further for more penetration, Kormac didn't say a word except smash a cultists face in with the butt of his lance then dealing a deadly blow with his shield; his foe never to wake again. Some of the cultists that tried to sneak by the slaughter of their comrades just got a crossbow bolt from Leah to the face, bringing up the rear of the party in support. For 20 minutes the group scoured the cobbled and winding roads of Wortham killing all the cultists who seemed to either be looting, dumping the cooling bodies of the villagers and setting the abode's on fire, showing no mercy to the foul cultists.
Finally they found themselves behind a spiked barricade, the path beyond opening out to a roughly, cobbled courtyard surrounding a white marbled church with thick wooden rafters, the roof covered in terracotta tiles. Along the edge of the courtyard were the remains of burnt out stores and houses, it seemed like the invasion started very close to here considering a lot of the fires had already burnt out. On the left corner of the courtyard from where the group standing were the bodies of some villagers already in the stages of decomposing. Right in the middle of the court yard, ignoring the screams of what had got to be the survivors of the cull coming from the barricaded basement doors of the church, a group of 6 cultists including one elaborately decorated cultist with a wizards staff, was busy stacking wood hoping to torch the church and kill whoever was left inside.
'The villagers, they must be stuck in there...we've got to do something!' Leah hurriedly said in a hushed voice, Kormac just nodded.
'Don't worry Leah, those villagers will be saved I swear. A Templar never goes back on his word' Kormac passionately said, a small smile appeared on Leah face.
The group charged, Kormac getting there first decapitating an unawares cultist with his lance with a splash of gore, surprising the rest of his brethren.
'Kill them, the Mistress must not be disturbed' the elaborately dressed cultist and leader of the cultist group commanded as he started tapping on the cobble while chanting, several runes were burnt on the dirty cobblestones, obviously summoning some sort of demonic presence. Hawe and his companions fought the cultists, the obviously poorly trained group merely cannon fodder. Just as the last cultist was slain and even with a slightly off target bolt from Leah impaling his right forearm the leader, finally finished his ritual; crumpling on the ground like a marionette with cut strings. From the previously blood red, glowing runes three bursts of hell fire with its distinct sulphurous stench lit up, and with a bellowing roar three demons charged out of the fire. They were clay grey in colour and at least nearly twice the normal hight of a grown man, covered in bulky muscle and spikes on their shoulders, elbows and knees, they looked fairly ferocious with their cruel maws grinning ready to unleash pain.
The dashed towards their nearest foe which happened to be Kormac, and with great strength was able to launch him off his feet ready to stomp on him. They were unable to do that though, with a shower of bolts from the crossbows of Lyndon and Leah and the zombie dogs rallying them away from Kormac, the three demons were separated one being left behind only to receive a mighty leap from Kormac and with a brutal stab separated the demon's head from its body. One of the demons was starting to resemble more like a porcupine, but it was starting to weaken due to Lyndon's poison tipped bolts, the toxins starting to take an effect on the abomination's body. It would not be a slow death for it though, with a carefully aimed bolt Leah was able to strike the beast in its eye skewering its brain, it was dead in an instant. By the time that Leah and Lyndon changed their focus on the last demon they saw it meet its demise. Hawe's usual strategy of throwing Skulls of Flames while zombie dogs would incapacitate and eventually explode on command were not working as it usually would, the beast was surprisingly slightly fire resistant and although the hounds had done some damage to the creature it too had managed to kill off 3 of his dogs. He decided to do a risky manoeuvre.
He called upon the souls of Mbwiru Eikura to pin down the demon, the wails of vengeful souls sounded as their pale blue, ethereal hands pinned down the brute. Using the chance with the dogs and Grasp of the Dead immobilising it, Hawe dashed around the beast trying to flank it and with a thrust of his machete he stabbed the hulking demon deep in the neck, its life blood draining rapidly. Hawe had gotten too close though and surprisingly threw off one of the dogs to backhand the teen viciously in the face, splitting his lip and with its claws sliced his eyebrow open, being incredibly lucky not to get his eye gouged out. Determined to finish the fight Hawe shook off the hit and with blood starting to pour in his eyes he commanded his minions to finish the beast off. With the hounds finally able to rip the weakened foes neck open the demon finally stilled finally slain. Hawe furiously wiped the blood out of his eye, his instructor's voice echoing in his mind that his impetuousness would get him killed, he knew he was a fairly seasoned warrior but he needed to learn not to fall into his teenage instincts and do something so risky. He assessed the situation at hand ignoring the throbbing coming from the split lip, all enemies were currently dead or dying and the leader seemed wounded but exhausted after that bit of conjuring. Behind the church he saw what appeared to be the edges of a Waypoint, Hawe thanked the spirits that their passage would be quick one they were done.
'I am worried about Uncle Deckard, something doesn't feel right' Leah confessed with a frown, looking around the carnage as the first group of villagers emerged from the church.
'Go to him, we will be with you shortly, there is an old Waypoint that should take you to him behind the church', Hawe said, sheathing his machete in its scabbard finally, now able to put pressure on the wound on his brow. Leah just thanked the group and ran to the Waypoint and activating the runes with some blood she flashed away in a blue light. Hawe turned to the rest of his companions, Hawe noticed Kormac was missing something.
'Kormac, what happened to your shield friend?', Hawe questioned, Kormac just grunted and pointed to what first seemed like a bit of rubble, on closer inspection Hawe realised it was the remains of Kormac's shield that Haedrig had recently repaired Haedrig will sure be mad his work was trashed. An elderly man approached the young witchdoctor, he wore the fine clothes in the style of a member of the clergy, clothed in what should have been a white clerical cassock, a tanned brown overcoat and a deep ochre waistcoat. Currently though the usual smartly clothed priest was smeared in the lifeblood of his flock and smudged with ash from the village fires. He approached Hawe and his companions, his grey-white hair mattered with blood from a head injury.
'Thank Heavens you had come, thank you for saving the village survivors from a fiery death.' the priest said, a sense of melancholy emanated from him as he looked around remembering the once bustling courtyard, villagers selling their wares; the melodic bellowing of shopkeepers trying to sell their wares a distant memory now.
'It is fine, we are happy we have helped your village' Hawe said with a grim smile, eyeing who remained from the culled village. After a few minutes of watching the villagers stumble out of the cramped and dark church cellar, Lyndon approached the youth and the priest as the last villager emerged from the dark cellar.
'You wouldn't happen to know if any of your villagers have stumbled upon a shattered sword hilt, we believe it may be somewhere here in your village.' Lyndon asked shouldering his crossbow over his right shoulder, the priest's face just lit up in recognition.
'Ah yes, I think you are referring to the relic that fell from the heavens, one of our farmers came upon it while working on the nearby field.' the aged priest answered.
'Then you know of it's where a bouts?' Kormac asked eagerly, wanting to set his eyes on the hilt of a weapon that had been forged by very skilled hands.
'Yes, it was kept in the church under guard for safe keeping. You may take it with you, the thing has only brought misery and death to us.' the cleric said seemingly happy to get rid of the subject of so much pain for his flock. A menacing laugh came from nearby, the lead cultist whom was completely forgotten about was still concious but only just, the pool of blood coming from his wound quite sizable. It looked like as if Leah had inadvertently nicked an artiery and was surprising to still be alive by the amount of blood lost.
'You, fiend, what are you laughing about scum?', Kormac questioned his weapon tickling the white washed cultists Adams apple.
'You and your friends are too late, my Mistress instructions have been completed; to stall and keep you here, by now my Mistress and breather-en have done what we have planned to do.' the cultist answered with a cruel grin, a pained but triumphant look on his face. The group let that sink in, it suddenly hit them like a physical blow to their souls.
'...Elder Cain...' Hawe said shocked a look of realisation came over him.
'...Leah, she is in danger!' Kormac yelled in surprise, a horrible feeling coming over him. Hawe's shock turned to stoicism, looked into the cackling foes eyes then with a stern look at Kormac.
'Kill him, Lyndon will come with me to get the last sword fragment' Hawe said and in a rush burst through the church door with Lyndon in pursuit, the cackles of the cultist still echoing though the now open church followed by a pained gurgle, then silence. Hawe and Lyndon stormed through the entrance hall of the church, taking note of the slaughtered altar boys they passed by, their dead stares is surprise the holes in their chests apparent they were caught from behind by some type of magical bolt.
The entrance hall opened up to a spacious hall illuminated in candles, the fries from outside lighting up the inside though the stained glass windows. The church alter in the middle of the room looked slightly cracked like some extreme weight had nearly crushed the white marble table. A ragged looking cloth sat upon the alter, it looked like it contained something wrapped within but as Hawe put his hand on the bundle it just collapsed in on itself, the markings of a simple illusion.
'The fragment, it is not here' Lyndon exclaimed, scanning the dimly lit room in reach of the object of their journeys.
A rush of emerald fire ignited behind the warriors, the devious figure of Maghda appeared though something didn't look quite right.
'Maghda you bitch!' Hawe spat, Lyndon just took aim and fired right at the witch the bolts though did not connect, harmlessly hitting a wooden pew behind the now spirit projected witch smirked evily.
'I am not really here but I'd thought I would let you know I had already retrieved the hilt PLUS the other two remaining sword pieces while you were saving the wretched lives of this village.' Maghda brayed, a smug look on her purple lipped face.
'I will take you head witch, I swear it!' Hawe vowed as he looked upon the green and purple clothed witch with hate. Maghda just cackled and with a slight magical breeze the illusion floated away like clouds in the wind, the witch disappearing as quickly as she appeared. Hawe didn't stay and let the situation settle in his head, with haste he ran back out the church with Lyndon in tow.
'Kormac, we must leave' Hawe hurredly said as he emerged from the entrance to the church, the Templar stopped assisting with village aid in confusion.
'What has happened my friend, I thought I had heard the sound of yelling and crossbow fire but I thought you had the situation in hand.' Kormac questioned.
'Maghda has the sword fragments, we must get back to Elder Cain at once' Hawe exclaimed with a worried look on his young face, with haste the hunting party rushed to the Waypoint portal not even looking back at the devastated village and its villagers.
Hawe and company in their rush did not feel the usual feeling of vertigo and flashing lights as they used the Waypoint back to New Tristram, upon arrival they were met with confusion and panic. A captain of the guard was barking orders to send the militia into strategic petitions at the North Gate as they reached the town centre.
'What is happening Captain?' Hawe questioned, he was met by and exasperated expression on the soldier's face.
'Attack on our North Gate, we need to strengthen our defences there; we could use the assistance.' Captain rushed out as he directed a group of men to make their way to the North Gate.
'I will go assist the militia, you need to get to Cain my friend. I will meet up with you when I am done' Kormac said, with a pat on the youths shoulder and lance in hand as he dashed following the reinforcements with a battle cry. The remaining two travellers made their way to the familiar abode of Deckard Cain, the sounds of a struggle within the aged scholar's decrepit house. Not thinking to look before they leaped they rushed the door in fear for their friends not knowing they were about to trigger a runic trap. As their feet hit the entrance to Cain's house a flash of greenish light hit them and found themselves immobile and helpless, not able to move anything below their shoulders.
The normally messy library/living room of Deckard Cain was usually messy with all sorts of scrolls and rubbish, giving the room a lived in kind of feel, now it was like a powerful wind blew through the room, precious works on parchment and candelabras were scattered all over the floor. A particularly word and derelict book case had fallen and broken in small pieces, various knick knacks from Deckard and Leah's travels were scattered on the cluttered floor. With great relief Cain, Leah and the Stranger were still there in one piece but were kept immobile by pairs of cultists holding them with flaming chains, Cain though broke the captured pair out of their stupor with his screams of pain. The floating dragonfly-shaped winged witch known as Maghda was shooting some kind of green coloured magic at Deckard, causing incredible pain and agony. Deckard was on his hands and knees skacking from the adrenaline and pain, a grimace on his elderly face as he looked upon the sword fragments lying together finally.
'Its your choice Cain, either draw your Horadric arts to repair the sword or your dear Leah dies a horrible death' Maghda reasoned, a frustrated look on her face. For Maghda this situation was taking too long. Cain just looked at the shattered sword in a tired stare, his body would not hold out for long but he knew he needed answers.
'All this pain...this destruction, what is this sword to you?' Cain questioned looking up at the evil witch, his eye sight going blurry and the shakes becoming more violent. Maghda just smiled a poisonous smirk at the question, the old man amused her so.
'To me...nothing' Maghda admitted as she floated closer to the pitiful old man,
'To my master...Belial, everything!' Maghda revealed in delight, a shocked and fearful look in Cain overcame him. With a flourish of her had she hit Cain in the chest with her magic, about to put an end to the old man. Leah could only watch as her beloved Uncle was tortured in front of her, memories of her as a little girl on her Uncle's journeys, a loving smile always on her Uncle Deckard's cracked and lined face. All the journeys to Caldeum and all over Sanctuary flooded her minds eye, a boiling dark emotion bubbled from inside of her, her magic power wanting to be released. It was like she was covered in a crimson flame, flickering hungrily and bubbling outwards, with a mighty scream she unleashed it. The force was so great the cultists holding all the hostages had looked like they imploded from the feedback of Leah's power in splatters of gore, not much of their bodies remained except for head fragments and innards. Maghda realised the tides had turned and was time for a strategic retreat.
'Your rage is overwhelming girl...you win this round but if the sword cannot be mine' Maghda smirked looking at the writhing figure of the Stranger in the corner who looked in large amounts of pain.
'Then I claim what its bound to' Maghda demanded, with a gesture from her long green nailed fingers the Stranger was swept up in a flaming green portal, dragging him through the floor even as he tried desperately to hold off the travel by trying to hold onto the floor with his fingernails, losing a nail in a bloody mess and leaving deep finer nail tracks behind as he was powerlessly dragged to the unknown. As Maghda disappeared in a poisonous green flame, ther cackling laugh and honeyed voice echoed through the destroyed house.
'The blade shall...no will be mine!'.
Silence except the groaning of Deckard was heard in the house, Leah realising she was free ran to her uncle.
'Uncle Deckard, please don't die', Leah begged with tears running down her gore smudged face, an air of misery clouding over her.
'I am afraid we cant stop that now but there is one last thing I must do' Deckard muffled, his weary body shaking violently. He crawled on his hands and knees to the remains of the shattered sword, with a sharp edge he cut his palm drawing blood and after arranging the shattered pieces in front of him, wrote on the blade with his own blood. After dotting his forehead with his own blood he placed his still bleeding palm on he hilt. A bright white light enveloped the sword and Deckard, with a small burst of energy his task was complete; the sword was one again whole. It was a remarkable piece of art, razor sharp edges with an unknown silverish metal, engraved with a strange gold language inlaid in the blade. The sword itself was quite lengthy, to a normal human it would be long enough as a two handed sword, a look closer revealed that it had no hammer maks left on the blade, suggesting either it was forged in one piece with no hammering or the most feasible, that the blade was forged by magical hands.
'It is just as I suspected' Deckard lamented resting on one side, his sapphire eyes dimmed to a sky blue.
'The sword is of the High Heavens...the stranger...is an angel' Deckard revealed, a shock jolted everyone like lightning. The Stranger had been a member of the angelic host all along!
'My boy, I left something for you. Seek the cube' Deckard said looking at the wide eyed witchdoctor, his eyes becoming lidded.
'Leah, seek my journal...the Truth...lies...within...' Deckard managed to say as his life faded away, Hawe didn't have to go into Ghost Trance to see, that the last of the Horadrim had finally passed into the Unformed Lands.
Authors Note
And that is the end of this chapter, I cant believe this chapter is 16 pages long on my word document. At first I was going to cut it up into two separate pieces but I figured you guys and gals deserved a nice long chapter after not writing in so long. I am currently having days off from work so I am going to start the next chapter right away and try to get it out to you guys and girls asap.
About the end, I really hated the fact Cain dies in the game, I really do and for a while I was going to change that but I knew if I did it would unravel the whole story and I wouldn't know where to go from there. I have to say that I was more shocked with Cain dying then when Leah dies, that goes to show how beloved that character really was.
Anyway I hope if you haven't that you favourite this story so you get notification when the new chapter comes out, I will say I will NOT be letting you wait 7 months for the next instalment; I hope to get it out within a week or so. I am back and writing again, let me know what you all think by leaving feedback or a PM, I know there were probably parts of this story not up to standard but I really just wanted to get this out for you all; and especially for all the people that have waited since mid last year to get this...this goes out to all you who have shown so much patience.