Author: Werecat99

Feedback: tashenubaste@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: The Diablo world belongs to BLIZZARD. Aurion is a character I created based on the Diablo II computer RPG and I'm making no money of him.

*italics* indicate flashbacks or dreams.

The stench of Ancient Death

CHAPTER 1: The Necromancer.

The shadows grew longer on the hot desert sands.

The pale man crawled out of his tend and lifted his hand to shade his eyes as he looked around. He was tall and slender, with long, white hair. He wore an old combat armor and dusty leather boots. To an unfamiliar eye he would look just like an ordinary traveler, someone who wouldn't really stand a chance against the desert horrors.

But looks can be deceiving.

That man was a necromancer, and his name was Aurion. A name well respected and feared even among his kin.

He looked around until he located his iron golem. Tough one, this last of his summoned minions. Forged out of an ancient sword with the power of ice, it had even survived Andariel. And now it stood still, shinning in the desert twilight, guarding the necromancer during his resting time. Aurion waved a summoning spell and the creature ran to him ready to do his bidding.

All of his life he had known nothing more than dark mausoleums and dump, cold sepultures. Inside crypts and catacombs he had studied the "Way of the Summoner", invoking the dead and learning how to control the undead and the soulless. In deep, forgotten dungeons he used the white bones and the rotting flesh to call upon the souls of the untimely dead, in order to learn from them secrets of magic long lost. Some came crying, some came cursing, some came silent, but none of them dared to challenge Aurion. And so his arcane knowledge grew.

Inside such a forgotten place he was told of an ancient sword that would freeze its targets with a single strike. Following the directions given he located the artifact in a nearby tomb. He had to take it off the hands of an undead warrior, but all it took was a click of his fingers and three skeleton mages turned his foe to dust. Along with the sword he found a scroll written in an ancient language, one he was not aware of. It was written in strange, snake like symbols that seemed to twist and tremble under his stare. That scroll was written with human blood and reeked of magic.

As the night fell, Aurion and his golem continued their journey in the desert. He always traveled during nighttime, since his pale skin was extremely sensitive to the blazing sunlight. He rarely encountered other travelers at this time. However, there were many creatures that roamed the desert at night in search of prey. The ones that were stupid enough to cross the necromancer's path turned either to ashes or were added to his undead army.

Soon enough they left the Far Oasis behind them and entered a narrow canyon. This place was ideal for an ambush, and Aurion had hoped to find a different way through. But this seemed to be the only way to the Lost City. As they moved carefully through the narrow passage, he felt something piercing his left shoulder, and he fell to his knees blinded by pain.

He took the scroll back at his sanctuary. In the next few months he summoned the dead every night. They told him the Prime Evils would walk the land again. They told him that Andariel had taken over the monastery and defiled the lands around it. They told him that a Dark Wanderer was in search of Tal Rasha's tomb. But when asked about the ancient scroll the dead fled back to oblivion, crying and screaming and howling, risking the necromancer's wrath. The scroll was cursed and feared even by the dead. And Aurion craved more each day to drink from its secrets.

In this moment of vulnerability, the iron golem did not fail its master. It advanced, seized the Spear Cat who had wounded Aurion and in a heartbeat he tore off her arm. And then he reached inside her ribcage and tore out her heart. The other Spear Cats fled in terror.

Aurion stood slowly up and inspected his wound. No bones were broken, but the tissue damage meant no more travelling for the night. He looked out for a safe spot to make camp and heal his wounds. As he walked, the golem followed him, still carrying the bloody remains of its victim.

Beside the campfire, the necromancer noticed that the weapon that had hit him was poisoned. No big deal; he was practically immune to most poisons, after years of practicing with corpses and rotting flesh and feasts of unspeakable substances and fluids, in honor of his Dark Lords. The poison would slowly be absorbed by his system. As for the wound, he mixed some dried herbs he took out of his backpack with the Spear Cat's blood. As he mixed them, he recited an ancient chant. This was a remedy he once learned from a barbarian's spirit and had proved valuable. He closed his eyes and let the healing process begin.

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