DISCLAIMER-

Diablo 2 and other related stuff don't belong to me; otherwise the necromancer would be able to control three golems at the same time!!!

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Dark Light

Chapter 3- Remembering Rathma (And Arrival In Lut Gholein)

The horses strained hard at the reins, their large hooves pounding the sandy desert floor. The driver's whip cracked as he steered the black stallions. They were beautiful beasts, these horses. Their dark coats glistened in the hot afternoon sun and their flanks were pure muscle. Out here in the desert, there was no place for sluggards, animal or human.

Already used to the cracking of the whip and the horses' continuous running, Astaroth slept on. He was not used to such temperatures and kept his pale face protected by a shroud. In the wagon ahead of his, Warriv stood acting as a navigator and leader to the rest of the fast-moving caravan. The horses could be ran for a long time because they were prepared for it and because Sand Raiders and Saber Cats usually ambushed slow travelers.

They would also work together, the smaller and more agile Sand Raiders scouting ahead for targets. Once a target had been chosen, they would communicate with the larger and stronger Saber Cats who set up a trap and killed all the humans. Both ended the day together by feasting on the flesh of the fallen men.

Therefore, every wagon of the caravan had at least one person looking out. Everyone traveling also had some battle experience so they could engage any creatures. Two other warriors had been picked up by the caravan on the way. These included the young barbarian Ragnar who claimed that he was the older brother of the warrior whom Astaroth had found in the Dark Tower. He was not a fledgling like his younger sibling. Already having killed three of the powerful beasts such as Treehead Woodfist, a huge hairy creature who was very strong, he was on his way to being a powerful and formidable warrior. He was generally quite friendly as he looked up to the slightly older necromancer, "The Slayer Of The Maid Of Anguish" or plain "Slayer" as he often referred to him. The other warrior was a paladin about the same age as Astaroth.

The zealous paladin that he was, Lucan was quite a pain for Astaroth. He didn't care about others esp. paladins rebuking him for using dark magic as it was expected. But he never had to eat, drink and live with the idiot every day and every night. Lucan constantly berated him, as if Astaroth could change it. It wasn't what he had chosen, it was what he had been born into. Even as a child, all he and other children like him learnt was to become great necromancers. Much like the paladins, mused Astaroth. But he was never that irritating and presumptuous. Sure there's a bad apple in every barrel, but why this barrel? Astaroth was patiently waiting for the day when Lucan would overstep the limit, then he would really have some fun. But the paladin was not that stupid. He maintained his distance, constantly gibing him and making indirect remarks about his inhumanity to use human corpses for his own purposes.

Hey, wasn't he one of the good guys now that he had killed Andariel? Guess not. Lucan was just like Kashya, they would not and possibly could not accept the facts and think properly. There were people like them everywhere. Sadly, most seemed indisposed towards necromancers only.

Ignorant fools, I will show you what I can do! Yes he would. He would destroy Baal; he would destroy Mephisto and then the last one, Diablo would fall. MAYBE after that they would accept him. Maybe not because ignorant people could not change. Even after he saved the world, people would still make snide remarks about him, even when he was next to them. And what would he do? He would sit quietly watching them snigger.

Angrily Astaroth made a fist and punched the wagon floor in frustration. The chain around his gloves around his gloves made a *ching* noise. Breathing slowly, he tried to calm down. Remember, he told himself, don't act rashly. That is not the person you are. Thinking of the past, he fell asleep, dreaming of forgotten times.

Learning in the basement of his house and then during the day in the often closed and dimly lit dingy buildings referred to as schools in the great necromancer city of Rathma, he had never been exposed to this type of environment. They did tell you about these things once you left to complete your destiny but not even words could describe the loneliness he felt. Sure, he some "friends" like Ragnar and Warriv but no one loved him. Having been an orphan and then living in a large orphanage, he never knew his parents. All he had left of them was the silver necklace with the gold pendant. The person who ran the orphanage was an honest man who had kept it for safe-keeping for him and had given it to him when he had turned sixteen. Demitri was the closest Astaroth had had that could be compared to a father. Even though Demitri did not know about Astaroth, he tried to keep the boy happy.

Even he too had passed away because of a rogue Blood Golem that had killed about twenty people and ten children including its master when the green student had been practicing with things obviously beyond his expertise. The golem only stopped when Astaroth intervened.

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He had just entered the orphanage when he heard a child screaming for help. Thinking that one of the boys was playing tricks on one another, he decided to play along. Throwing some sand from his pouch, he raised a clay golem. Quietly creeping down the dark unlit corridor (it was night and the moon was not very bright) with his golem following closely, he entered the bedroom. Everything was in a mess: bedspreads had been thrown helter-skelter and beds had been toppled over. Stepping up to investigate, he had started to walk towards the closest bed.

*Slap*Slap*

Quickly stopping at hearing the "slapping" sound emanating from the floor, he deduced that he was stepping on something. Hoping that it was water and not something foul like urine, he bent down and lit a match. The stuff was very red and very dark.

BLOOD! echoed through Astaroth's head. Looking closer he could see that most of the beds had been covered in it. The floor was lathered with blood too. Because of his daily practice with corpses, he had missed the smell of spilt blood but he had not forgotten what it looked like. Bursting into the second room, he was beheld with a horrible spectacle.

This room had been well-lit thanks to the fire in the hearth. Barely recognizing the common room he saw that many corpses had been collected in the center of the room. Each corpse looked like it had been bludgeoned with a blunt tool and their faces were unrecognizable, their limbs horribly contorted. One finger of someone's arm that had somehow been cut off was adorned with a ring that glinted in the light. That was Demitri's ring! Covering his face with his hands, thinking what he would do to the killer he stood as his clay golem stared dumbly at its disheartened master.

*Thunk*Thunk*

Someone was walking down the stairs! He sounded like a quite heavy man so Astaroth prepared his bone shield and took out his sharp dagger to kill the interloper.

As he came closer and closer to the light, Astaroth could see that he was quite a heavily-built man and did not seem as if he was carrying any weapons. But then the strange shape of the man's body told him all. It was a blood golem!

It stared at him, its empty eyeholes leering at him from the foot of the stairs. Each step caused a squelching sound of organs being mashed together. From various places on its body, tiny rivulets of blood flowed out. Upon sensing the living presence in the same room, it ran at him at full speed. Jumping to one side Astaroth mentally commanded his golem to attack. The clay monster also charged and began wrestling if not felling blows on the blood monster.

Seeing that the crazed blood golem was gaining the upper hand, Astaroth muttered some words. Lights appeared and the blood golem had been cursed with the Life Tap. This helped the clay golem gain health because its attacks would help it to steal the other golem's life. But it wasn't enough. The blood golem hit its clay counterpart with a punch right at its head and it turned once again into useless grains of sand.

Astaroth imprisoned the golem within a bone prison and it was soon too busy with breaking the barriers of bone. The bones would last for a short while only. Grabbing his bag, he selected a few vials of green liquid and hurled them. They broke upon contact, letting the green liquid ooze all over the golem. Feeling the pain it screamed only to be bombarded by two other vials, these contained acid.

The powerful acid ate up the golem already weakened by the toxic poison. It stood no chance. Seeing the golem melt away Astaroth sighed and let his tired arms down. He knelt trying to comprehend what had happened.

Demitri was dead, killed by a blood golem which acted like it had broken free of its master's control. Well he could still revive all the dead people. Any skilled necromancer could but they would be like zombies, only able to talk with grunts and walk slowly, their bodies having been woken up again but their souls, their very essence having been lost.

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Astaroth woke up with tears in his eyes. Lest anyone should see them, he wiped his eyes roughly and lay back again.

He had been about twenty-two years old then. After Demitri's death, he could never go back to the orphanage. He spent the next two and a half years learning more and more about the dark arts. What teachers could not teach him, he learnt from old scrolls from the light of a burning candle always in the dark basement of the university, only leaving to buy some food and a supply of fresh animal corpses to practice on. When he felt that he had hidden enough, he cut his long hair and beard bought some armor and weapons and set off on a journey to learn more. He had spent half a year traveling on lonely roads face hidden in a hood. He had killed animals, beasts, men and demons. He was able to perfect his magical skills and fighting abilities. He found many magical objects, all useful to him when traveling or for selling. After six months, the rumors about the Dark Wandered and the fate of Tristram started circulating. He planned to set off towards the damned town but it could not be reached as it was too far away and the roads were blocked by mountains and hills. Then one day he heard about the Rogue's Monastery having been overrun by wild beasts. The Rogue's were in need of help and many warriors were gathering to help them. So then he had set off again, never knowing whether he would succeed or not and whether he would be accepted or not as an equal if not superior. And here he was, on the way to Lut Gholein, the desert city. He had killed Andariel and allowed the Rogue's to take back their home. He had left his love, the sick Isabella there and provided a cure which would be ready and would have reached her by now. He had no place back at Rathma because he did not know anyone there, the closest person to him dead. And now he was traveling on a wagon with a paladin who would kill him given the chance and a barbarian who would also do the same if not for his achievements.

Life was strange and unforgiving. Was he the only one who felt like this?

"Up ahead! Look!" Warriv's shout awoke everybody and they all peered out.

Above the sand dunes, they could see the great walls of the desert city, Lut Gholein, its gates open as if waiting to embrace them.

Yup, life was strange alright.

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AN-

I hope I didn't type "brabarian" by mistake; that kept on happening

and is the "Lut Gholein" spelling wrong?

This fic will be usually updated at least every Friday because I have another major fic going on

BTW-this chapter is kinda strange because I wasn't getting confused myself

-Lucan HATES Astaroth