Authors note: I hath returned, and am wiser for my long absence. Hopefully now that I'm not running in circles anymore I actually get something done. I rewrote this chapter because I needed development of characters before plunging into the climax. And I am NOT going to right a disclaimer. The world already knows I don't own Diablo, or any Blizzard games.
The small rabbit as it nibbled on grass stems, unaware of the green eyes that watched it. Narsia crept closer, unsheathing the curved knife she mockingly called a hunting knife. She was crouched inches away from the small beast, when it perked up its ears. But it was too late. Narsia grabbed the creature's ears and cut its throat.
Narsia thought back to the first time she had tried this. The rabbit had heard ten feet away and scampered off. But then she had been an apprentice, and did not understand the skills necessary for such a feat. With this thought others came, such as why she was even here, so far east of her homeland.
As a child, Narsia loved to play in the forset around her home in the foothills of Westmarch. To fell the fallen leaves under her bare feet, to run among the trees, it was all she ever knew. She blissfully unaware of the world outside those forests. She stayed there wrapped in her own childish innocence until she was nine years old.
And then the dreams came.
She started having odd dreams. At first they were no more threatening than strange people garbed in black riding through her woods. But they became violent. The riders would burn the forest, destroying the small village that lay nestled in the hillside, cutting down its inhabitants mercilessly. Being so young, and never having seen such pointless slaughter, the dreams distressed Narsia. They distressed her even more when they stared coming true.
Sammath watched Laor disappear the mist, as he searched for the waypoint. Sammath liked the paladin, who seemed to have a large sense of humor for a holy knight of the order of Zakarum. Still, something about the man made Sammath uneasy. When he had asked Wruendel about him, his answer had not been helpful.
"I met him a few years back in Entsteig, chasing a group of fallen. He was a little bit more solemn then, and never said much. A guess after some of the horrors he's seen, he decided it was either lighten up, or go mad."
Sammath may have had some doubts about Laor, but he had even greater ones about his other companions. The sorceress only spoke when plans were made, and the necromancer never spoke at all. He trusted the sorceress only because of the oath of the Zann Esu. The necromancer, however, had no such bond to make him trustworthy, but he seemed to be in the right.
At the moment, at least.
Slowly the fog lifted and Sammath could see the glimmer of blue flames. As the group moved toward the waypoint, dark shafts flew at them from behind, hitting a barbarian.
Damn it, not again.
The undead rogues charged the group. The first fell, its chest incinerated by a fireball. The skeletons and barbarians bringing up the rear of the company engaged the rest. Sammath drew the Giant Axe he carried from its leather holder on his back and charged into the fray, shouting the Shadow Wolf Clan battle cry. A dark lancer charged him, thrusting upward with the long pole. Sammath brought his axe down on the shaft, breaking it to splinters. He swung his axe through the midsection of his foe, ripping the maggot-ridden flesh. He parried a sword slash from a second adversary, then brought up his axe handle, breaking the undead rogue's jaw.
The skirmish ended quickly enough, with two barbarians wounded and one skeleton scattered across the field.
"Come on, the waypoints up ahead, we can get supplies from the rogues," Laor said, wiping his longsword off on a tuft of grass.
They gathered at they waypoint, and in a split second the scene changed from a damp, marshy plain, to the wooden walled, wagon filled Rogue Encampment. The group separated, each going to whatever merchant they favored. Sammath saw that the injured barbarians were taken to Akara. He then set out for the shabby tent that was used as a sort of inn.
The Barbarian sat at one of the smaller tables, away from the other patrons of the inn, many of them his own men. Sammath gazed out of the tent, watching as light drizzle came down, washing over the wooden walls of the encampment. He thought of his home. All his life he had spent roaming the highlands, going in and out of Harrogath, trying to gather stories for his sister, Monaelia. She was rather eccentric, and rather clumsy, but could find reason in the chaos of the barbarian world. She had been trying to compile a history for the barbarians. She had once said, " History teaches us how to live, its shows us our previous mistakes, and inspires us. But most importantly, it keeps are way of life alive." Barbarians, while living a life that required constant work and effort, had a thirst for knowledge. The library of Harrogath was said to rival that of the Zakarum capital of Kurast. But, being so closed from the rest of the world, barbarians were viewed as savage, stupid brutes only good for brute force. Since the world viewed them as such, Barbarians weren't to inclined to be friendly.
"Ale?"
Sammath looked up and saw Laor standing next to the table holding two mugs of ale. Sammath smiled and took one of the mugs.
"Ishkabaha."
"What?" Laor asked.
"It's from an old barbarian language. It means 'water of life'." The paladin chuckled as he sat down.
"Back in Kurast, while I was still being trained, we used to call it kim jien, 'the sustainer of hope'. But that was a long time ago."
The barbarian took a drink of the strong liquid, then returned his attention to his companion.
"You said you pent some time among barbarians. You wouldn't have happened to meet Lythe Dunbar?"
The paladin laughed and replied,"If you spend any time among barbarians, its hard not to meet possibly the friendliest of a race of people who are best known for being very closed. I saw the old windbag in Lut Gholein, keeping up his usual chatter. Why do you ask?"
Sammath sighed, and said, "Part of the reason we're here is to bring him back to Harrogath. He has some... Unfinished business." Laor waited for the Sammath to go on, Then realized he was talking to a barbarian, and it was a personal manner. He took a long swig of his ale the said, "Well, my mug is empty, and I think it's time I made up for lost sleep." Sammath hardly noticed as Laor got up and left, leaving him with his thoughts.
"A thousand pieces of gold for a shoddy piece of workmanship like this?! You must be mad!" Roank yelled at the merchant, Gheed.
"I'm perfectly sane and you'll not get this fine piece of craftsmanship off me for a penny less than one thousand."
Damned little thief this one is. But the rogues only have long range weapons. Maybe I can talk my way out of this.
"Listen, I need this gear to defeat Andariel and open up trade from the east. You'll make better profit selling it to me cheap so I can get the trade routes open."
Gheed's eyes open wide with fear and became distant. He turned and stalked off in the direction of the waypoint.
Roank stood stunned for a second, then shook his head in disgust.
Damn fool.
Lera stood as with the rest of the company as they waited for the return of the scout.
Is this fog ever going to let up?!
They had been making slow progress through the Black Marsh, and the dense fog didn't help to speed them. The bog was full of irritating bugs and demons that had a knack of showing up at the worst times. The had been lucky, and there had only been small injuries.
At least this is better than having to see refugees.
In the Dark Forest and the Cold Plains, there had been terror-stricken survivors of decimated towns, most of who were half crazed. They had met a man who claimed to be the last Horadrim, and insisted on being taken to the Rouge Encampment at once. This man had seemed just as crazy as the rest, but Laor had followed his request. He had a kind of deep respect for the man it seemed, and had talk with him in length about the appearance of the Lesser Evil, Andariel. The paladin was sure that Diablo was bent on releasing his brothers.
As for the sorceress, she was didn't know what to think. Like the paladin, she was part of an ancient religion based on the basic principle that evil had to be destroyed. Unlike the paladin, she wasn't driven by a zealous fervor. When she was chosen to be trained, she had twice the normal age. Although she showed tremendous talent, she had the "taint" of the outside world. While she knew magic was a strong force, she didn't believe life should be based on it. And while she knew that Prime Evil's should be destroyed, she didn't know if she could destroy them. She may have been talented in magic, but she didn't like it. Casting magic made it fell as if part of your soul, your essence, had been taken away. It left you hollow inside. The other Zann Esu channeled this pain, used it to make themselves stronger. Lera let the pain grow, and instead of using it, she tried to push it away. All her life she had been taught to use magic, but she refused to embrace it.
And now she was here, far from the quiet sanctuaries and temple of the Zann Esu, trying to keep hell within its borders. While the oracles had proclaimed this the time of the return of the Three, she had never thought that she would be sent to stop the demon lords.
Everything's moving too fast.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the shouts of the scout, who was returning. He came into view running hard, his eyes filled with fear. Suddenly dark energy erupted from his chest and he fell, dead.
Gheed the merchant stalked up, a horrible sneer on his face.
YEAHHHHHH! Maybe in another four months you'll get more plot. resolute bursts into flames just kidding! And sorry all, my computers being stupid and I can't review.