Chapter 8: Tidings from the Zakarum
When Faust woke up at the dawn of the next morning, it was apparent that something in the camp was different. For one, he had accidentally walked outside of his cell, and he wasn't viciously attacked! After walking out of his cell he stopped and waited, but there was no sign of the Viz- Jaaq'Tar. Something was awry, as shown by the piercing silence that filled the usually bustling camp of magic users. Slowly he craned his head over the territory of the camp, but still he saw nothing. He knew everything had to be okay, for the Cycle would have told him if there had been a massive amount of death in the area. Something was strange, out of the ordinary. He decided to investigate.
He began to slowly walk around the myriad of tents and things that lay about the camp, but so far he hadn't heard a soul. He was starting to wonder if everyone had just left, and kept him there to be stranded, but that didn't make much sense. He had heard of the nomadic tribes that sometimes roamed the Eastern Jungles, but there was something about this certain crew that didn't give him that impression. For some reason he got the feeling that they were staying here for a higher purpose, he just didn't know what. Still wandering, he passed by a small tent covered in furs and leathers, only to see a plume of steady grey smoke rise from a tent nearby. Knowing that that would be where the others were, Faust followed the smoke to its source...
Aurthor had woken up at the crack of dawn, like he normally did. However, last night was different in the fact that he actually got a good nights rest, away from the nightmares of the demons he had to face in his waking hours and his dreams. There was a small mirror near his bed, and after looking into it he could see that the bags were beginning to fade from his eyes, and they were also looking a little less bloodshot. That was a relief. One of the attendants, or someone who had felt especially kind, had brought in for him a rather large washbasin. Deciding to make use of it, he took a nearby rag and dipped it into the water. A strong, yet refreshing aroma assaulted his nostrils as he wiped the cloth over his body. Apparently, there was some type of scented soap. However, this was no ordinary soap. No doubt blessed by the sorceress who brewed it, the cleansing liquid seemed to soothe and relax him as it absorbed into his skin. After that quick bath, he noticed a fresh change of clothing for him, and put it on as well. Fine cloth, he could tell, something that would last very long, even in the fields populated by demons.
Next, by pure instinct, he started to slip his armor on, and then he stopped and thought about that. Would it really be necessary? In the end he decided that, even if it wasn't necessary, it was probably the better thing to do. The heavy plate armor and shield seemed to be a sort of security for him now, so he really didn't feel comfortable leaving it off. After all, sometimes it was the only thing between him and a rendezvous with the High Heavens. The heavy weight of his body armor, boots, gloves, belt, shield, and helmet gave him a feeling of safety that wasn't found anywhere else, so he put them all on, and then he strapped his long sword, whose runed blade said "Hellplague". This gave him an imposing and grim appearance to anyone who didn't know what sort of warrior lie underneath the cold steel of the armor and the weapons, but that was just the sort of appearance he needed. What he had seen needed to get out to this group of people, who he knew could do something about it.
Walking from his tent, he could see that even in the early morning the camp was bustling with activity. Many, many of the camps inhabitants were bustling about doing daily chores, practicing their craft, or just simply meditating in the middle of the storm of people. Aurthor could see that he was a glaring distraction to their regular routine, their shocked faces revealed that emotion. He needed to find the tent where the elders resided, he had something important to show them...
!!!
He had forgotten it in his room! This "package" he had was something very important! The elders had to see it, or his story would have no weight at all! Running back to his hut, he grabbed it, its contents still jumbling around in the small sack. The sack wasn't very large,, only about the size of a rather large melon , but it still moved furiously, and garbled speech could be heard coming from inside. However, all over the sack there were ancient runes and spells that were performing their duty by keeping the thing contained.
Aurthor hadn't traveled far before someone took notice of him. An old sorceress, her long hair aged to a complete grey hue, saw him in his armaments and with his cargo. In a flash and a small boom of thunder, she appeared right next to him and whispered quietly in his ear;
"I received word of your arrival last night, with the rest of the elders. We are all very anxious, along with the rest of our clan, to hear your story. Meet us in the Elder tent immediately. You will know it when you see it, and tell no one of this meeting."
Before Aurthor could reply, there was a flash and another crack. The Elder was gone. Now all Aurthor had to do was find the tent the old woman had mentioned, and he could get his story out. But which one was the Elder tent? Not knowing which tent the elder was referring to; Aurthor began to look around the camp. Surely the tent of the elders would be marked by some distinguishing symbol? Perhaps a rune, or a location. Aurthor even ventured to think that may be the Elder tent would be much, much larger than the rest of the tents, but of course that seemed too obvious for these sorts of people. There was nothing, no sign, no distinguishing feature—on any of these tents that could lead Aurthor to thinking one of them was the 'Elder tent'... He would have to ask someone.
He turned to find a suitable guide to help him... But they were all gone! All around him, the once bustling camp had become extremely vacant, no sort of activity whatsoever. He could have sworn that everything had been suddenly transported away, except...
One of the tents emanated a red light!
Walking over to the tent, Aurthor could see that it was a portal, but to where?
A flashback hit him like a brick. The portal to Sin's Antechamber... The final show down that liberated his county torn by evil...
He was back in the real world now. He shook his head, and then sighed. That was months ago. Now he was here, away from the terrors that had once again inhabited his lands. Mephisto had sowed his seeds of hate, but Aurthor had reaped Sin from his country, bringing it at peace. With this air of confidence, he entered the portal, completely unaware of the second person in the camp, who had followed right behind him...
Faust had wandered around the camp for what seemed like an eternity, and
he had yet to turn up anything that showed any sign of human life. He
had seen a tent with a plume of smoke climbing out of its open top, so he
had thought that maybe that was where the rest of the camp had gone. But
it was such a small looking tent! There was no way in all of Sanctuary
that so many people could have met there, so where did they go?
Following the smoke to its source, he saw that the tent was much larger
than he had thought, but still not big enough for the whole camp!
Strangely enough, it also seemed to be the same size as every other tent
in the area. Something made it different from the others, something
Faust couldn't quite put his finger on. In order to get a better view of
the tank, he decided to move closer to the tent..
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a giant, metallic hulk walked near the portal,
causing Faust to stumble backward. Who—What was that? It reminded him
of the golems his father was capable of making out of the very ores of
the Earth itself. Could his father have sent it? Perhaps his father
was looking for him. A sudden wave of fear washed over Faust,
immobilizing him. For some reason, he didn't want to leave this place.
There was something about it that was... Endearing to him.
Somehow, his fear had heightened his senses, but soon that fear had
lifted. In that brief, fearful moment, he saw that what he feared wasn't
in fact, a golem that could have been sent by his father, but rather, it
was a man! Clad in silvery steel armor, the man was carrying something,
and walking towards the portal. Could this man be responsible for the
disappearance of the whole camp? Death was unlikely, as the Cycle told
him. But it was completely possible that this man had actually hoarded
them all into the portal, but in the end, Faust could see that this
tangent was equally faulty. The only way to find out, would be to go
inside. He wouldn't have been surprised if that portal had taken him
into the bowels of hell itself, so he had to be mentally prepared.
Recalling all of his spells, most of which would probably be useless if
this person had done what he suspected, he walked into the portal with an
air of confidence. He ended up...
In a meeting hall.
Faust looked around and he quickly saw that this was where the rest of
the camp had ended up. All around him there were sorceresses, elders,
assassins. They were lined up on chairs that were formed like steps
carved in the halls, all of which lined the walls of the giant meeting
area. The room was domed, with a central platform in front of the large
group of chairs. The central platform itself had two tiers. One tier
was a large, open, stage type area whose centerpiece was a moderate sized
table, meant for displaying things, Faust thought. The second tier of
the central platform, almost like a second step below the first, was only
slightly smaller than the top tier, but it housed a longer, more formal
table, outfitted with nine regal, but not extravagant chairs, all of
which faced the larger platform. Inside eight of those chairs sat eight
aging adults, male and female, whom Faust guessed had to be in their late
sixties to mid seventies. Those were the youngest ones, anyway. It
certainly would be a feat of magic if fossils like this had stayed alive
for so long! The ninth chair was vacant for some reason; the easiest
guess being of course that the ninth elder wasn't here yet. Faust
deduced that the elders must have sat at the table simply because of
their old age.
Looking around, Faust could see that even though he was almost directly
in front of the main group of meeting attendees, that they had yet to see
him. In order to keep this sort of 'advantage', he moved into the
darkness of a corner of the room, effectively cloaking himself in the
darkness of the shadows. As he moved, he was able to see the large
central platform much more easily, but it wasn't something he had
expected. The Elder's table was fixed on the other side of the room, in
front of the natural seats where the rest of the camp was sitting. Then,
in front of the Elders on the second, higher platform, there was the iron
behemoth! However, now it seemed that he had taken his helmet off.
Since he was facing away from Faust, all he could tell was that the man
had been tanned from living wherever it was that he lived. His hair was
also curly, and densely packed around his head. He seemed impatient, with
his body fidgeting around, and the ever-so-often pacing he would do
across the platform. Faust thought he saw something on the table, like a
bag or something—but it was moving! That thing was perhaps why this
meeting of sorts was being held, so Faust decided not to consider what
had been inside it. Something was holding up the meeting though, or
otherwise he was sure that everyone would know what that "thing" was
right now.
Faust could see the Elders, and the fact that they were locked in some
heated discussion. Heads and arms moved about, stressing opinions of one
side or another; Faust couldn't hear what they were saying at all over
the low roar of the other viewers. A large group of the spectators had
been watching the elders carefully; obviously they were discussing
something important to the meeting. Faust decided that now would be the
best time to study these elders, for they would be very important to the
clan's workings, so it would be best that they are known. The first of
the nine sat in the chair farthest to the left, on Faust's side, anyway.
She was old, Faust guessed about sixty-five. Her hair was a dull grey,
but her facial features were chiseled on from many years of living and
learning. Her robes were that of a brilliant red and blue, signifying to
Faust that perhaps this certain elder could control the forces of the
elements ice and fire. The one right next to her was slightly older,
with a small hunch in her back, and with smooth white hair. This person
had a completely yellow robe on, allowing Faust to make a reasonable
conclusion about her skill. The next woman looked frail, like she was
about to break. Her blue and yellow robe made Faust think of the
coldness of winter and the rumble of thunder in the jungle. The final
Elder he saw on the left side of the table was the only man present with
the elders. Obviously a Vizjerei, he seemed fidgety, like he was afraid
of something that may be in the room. Faust didn't have to guess what it
was. There was another, much larger chair, and then four more elders,
all of which were equally old and dressed in blue, purple, yellow and
white, with the one it white being closest to the large chair in the
center. They had gone on for a few minutes in this manner of arguing,
but then it suddenly came to a halt, and the Elder in white stood up and
spoke in an extremely terse and commanding manner;
"With the ninth Elder absent, we have declared decorum and will begin the
council immediately. Don Donathan Aurthor, would you please explain
yourself."
The Elder's words had formed the body of a completely legitimate
question, but Don Aurthor knew that she was making a command. With a
sigh, a tortured sigh, he turned from his pacing and his thoughts and
faced the now silent group of sorceresses, sorcerers, mages, scribes, and
even assassins that were gathered in the meeting hall, all eager to here
what he had to say. The contents of his most-important bag still wiggled
furiously on the table, but that was the only disturbance in the hall.
The garbled speech cut through the hall, but it was soon stopped by
Aurthor's voice;
"My brothers and sisters... I have come here on a most perilous journey
from my tragically desecrated country of Kurast. As you all know, ten
years ago, Kurast was raped and pillaged by the scourge of Hatred, and
made the puppet for Terror and Destruction, and we Paladins of Zakarum,
sworn protectors of the city, were nowhere to be seen. We had a city to
protect, but we had abandoned all faith in it. The Prime Evil Mephisto
had worked his magic and hatred into a Compelling Orb, a device which
brainwashed and possessed us to the point of non-servitude. With our so
called 'great' and equally corrupt council held at the will of Mephisto,
we only watched as our city was reclaimed by other braver, stronger, more-
willed heroes. I am here now as a representative of that long-shamed
order. I, Don Authour Donathan of the House of Sigon have journeyed here
to recall a tale of horror not unlike the events of the last decade. For
it seems that the Holy Land of Zakarum was once again, and always will be
the target of evil. When Hatred sows its seeds, it is certain that Sin
will come to reap...."
"I had been only a lad of fourteen when Diablo first spread his reign of
evil over the Westmarch for the first time. All of Zakarum had heard of
the evil he had deployed over the land, but we thought that we were too
protected, too holy for such an evil to fall upon us. Sure, the elders
knew of the terrible soulstone which housed Diablo's eldest brother
Mephisto, and some even knew of Baal who lie in Tal Rasha's tomb in the
desert, but not even they suspected that the evils that were the Prime
Evils would ever succeed in their conquest of the world. We could have
sent our own warriors in a search and destroy party to the palace of the
royal family, and we, with the help of the warrior, we could have
defeated Diablo without him possessing a newer, stronger body. We didn't
think we needed to be involved, we thought that Diablo had become too
weak for the Soulstone's magic. We didn't take into account what years
of corruption would do to the stone, we were even so shortsighted as to
realize that Mephisto was doing that exact same thing to the stone that
he was imprisoned in.
Mephisto's takeover had been a long and grueling process for the demon,
but when it happened, it was as quick as a flash. The elders, excluding
Khalim, were all corrupted and bent into Mephisto's will. The dissonance
between the Elders was enough to make us completely useless. Without our
council, we could do nothing. Because of this, we hid there was nothing
for us to do. Could we rebel against our own leaders? In our fit of
indecision, we made no progress. Some of us were even.."recruited" to
Mephisto's side of evil. However, many of us also stayed adamant in our
teachings. Still, unable to act, we hid. I was too young to accomplish
anything, but how I had wanted to! When Mephisto's evil washed over our
land, I wanted nothing better to go out there and purge the land myself.
However, I knew I would be useless.
We all rejoiced when Mephisto had been destroyed. We quickly moved back
to our settlements, but little did we know what was in store for us.. We
had been back to our way of life for the next nine years. Our land grew
back again, and bore fruit. Even more fruitful was the progress our
religion and government had made. Now we lived more strictly by the
religious principles themselves, and no longer under the strict rule of
an easily corruptible group of older beings. With our religion to guide
us, no lack of leadership would prevent us from doing what was right.
Our guard was strengthened as well. Because of this guard, I was trained
for those nine grueling years, and I had risen to the highest of my rank
in the caste of warriors. It was then that my ancestor's relics were
chosen to be mine, the set of Sigon's Full Steel. All was good for
almost a decade, and then later this year...
Mephisto wasn't the only evil to invade our lands. For soon after our
period of rest, came... Azmodon. Lord of Sin, he terrorized our lands with
his armies and terrible influence. Once again, our very culture had been
corrupted. This time, however, more of my brothers were taken in by the
demon's spells and wickedness. We were now forced to fight each other on
our own ground, to fight again to the Durance, now filled with Sin in all
its fury. I battled with many friends, comrades in arms, everyone of
them, and the horrors they brought on our land were just horrible...I have
come here to warn you all of the tidal wave of Hell's minions that are on
their way. The Worldstone's collapse has caused all this, and we must
fight it, or be damned forever!!!!"
The paladin's story ended, and at once the hall filled with a silent,
controlled, but undeniable, panic. As all of this was said, the bag
still sat, squirming, and squirming, stronger and stronger by the second.
If one had felt the room and observed it, one would have guessed that it
was feeding off of these primal emotions of fear, despair, and panic...
When Faust woke up at the dawn of the next morning, it was apparent that something in the camp was different. For one, he had accidentally walked outside of his cell, and he wasn't viciously attacked! After walking out of his cell he stopped and waited, but there was no sign of the Viz- Jaaq'Tar. Something was awry, as shown by the piercing silence that filled the usually bustling camp of magic users. Slowly he craned his head over the territory of the camp, but still he saw nothing. He knew everything had to be okay, for the Cycle would have told him if there had been a massive amount of death in the area. Something was strange, out of the ordinary. He decided to investigate.
He began to slowly walk around the myriad of tents and things that lay about the camp, but so far he hadn't heard a soul. He was starting to wonder if everyone had just left, and kept him there to be stranded, but that didn't make much sense. He had heard of the nomadic tribes that sometimes roamed the Eastern Jungles, but there was something about this certain crew that didn't give him that impression. For some reason he got the feeling that they were staying here for a higher purpose, he just didn't know what. Still wandering, he passed by a small tent covered in furs and leathers, only to see a plume of steady grey smoke rise from a tent nearby. Knowing that that would be where the others were, Faust followed the smoke to its source...
Aurthor had woken up at the crack of dawn, like he normally did. However, last night was different in the fact that he actually got a good nights rest, away from the nightmares of the demons he had to face in his waking hours and his dreams. There was a small mirror near his bed, and after looking into it he could see that the bags were beginning to fade from his eyes, and they were also looking a little less bloodshot. That was a relief. One of the attendants, or someone who had felt especially kind, had brought in for him a rather large washbasin. Deciding to make use of it, he took a nearby rag and dipped it into the water. A strong, yet refreshing aroma assaulted his nostrils as he wiped the cloth over his body. Apparently, there was some type of scented soap. However, this was no ordinary soap. No doubt blessed by the sorceress who brewed it, the cleansing liquid seemed to soothe and relax him as it absorbed into his skin. After that quick bath, he noticed a fresh change of clothing for him, and put it on as well. Fine cloth, he could tell, something that would last very long, even in the fields populated by demons.
Next, by pure instinct, he started to slip his armor on, and then he stopped and thought about that. Would it really be necessary? In the end he decided that, even if it wasn't necessary, it was probably the better thing to do. The heavy plate armor and shield seemed to be a sort of security for him now, so he really didn't feel comfortable leaving it off. After all, sometimes it was the only thing between him and a rendezvous with the High Heavens. The heavy weight of his body armor, boots, gloves, belt, shield, and helmet gave him a feeling of safety that wasn't found anywhere else, so he put them all on, and then he strapped his long sword, whose runed blade said "Hellplague". This gave him an imposing and grim appearance to anyone who didn't know what sort of warrior lie underneath the cold steel of the armor and the weapons, but that was just the sort of appearance he needed. What he had seen needed to get out to this group of people, who he knew could do something about it.
Walking from his tent, he could see that even in the early morning the camp was bustling with activity. Many, many of the camps inhabitants were bustling about doing daily chores, practicing their craft, or just simply meditating in the middle of the storm of people. Aurthor could see that he was a glaring distraction to their regular routine, their shocked faces revealed that emotion. He needed to find the tent where the elders resided, he had something important to show them...
!!!
He had forgotten it in his room! This "package" he had was something very important! The elders had to see it, or his story would have no weight at all! Running back to his hut, he grabbed it, its contents still jumbling around in the small sack. The sack wasn't very large,, only about the size of a rather large melon , but it still moved furiously, and garbled speech could be heard coming from inside. However, all over the sack there were ancient runes and spells that were performing their duty by keeping the thing contained.
Aurthor hadn't traveled far before someone took notice of him. An old sorceress, her long hair aged to a complete grey hue, saw him in his armaments and with his cargo. In a flash and a small boom of thunder, she appeared right next to him and whispered quietly in his ear;
"I received word of your arrival last night, with the rest of the elders. We are all very anxious, along with the rest of our clan, to hear your story. Meet us in the Elder tent immediately. You will know it when you see it, and tell no one of this meeting."
Before Aurthor could reply, there was a flash and another crack. The Elder was gone. Now all Aurthor had to do was find the tent the old woman had mentioned, and he could get his story out. But which one was the Elder tent? Not knowing which tent the elder was referring to; Aurthor began to look around the camp. Surely the tent of the elders would be marked by some distinguishing symbol? Perhaps a rune, or a location. Aurthor even ventured to think that may be the Elder tent would be much, much larger than the rest of the tents, but of course that seemed too obvious for these sorts of people. There was nothing, no sign, no distinguishing feature—on any of these tents that could lead Aurthor to thinking one of them was the 'Elder tent'... He would have to ask someone.
He turned to find a suitable guide to help him... But they were all gone! All around him, the once bustling camp had become extremely vacant, no sort of activity whatsoever. He could have sworn that everything had been suddenly transported away, except...
One of the tents emanated a red light!
Walking over to the tent, Aurthor could see that it was a portal, but to where?
A flashback hit him like a brick. The portal to Sin's Antechamber... The final show down that liberated his county torn by evil...
He was back in the real world now. He shook his head, and then sighed. That was months ago. Now he was here, away from the terrors that had once again inhabited his lands. Mephisto had sowed his seeds of hate, but Aurthor had reaped Sin from his country, bringing it at peace. With this air of confidence, he entered the portal, completely unaware of the second person in the camp, who had followed right behind him...
Faust had wandered around the camp for what seemed like an eternity, and
he had yet to turn up anything that showed any sign of human life. He
had seen a tent with a plume of smoke climbing out of its open top, so he
had thought that maybe that was where the rest of the camp had gone. But
it was such a small looking tent! There was no way in all of Sanctuary
that so many people could have met there, so where did they go?
Following the smoke to its source, he saw that the tent was much larger
than he had thought, but still not big enough for the whole camp!
Strangely enough, it also seemed to be the same size as every other tent
in the area. Something made it different from the others, something
Faust couldn't quite put his finger on. In order to get a better view of
the tank, he decided to move closer to the tent..
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a giant, metallic hulk walked near the portal,
causing Faust to stumble backward. Who—What was that? It reminded him
of the golems his father was capable of making out of the very ores of
the Earth itself. Could his father have sent it? Perhaps his father
was looking for him. A sudden wave of fear washed over Faust,
immobilizing him. For some reason, he didn't want to leave this place.
There was something about it that was... Endearing to him.
Somehow, his fear had heightened his senses, but soon that fear had
lifted. In that brief, fearful moment, he saw that what he feared wasn't
in fact, a golem that could have been sent by his father, but rather, it
was a man! Clad in silvery steel armor, the man was carrying something,
and walking towards the portal. Could this man be responsible for the
disappearance of the whole camp? Death was unlikely, as the Cycle told
him. But it was completely possible that this man had actually hoarded
them all into the portal, but in the end, Faust could see that this
tangent was equally faulty. The only way to find out, would be to go
inside. He wouldn't have been surprised if that portal had taken him
into the bowels of hell itself, so he had to be mentally prepared.
Recalling all of his spells, most of which would probably be useless if
this person had done what he suspected, he walked into the portal with an
air of confidence. He ended up...
In a meeting hall.
Faust looked around and he quickly saw that this was where the rest of
the camp had ended up. All around him there were sorceresses, elders,
assassins. They were lined up on chairs that were formed like steps
carved in the halls, all of which lined the walls of the giant meeting
area. The room was domed, with a central platform in front of the large
group of chairs. The central platform itself had two tiers. One tier
was a large, open, stage type area whose centerpiece was a moderate sized
table, meant for displaying things, Faust thought. The second tier of
the central platform, almost like a second step below the first, was only
slightly smaller than the top tier, but it housed a longer, more formal
table, outfitted with nine regal, but not extravagant chairs, all of
which faced the larger platform. Inside eight of those chairs sat eight
aging adults, male and female, whom Faust guessed had to be in their late
sixties to mid seventies. Those were the youngest ones, anyway. It
certainly would be a feat of magic if fossils like this had stayed alive
for so long! The ninth chair was vacant for some reason; the easiest
guess being of course that the ninth elder wasn't here yet. Faust
deduced that the elders must have sat at the table simply because of
their old age.
Looking around, Faust could see that even though he was almost directly
in front of the main group of meeting attendees, that they had yet to see
him. In order to keep this sort of 'advantage', he moved into the
darkness of a corner of the room, effectively cloaking himself in the
darkness of the shadows. As he moved, he was able to see the large
central platform much more easily, but it wasn't something he had
expected. The Elder's table was fixed on the other side of the room, in
front of the natural seats where the rest of the camp was sitting. Then,
in front of the Elders on the second, higher platform, there was the iron
behemoth! However, now it seemed that he had taken his helmet off.
Since he was facing away from Faust, all he could tell was that the man
had been tanned from living wherever it was that he lived. His hair was
also curly, and densely packed around his head. He seemed impatient, with
his body fidgeting around, and the ever-so-often pacing he would do
across the platform. Faust thought he saw something on the table, like a
bag or something—but it was moving! That thing was perhaps why this
meeting of sorts was being held, so Faust decided not to consider what
had been inside it. Something was holding up the meeting though, or
otherwise he was sure that everyone would know what that "thing" was
right now.
Faust could see the Elders, and the fact that they were locked in some
heated discussion. Heads and arms moved about, stressing opinions of one
side or another; Faust couldn't hear what they were saying at all over
the low roar of the other viewers. A large group of the spectators had
been watching the elders carefully; obviously they were discussing
something important to the meeting. Faust decided that now would be the
best time to study these elders, for they would be very important to the
clan's workings, so it would be best that they are known. The first of
the nine sat in the chair farthest to the left, on Faust's side, anyway.
She was old, Faust guessed about sixty-five. Her hair was a dull grey,
but her facial features were chiseled on from many years of living and
learning. Her robes were that of a brilliant red and blue, signifying to
Faust that perhaps this certain elder could control the forces of the
elements ice and fire. The one right next to her was slightly older,
with a small hunch in her back, and with smooth white hair. This person
had a completely yellow robe on, allowing Faust to make a reasonable
conclusion about her skill. The next woman looked frail, like she was
about to break. Her blue and yellow robe made Faust think of the
coldness of winter and the rumble of thunder in the jungle. The final
Elder he saw on the left side of the table was the only man present with
the elders. Obviously a Vizjerei, he seemed fidgety, like he was afraid
of something that may be in the room. Faust didn't have to guess what it
was. There was another, much larger chair, and then four more elders,
all of which were equally old and dressed in blue, purple, yellow and
white, with the one it white being closest to the large chair in the
center. They had gone on for a few minutes in this manner of arguing,
but then it suddenly came to a halt, and the Elder in white stood up and
spoke in an extremely terse and commanding manner;
"With the ninth Elder absent, we have declared decorum and will begin the
council immediately. Don Donathan Aurthor, would you please explain
yourself."
The Elder's words had formed the body of a completely legitimate
question, but Don Aurthor knew that she was making a command. With a
sigh, a tortured sigh, he turned from his pacing and his thoughts and
faced the now silent group of sorceresses, sorcerers, mages, scribes, and
even assassins that were gathered in the meeting hall, all eager to here
what he had to say. The contents of his most-important bag still wiggled
furiously on the table, but that was the only disturbance in the hall.
The garbled speech cut through the hall, but it was soon stopped by
Aurthor's voice;
"My brothers and sisters... I have come here on a most perilous journey
from my tragically desecrated country of Kurast. As you all know, ten
years ago, Kurast was raped and pillaged by the scourge of Hatred, and
made the puppet for Terror and Destruction, and we Paladins of Zakarum,
sworn protectors of the city, were nowhere to be seen. We had a city to
protect, but we had abandoned all faith in it. The Prime Evil Mephisto
had worked his magic and hatred into a Compelling Orb, a device which
brainwashed and possessed us to the point of non-servitude. With our so
called 'great' and equally corrupt council held at the will of Mephisto,
we only watched as our city was reclaimed by other braver, stronger, more-
willed heroes. I am here now as a representative of that long-shamed
order. I, Don Authour Donathan of the House of Sigon have journeyed here
to recall a tale of horror not unlike the events of the last decade. For
it seems that the Holy Land of Zakarum was once again, and always will be
the target of evil. When Hatred sows its seeds, it is certain that Sin
will come to reap...."
"I had been only a lad of fourteen when Diablo first spread his reign of
evil over the Westmarch for the first time. All of Zakarum had heard of
the evil he had deployed over the land, but we thought that we were too
protected, too holy for such an evil to fall upon us. Sure, the elders
knew of the terrible soulstone which housed Diablo's eldest brother
Mephisto, and some even knew of Baal who lie in Tal Rasha's tomb in the
desert, but not even they suspected that the evils that were the Prime
Evils would ever succeed in their conquest of the world. We could have
sent our own warriors in a search and destroy party to the palace of the
royal family, and we, with the help of the warrior, we could have
defeated Diablo without him possessing a newer, stronger body. We didn't
think we needed to be involved, we thought that Diablo had become too
weak for the Soulstone's magic. We didn't take into account what years
of corruption would do to the stone, we were even so shortsighted as to
realize that Mephisto was doing that exact same thing to the stone that
he was imprisoned in.
Mephisto's takeover had been a long and grueling process for the demon,
but when it happened, it was as quick as a flash. The elders, excluding
Khalim, were all corrupted and bent into Mephisto's will. The dissonance
between the Elders was enough to make us completely useless. Without our
council, we could do nothing. Because of this, we hid there was nothing
for us to do. Could we rebel against our own leaders? In our fit of
indecision, we made no progress. Some of us were even.."recruited" to
Mephisto's side of evil. However, many of us also stayed adamant in our
teachings. Still, unable to act, we hid. I was too young to accomplish
anything, but how I had wanted to! When Mephisto's evil washed over our
land, I wanted nothing better to go out there and purge the land myself.
However, I knew I would be useless.
We all rejoiced when Mephisto had been destroyed. We quickly moved back
to our settlements, but little did we know what was in store for us.. We
had been back to our way of life for the next nine years. Our land grew
back again, and bore fruit. Even more fruitful was the progress our
religion and government had made. Now we lived more strictly by the
religious principles themselves, and no longer under the strict rule of
an easily corruptible group of older beings. With our religion to guide
us, no lack of leadership would prevent us from doing what was right.
Our guard was strengthened as well. Because of this guard, I was trained
for those nine grueling years, and I had risen to the highest of my rank
in the caste of warriors. It was then that my ancestor's relics were
chosen to be mine, the set of Sigon's Full Steel. All was good for
almost a decade, and then later this year...
Mephisto wasn't the only evil to invade our lands. For soon after our
period of rest, came... Azmodon. Lord of Sin, he terrorized our lands with
his armies and terrible influence. Once again, our very culture had been
corrupted. This time, however, more of my brothers were taken in by the
demon's spells and wickedness. We were now forced to fight each other on
our own ground, to fight again to the Durance, now filled with Sin in all
its fury. I battled with many friends, comrades in arms, everyone of
them, and the horrors they brought on our land were just horrible...I have
come here to warn you all of the tidal wave of Hell's minions that are on
their way. The Worldstone's collapse has caused all this, and we must
fight it, or be damned forever!!!!"
The paladin's story ended, and at once the hall filled with a silent,
controlled, but undeniable, panic. As all of this was said, the bag
still sat, squirming, and squirming, stronger and stronger by the second.
If one had felt the room and observed it, one would have guessed that it
was feeding off of these primal emotions of fear, despair, and panic...