Any and all Diablo characters present in this story belong to Blizzard Entertainment, and not to me. Originally I said the fic would be updated on Fridays, but I'm feeling like writing more. So it'll be updated whenever I write something new.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter Two: Act One, Cast Out.
"So now, the Rogues have made camp close by here?" Abreen asked. He and Moya were traveling west, moving fairly quickly despite the pouring rain and periodic monster attacks. He and Moya was unaffected by the rain, seemingly protected under a transparent barrier that she had woven. That was quite a trick, even for a heretic, Abreen thought.
Moya nodded. She had begun to warm up to her present company, although only a little. Her deep mistrust of his Order still tinged her thoughts, he saw. "Yes. Just west of here."
They trudged on without saying anything for quite some time, and then Abreen ventured, "It must be terrible, being cast out from your home and forced to live in seclusion."
Moya's eyes narrowed at that. She visibly restrained herself from comment, turned her head to face forward, and kept on walking. Almost immediately after, the barrier that she had woven over the two of them broke, and rain began to pour down on Abreen again. He looked over at her, and saw that she was still holding it around herself. The message was clear.
Abreen rolled his eyes to the cloudy, thundering sky. What had he done this time? It seemed like he could barely even talk to her without offending her somehow. They passed the next hour or so in silence, with him either smashing a monster in his path with his flail, or her frying it at a distance, until finally Abreen could see smoke rising into the air and could see the bare wooden walls of an encampment rising from the moor. "We're here," Moya said shortly.
As they approached the camp, Abreen could see various rogues with arrows held at the ready. One of these, he thought he had seen while he and his brother paladins were wandering. They had passed a few words. Now she had a huge healing gash along her neck and up to the right corner of her lips. She'd been lucky to survive, he thought. A blazingly red-headed woman strode out from the assembled rogues. She wore no weapon, but carried a certain aura of command. "Strangers," she said, "what is your business with the Sisterhood?"
Abreen stepped forward. "Haiu, rogue," he said, laying down his weapon at his feet. "I am Abreen ad'Din, Son of Zakarum and Paladin of the Church of Light. This is my companion, Moya Anerin, she of the Zann Esu. We come in the Light, and bear no malice to your camp or your Sisterhood."
The red-headed rogue raised an eyebrow. "A paladin and a sorceress traveling together? Now I've seen everything." She beckoned. "Come. Welcome, outlanders, to our glorious hovel."
As they followed the rogue into the camp, Moya cast an ugly look at Abreen. "What!?" he objected, beginning to get irritated at her constant disapproval.
"That was Kashya, the military leader of the Sisterhood, and you address her so informally? Can't you show any respect at all?" Moya hissed angrily.
"How was I to know? I've never been here before in my life, and we didn't study such..." He paused momentarily. Such heresies was what he'd been about to say, but he thought better of it, "...such alternate lifestyles in the Church of Light."
"Typical," Moya muttered, and that was all he could get out of her. As Kashya led them into the camp, Abreen was able to get a good look at what was happening. There were a few warriors scattered around, but the Sisterhood's ranks seemed to have been incredibly thinned in the short time since the last visit by the Church. A pair of merchants chatted by a large caravan, supervised by a rogue archer.
Nearby was an unlikely pair – a trio, he should say rightly. A short, stocky, red-haired girl was poking a spear at what seemed to be an unformed lump of metal, while a skinny, pale man stood reclining against a fence and reading. After her third uneventful poke, the girl looked at the man and asked, "Tilio, why won't it move?"
"It'll eat your spearpoint if you don't stop," the man responded without even looking away from his book.
"Really?" The girl looked doubtfully at the metal object and cautiously poked it again. This time, even as Abreen watched in horror, the thing stirred and made a clumsy grab for the girl's spear. She yanked it back too quickly, giggling. "Ooh, it's scary, Tilio! Don't you think so?"
The man she'd called Tilio made no response, but realization struck Abreen: he was a necromancer, more properly called a Priest of Rathma, but a necromancer nonetheless. For a moment, Abreen was paralyzed by this vision of evil in his vicinity. The Church of Light had long taught that heretics such as the Zann Esu and the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye were to be tolerated until such time that the Church gained supremacy, and then they would be properly brought under the Light. However, the Church also stated that there were two main threats to the strength of Zakarum in this world, and that they were the Priesthood of Rathma, and the Skatsim, also known as the Old Religion. So here, before him, was one of these evil-spawned necromancers, so close to his weapon.
Abreen debated momentarily, but decided that he would better serve the Church not by martyring himself to kill one of the necromancers, but rather by finding ar'Radim as he had originally been commanded. He continued to follow Kashya and Moya, not looking back at the necromancer, his companion, and his vile spawn.
Kashya soon brought them before a gold-colored tent. "High Priestess Akara, these outlanders have come to seek an audience with you," she said.
The tent opened, and the High Priestess of the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye emerged, dressed in deep purple robes and wearing a pendant emblazoned with the Eye. "Welcome, children," she said softly.
Moya made a deep bow and murmured some words of greeting, but Abreen saw his chance to gain favor with the Rogues and to show her up as well. He dropped to one knee, bowing his head and presenting his weapon to Akara's hand, proclaiming, "Abreen ad'Din of the Zakarum salutes High Priestess Akara and pledges his loyalty to her honor. Well met, Priestess."
Moya's face was the picture of shock. Akara and Kashya also seemed taken aback, but the High Priestess recovered quickly, touching the haft of Abreen's weapon briefly and making a sign of benediction above him. "Rise, son of Zakarum," she said. "Rise with my blessing."
Abreen did so, knowing that even to accept the blessing of a heretic was an offence punishable by excommunication. But he had work to do in the service of his Church, and in such instances, sins could be forgiven. "I thank you, Priestess. I have traveled from afar to speak with you."
"To what do we owe the honor of another visit from the Church of Light, and so soon?" the High Priestess asked.
"Another visit, you say? So ar'Radim has been here, then?"
"Was that his name? He introduced himself as Anmin."
"That's the man I'm looking for. What can you tell me about his visit, Priestess?"
Akara paused. "It was perhaps a month ago – certainly before we were expulsed from our Monastery. He said that he came as an ambassador from the Church, and was seeking information about Tristram."
"About Tristram, you say?" Now Abreen was getting interested. The events at Tristram – horror of horrors, the unbinding of Diablo himself! – had involved the Church of Light quite intimately. The khammi Lazarus, formerly an Archbishop of the Church, had traveled there to "spread the glory of the Light" to its inhabitants. But he had never been heard from since, and it had become apparent to the High Council that he had betrayed them. Was the Council now seeking to make an investigation of those dire events?
"Indeed. Of course, by then, Tristram had been destroyed, so..."
Abreen was dumbstruck. He could also see that Moya, who had remained quiet throughout the conversation, was troubled. "I'm sorry, Priestess. Tristram was destroyed?"
"Oh. Of course, you wouldn't know. The minions of Hell have returned to Tristram and razed it, may the Eye watch over us all. Darkness walks the land again, and under the name of Andariel."
"Andariel? One of the Lesser Evils walks the earth? I must return to Kurast immediately and inform my superiors of this..."
"Pardon, good paladin, but you cannot. Andariel has taken up residence in our Monastery to the east, and is blocking all passage east through the Rogue Pass. Her demonic armies are strong, and are supplemented with our sisters."
"Your sisters have been betraying you?"
"Not exactly, no. But they have fallen under the demonic corruption of Andariel, and have been driven insane now." Kashya and Akara looked particularly grim at this point.
"My condolences," Abreen said. "But the issue at hand – did ar'Radim leave before or after Andariel took over the Monastery?"
"He left before she did. This...situation...is a relatively recent development. I'm sorry, Abreen, but he could be halfway to Scosglen by now, for all we know." Akara's eyes were downcast.
"It matters not. I will find him," Abreen replied. "But you are clearly in need of succor. The taint of Evil must be purged from this land. I will cleanse this wilderness." He dropped to one knee once more. "Andariel will be destroyed, the path reopened, and the Monastery returned to its rightful owners. I, Abreen ad'Din, son of Zakarum and Paladin of the Church of Light, swear it."
Not to be outdone, Moya raised her right hand to her breastbone. The familiarity of that gesture struck him again. "I, Moyalina t'Anerin, swear it also." She brought her hand to her side and added, "Am-na'do, am-na'da, am-Ska."
"Excuse me," said a dry voice, cutting off Moya's recital. Abreen and Moya turned to see the pale man who had been reading earlier. He still held a tome in one hand, his finger keeping the place. "I couldn't hope overhearing your conversation. You intend to confront the Maiden of Anguish?"
"What is it to you, necromancer?" Abreen snapped. He couldn't help himself. It was the zealot inherent in all sons of Zakarum speaking. "You wish to give her advance notice, is that it?"
"Abreen!" Akara said sharply. "This is a guest of our encampment. I expect you to show him the same respect that we show you. All are equal, here. This is Tilio. Tilio, this is Abreen, and Moyalina."
"A pleasure," the man said, bowing and then offering his hand. Moya took it, beaming, and saying, "Call me Moya. I'm pleased to meet you." Abreen made a grudging bow, but did not shake the necromancer's hand.
"Maryam! Come here and make your manners, Maryam!" Tilio shouted. The red-haired girl, still poking at the golem, called back, "I've almost made it get up, Tilio! Leave me alone!"
Tilio rolled his eyes. "She'll be along in a moment," he said. There was a sickening crack, and then a crunch, and finally a piercing scream. "It ate my spearpoint! Hey! That was my only spear! Give it back, give it back, you stupid thing!"
Moya looked slyly at the necromancer. "You made it do that, didn't you?"
The corners of his mouth twitched. "I did nothing of the sort. Maryam, darling, come here and talk to these nice people!"
"Oh, all right," she shouted. The girl trudged up, holding her remarkably un-lethal spear dejectedly in one hand. "I'm Maryam, pleased to meet you, how are you all, fine, good to hear it, bye." She turned, but Tilio shot out a hand and grasped her shoulder. Maryam turned back to face Abreen and Moya, heaved a theatrical sigh, and said, "Alright, alright. My name's Maryam Summersong, of the South Seas Amazons."
Abreen had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. As if a necromancer and a Zann Esu weren't enough! Now he had to deal with this new Amazon heresy. But he supposed he had to "make his manners," as the necromancer had said. "Abreen ad'Din, of the Church of Light," he said, extending his hand. The girl ignored it and instead pushed herself into him, hugging him tightly. He hadn't been expecting it, and she was heavier than he would have thought. His knees almost buckled from sustaining the force of his own armor and her weight, but he managed to stay standing. The top of Maryam's head brushed his chin, and then she withdrew and turned to Moya.
"I'm Moya t'Anerin, of the Zann Esu," the sorceress said, and then endured the same hug that Abreen had. She was expecting it this time, but she was considerably more slender than the paladin, and was almost bowled over. Maryam was a little shorter than Moya, but at least fifty pounds heavier.
The girl released Moya, who looked more than a little short of breath, and beamed happily at the two of them. "Ok! Nice to meet you two!" She turned to Tilio. "Now can I go and get my spearpoint back?"
"The golem ate it, Maryam. You can't get it back."
"I'll get it back," Maryam said stubbornly.
"All right, dear. So long as you're happy. Don't punch or kick the golem, though, you'll hurt yourself."
"Ok!" Maryam said excitedly, and waved to Moya and Abreen before racing back, point-less spear in hand, to poke the golem again.
"She's quite remarkable, isn't she?" Tilio murmured.
"You said 'darling' and 'dear,'" Moya commented. "Are you related to her?"
"Me? Oh, no, no," Tilio replied. "I only met her a couple of weeks ago. I'm just...taking care of her, I guess. You see she needs someone to take care of her, yes?"
"Yes..."
"How old is she?" Abreen asked suddenly. To tell the truth, he'd been quite fascinated with the girl. She was like nothing he'd ever seen before.
"She's eighteen years old," Tilio replied, and just as quickly responded to the surprised looks on the faces of his audience, "I know, you can't believe it either. But it's true. See, in the Amazon Islands, the girls and boys are allowed run free and do whatever they want until they're 15. Then the boys are taught the principles of government, civil service, and priesthood, and the women are taught the ways of war."
"So what happened then?" Moya asked.
"At 15, they tested her. Apparently, she was very skilled with the spear. But she was...an anomaly, I suppose."
"How so?"
"Well, there are four main deities in the Amazon religion that pertain to warfare: Zerae, of thunder, Karcheus, of ice, Hefaetrus, of fire, and Athulua, of all. Karcheus and Hefaetrus lend their blessings to arrows and bolts, and Zerae lends hers to the spear." Tilio continued, "When they tested Maryam, they found that if she followed the techniques that they taught her to add the strength of Zerae to her strikes, that instead she unleashed freezing effects."
"So?" Moya asked. "So she can use her powers differently from other Amazons."
"It's not that easy. The priests ruled that the fact that she applied the power of Karcheus to her spear was a blasphemy in their religion. That kind of thing is usually punishable by death, but she was only 15 years old, of course."
"By death? For using the gifts of her gods differently!?" Moya was outraged. "That's ridiculous!"
Tilio shrugged. "That's their culture, my lady Zann Esu. That's their religion. We have to respect the cultures of others." Tilio's words struck to Abreen's heart. It seemed as if the necromancer were deliberately trying to provoke his anger. "Anyway, they ruled that she would be placed in the care of a custodian until she was eighteen years old – an adult, in Amazon reckoning – and then exiled for the gods to work their wills with her. She was never taught what it means to be a responsible adult. She's still a child, in her mind and in her heart."
"An adult?" Moya nearly shrieked, and in this, Abreen had to agree with her. "She's just an overgrown child! And those heartless...those vile...priests threw her off their islands?"
"Yes," Tilio said dispassionately. "They marooned her along the Twin Seas coastline, close to Aranoch. She says that she wandered for a while until coming out of the scrublands, living off the land, as Amazons are taught, and eventually came to the area of this place they call the Black Marsh.
"And what happened there?"
"She met me there," Tilio answered. A faint trickle of emotion seemed to be entering his voice now. Abreen felt his pre-formed dislike of the man beginning to melt ever so slightly. "I was overwhelmed by the undead, and out of mana. I'm sure I wouldn't have lasted much longer. She saved my life."
"And that's why you're taking care of her now," Moya finished.
"Yes. I swore an oath to serve her in compensation for her act, but in reality, I was swearing to protect her however I could. Besides, it's good to have a strong arm on my side. I'm afraid my weapons are a little less physical than a good spear and some weight behind it."
"And what are you doing abroad, necromancer?" Abreen asked. He had been spellbound during Tilio's story, but now he wanted to learn more about his adversary.
"My Priesthood has learned of true threats to the Great Cycle. I am a scholar hoping to learn more of the nature of this evil. That's why I wish to accompany you on your quest to slay Andariel. There is no way better to learn than through direct study."
"And what about Maryam? She surely can't accompany us. She'll wander off and get her silly self killed," Abreen accused.
"Don't fear for her. Trust me, if there's one thing that poor girl understands, it's how to defend herself. Put a spear in her hands...a new spear, mind you, that's the third one she's managed to feed to my golem this week...and she'll be just fine," Tilio replied.
"I'm for it, Abreen," Moya commented. "We could use more help."
"What is this 'we,' Moya? Every other second, you fly off the handle and decide either to scream at me or just not to speak to me. Now you think we're all going to go off on an adventure together? Not if we don't get some things straight."
"I think perhaps I could clear up some of this difficulty," Tilio interjected. "Judging from what I observed of my lady Zann Esu, she—"
Moya cut him off, roses high in her cinnamon cheeks. "Don't. Say. Anything. We'll talk about that later, Tilio."
"As you wish, my lady," he said, with a short, grave bow.
Abreen was intrigued. Tilio was a scholar, after all. Maybe he knew what Moya was up to, with that song, and the gestures, and the other language she lapsed into sometime. "Never mind. I'm very tired, and it's getting late. I'm going to get some rest, alright?"
"An excellent plan," Tilio said. "Moya, get Maryam to stop harassing my golem and ask the Rogues to prepare you two a tent. I will exchange a few words with Abreen in the meantime."
Moya looked them over warily, no doubt wondering, as Abreen was, what words these would be, exactly. But she nodded and headed over to Maryam's direction with a big smile on her face.
"What is it, necromancer?" Abreen asked, the hostility coming back into his voice as Tilio drew him aside.
"Abreen, do you want Maryam and I to come along on your quest? I'll understand if you don't want to be in the presence of a necromancer and an Amazon woman with the mindset of a twelve-year-old girl."
"No," Abreen managed, and he felt terrible at hearing his feelings put into such words, spoken matter-of-factly by Tilio. "No, it's all right. Your help will be appreciated. Just...a question. There's nothing...indecent...going on between you and the girl, is there?"
Tilio chuckled drily, apparently not offended at all by the question. "Indeed not. I care for her, yes, but not in the way you suggest."
Abreen suddenly felt a wave of embarrassment. "I'm sorry, nec—Tilio. That was crude."
"No, no, not at all, Abreen. I merely found it amusing. I see that my appearance has you fooled as well."
Abreen was puzzled. His appearance? His hair was a fine, stringy white, but he seemed robust and in good health. "I'm sorry?"
"I'm much, much older than I look, good paladin. All priests of Rathma learn the secrets of life and death very early – and how to manipulate them. What would be the point of taking in all this information that I have learned over so many generations, only to lose it so quickly?"
"Are you saying...are you saying that you live forever?" Abreen was thoroughly taken aback. In his shock, he had forgotten the inherent heresy in all of this.
"Not forever, no. To upset the Great Cycle in such a fashion would be an abomination. As abhorrent to us, I suppose, as a young girl wielding an ice-enchanted spear was to the Amazons..." Tilio was momentarily silent and reflective. "But, I have lived a very long time. When will I die? Who can know that? I'll die when the Cycle decrees it."
Abreen nodded. His tight little Zakarum worldview had changed rapidly over the past few days, but he didn't intend to let these heresies destroy his faith. He would merely use them to enhance his own understanding. "Very well. You and I are going to share a tent tonight, yes?"
Tilio nodded. "Don't worry – my golem will stand outside with the Rogue guards and keep watch."
Abreen scoffed inwardly at that, because he hadn't seen what that lump of metal was capable of yet. But he said nothing except a curt, "Goodnight, then," to the necromancer, and began to set up a tent. It had been a long day. It looked to be a longer one tomorrow.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Coming next: Chapter Three: Act One, First Steps East.