An earsplitting, earthshaking roar filled Tristram late in the night. As the windows fell out of their panes and rickety buildings collapsed, some thought they heard a young child crying amongst the roar. As it died down, the inhabitants gathered around the opening to the catacombs created by Diablo's demonic powers. All hoped that what they thought had finally come to pass. They had stood around the gaping doorway for over an hour when they finally heard the first sound since the hellish cry died down. The sound of boots walking across the stones in the passage, accompanied by the dragging of a sword on the ground got louder and louder, until the Wanderer himself appeared in the doorway. It was still fairly dark so the shadows of the night threw everything into ghastly relief. He was wounded in several places, his sword was notched and the mail of his armor was trailing loose. His face was the worst sight to behold; he was covered with his own blood and the blood of his enemies. His face, which seemed so youthful and full of life only hours before, was lined and weary. It was no surprise; he had probably traveled through Hell itself. But what startled everyone the most was that he had a mark on his forehead, that looked as if he had been gored there except he couldn't have; the would had already healed. His eyes were wild, in stark contrast to the calm radiance they had before, and darted this way and that, as if to look fearfully for a way to escape. Nothing about him, not the state of his equipment, not the mark on his forehead, not even the way his eyes twitched everywhere, prepared them for the expression on his lips and deep in his eyes. It was an expression triumph, but a triumph that seemed to be not for the Wanderer or for Tristram or even for Sanctuary. The expression looked as if the first great hurdle of some well laid out plan had been passed, and it was a triumph that would hurt the world in the end.
But nonetheless, the Wanderer was greeted warmly and congratulated. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that Diablo had been killed, and the Wanderer confirmed this, pulling one of the demon's hands out of his pack. There was a celebration of great proportions for that evening being planned, but the Wanderer told them he needed rest.
"It's not as if Diablo is going to return! We can wait the rest of the night." he said
So everyone decided that the celebration would happen as soon as the Wanderer woke up and came out of his lodging.
"He's probably snapped, not surprising considering he's been through Hell itself." said Clayton in the pub an hour later "I don't think anyone would come out the same after delving as deep as he did."
"Who is he, anyway?" asked Mikahail
"He said to simply call him the Wanderer." replied Tom "And a Horadric sage directed us to him."
"Who?" asked Clayton
"Deckard Cain" said Tilling "he's the one the Wanderer kept giving funny looks."
"How do you know he's a Horadrim? I thought they were all dead." asked Clayton
"Don't the Zakarum teach you anything?" asked Tom in return "The Horadrim were one of the most powerful mage clans in all of Sanctuary. They bound the Three into their Soulstones."
"I know what they did, and I know who they were" said Clayton "all I was wondering was how you knew he was a Horadrim."
"In all the formal mage clans, you learn about the great times of the mage clans in the past. They also taught us what they were like, what they wore… kind of like a history class" replied Tom
"Well, I guess it's time to turn in... anyone else coming?" said Clayton
"Yeah, I'm going to go back to sleep too." came the general reply as the other three drained their mugs and paid the bartender.
The next morning dawned brighter than it had since Diablo was released. Everyone got better rest than they had ever had and even the animals seemed at ease, until the Wanderer came around. Nobody could place it but they all seemed ill at ease when he came around and the feeling passed as soon as he left. That night, the celebration began. There were mountains of food, kegs upon kegs of beer and caskets of wine to fill a river. The singing and dancing was the best that recent memory could account for and everyone had a good time. Except the Wanderer. He seemed numb to the jubilation around him and, later in the night when everyone was a little lightheaded from the drink, he slipped off. Afterwards, most of the other would-be heroes left except the Wanderer and the four who first marked him as suspicious. As they watched him, he seemed to slip deeper and deeper into a brooding depression as he became more and more of a recluse. Now the feeling of unease spread so that you knew he was coming before you heard or saw him. Most believed that he was just getting over the shock and horror of fighting the demons but some began to whisper of possession. Eventually, another celebration was planned in his honor but as before, he slipped off without anyone noticing. The next morning he left without being seen by anyone.
"Deckard Cain, a moment please." Called Tom as he hurried to see the sage
"Yes, what is it my friend?" replied Cain
"Do you happen to know what became of the Wanderer? Everyone is concerned that something dreadful has happened."
"Well last night, before he left, I found him at his home we had given him. He seemed... disturbed. He was muttering and rocking back and forth in his doorframe. I was about to leave for help when he spoke to me.
"His voice was harsh and uneven but the words were clear: 'I must leave this place. I must find my brothers in the East. Their chains will bind no longer.' As you can guess I was thoroughly unsettled by this."
He looked as if he wanted to tell Tom something else but doubt held him back.
"Anyway, he's gone to the East. Most likely he will end up in Rouge Territory. After that, I am uncertain. Why do you ask?"
"Thank you, Deckard Cain. I ask because my friends and I feel uneasy around him, and his spontaneous absence is suspicious."
At that point, Deckard Cain opened his mouth to say more, but was cut off by an unearthly cry. Whipping their heads around, both of them saw several demons coming over the ridge. They stood open-mouthed until the Horadric Sage came to his senses.
"Run! Get your companions and run! There is now no doubt in my mind!" cried Cain
"What? What do you mean?" shouted Tom as he ran with him towards the house where the others were.
"When I spoke to the Wanderer last night, I thought I saw his wound reopened..."
"The one on his forehead?"
"The very same. I thought I saw within it a shard of Diablo's Soulstone. It's obvious now; the Wanderer has been controlled all this time!"
"So that's why we all felt that strange feeling, it was a demonic aura! Why are you telling us to run?"
"Because," Cain said as they screeched to a halt "you four seem to be on the same level as the Wanderer was when he first came. I believe that if anyone can stop him, you can. Maybe not now but Diablo being free means more of this" he gestured to the hordes approaching the town "will be happening. Once you find him, you should be ready. Go now!"
"Deckard Cain, I most humbly thank you for what you have done."
"Then waste no more time! Flee as far as you can!"
A half hour and a brief skirmish later, the four of them were out of Tristram and making for the eastward road as fast as they could. None of them could believe this: they came for fame and fortune, they ended up fighting for all humanity.
