As promised, there will be more fighting in this one, and a suprise ending
that I hope wil leave you in a bit of a trembling suspense. Will he. . .?
You'll just have to read. And the Plot thickens. A reminder, I do not own
Diablo or any of the characters, so the producers cannot sue me.
-J. Diabolico-
Before the sun had risen the Alliance had set out, Durag having left his quarters and met up with the Paladin whom he would share his quest with, (for the time being,) and his annoying, squabbling comrade, Bometh.
By sunrise, the companions had crossed the threshold of the city and were making thier way into the Dulathian wilderness; a dark and hideous trail leading through the woods of Garma and passing on towards the local capital, York. They had still not happened across any demons as they took thier first steps across the shadow into the Garma woods, not three miles from York. . .
"This is unatural." Whispered the Necromancer cautiously.
"I agree; no birds sing in this desolate place. . .not a sound is to be heard above the creaking of the trees. . ." complied the Paladin. Looking across at him, the Necromancer realized that he still did not know his name.
"Say, Holy Knight . . ." he began, but was cut short by a horrifying sound; "Get down!"
A second later a sabre swooped past overhead, slicing through the thick air above Bometh's balding head. The weapon sunk with a heavy Thud deep into the wood of a far tree, and quivered there, reverberating a curious sound through the silent forest.
"Demons!" cried the Paladin, "By the gates of Heaven; may you fight as well as you did yesterday, Necromancer!" for indeed a mighty horde of demonic shapes now burst headlong through the underbrush before them, dark green and brown figures at full speed and closing fast. Bometh whimpered pitifully and brought his staff to bear, and the Paladin quickly drew his mighty broadsword in the shaded light.
The Necromancer, realizing his amulet of stregnth was still gone from his neck, cautiously began to chant in his sharp, old-age tounge. . . "Haladin, mu' a jigar, a gighad; A GIGHAD!" he cried, his hand once again spread out over the frightful scene, his eyes closed in deep concentration.
"Necromancer, hold to sword and fight!" shouted the Paladin; this was no time for silly tricks; there were too many of the little wretches!
"A GIGHAD, ELBERE' NI, A GIGHAD!" and suddenly, as if out of nowhere, there erupted a roaring white light from the ground in front of the nearest demons. Twisting and intermingling, gleaming white shapes could be made out, shifting and interlocking to form. . .
"A wall of Bone!" exclaimed the astonished Knight. "A barrier of pure bone. . ." but the Necromancer was still deep in chant and summoning the reserves of his streghnth; to summon a wall of that size was indeed a toll took heavily upon his mind, and he could already feel it crumble beneath the blows of the tiny monsters on it's latter side. . .
The Knight's assistant crossed himself as the first of the demons broke through; a twisted look of satisfaction worn across it's hideous visage. The sword of the Paladin fell heavily across it's shoulders, and the tiny head rolled blankly up to the feet of Bometh, who promptly vomited.
"Namu' ih nish-karesh. . .Namu a Elbere' ji'-kushar!" came a haunted chant from the lips of the meditating Sorcerer. Durag, still chanting, took up his twisted kris in one pale hand, and, holding out his unarmored arm, cut a sit on the underside of his forearm, and felt the blood trickle slowly from his body. . .
"Namu' ih nish-karesh, Namu a Elbere' ji'-kushar. . ." and with a final chant, made a swift motion with his sword arm, now wetted in blood, and the earth began to rumble. A single drop of blood slid to the point of the kris; then dropped to the cold earth. Upon contact, the dark speck of red began to rapidly spread outwards, more and more blood appearing from this single drop; and it began to swirl and bubble upwards from the steadily growing pool. Soon a shape was discernable; and feet, red and horrible, took the first steps of false life; a giant, grotesque creature, bubbling and veinous, stepped quickly up to the nearest hole in the wall and began hacking viciously at the demon limbs jutting through with massive, glowing claws.
Bometh had fainted and the Paladin, mighty as he was, took a step back in astonishment and fear, as the creature relentlessly sealed the holes in the bone with the corpses of demons.
"What in the name of God is that?" uttered the transfixed and terrified Knight. The Necromancer opened his eyes slowly, they were glowing green once more, and said, in a voice not all his own;
"He is me, and I him. Made of my blood, he holds within him the spark of life that I hold even now within myself. His pain, I feel, my death, he suffers, and his every victory brings blood and life flowing back into my veins."
Indeed, as the Paladin watched in fascination, the bloody slit in the Sorcerer's forearm was healing with the every merciless fall of the monster's claws. If the thing was covered in the blood of a mass of enemies, or if it was in it's own horrible, dark red skin, was impossible to tell. It only fought harder the more holes opened up. There needed be no commands, for the creature instinctivly knew it's master's biding; it was, after all, the same life they both shared . . .
Soon the holes and jagged gaps became too much, however, and neither the bloody monstrosity nor the brave Paladin could hold back the issueing demons with all the combined force of thier fury, and many great peices of the barrier began to crumble and break away rapidly. Soon the companions were in up to thier elbows in demonic creatures.
Swinging viciously with thier swords and daggers, (and in one case, bloody claws,) the groups of heroes slowly ripped a circle about themselves from demons, and the fainted Bometh was dragged to the middle by the obedient creature of blood.
Although the Paladin fought both viciously and with the heart of five strong men, the horde was closing, and other, strange creations of hell had begun to filter through the trees to aid the falling demon hordes. Soon the companions were surrounded by not only the green skinned, vile bastard demons, but filthy, rotted dead as well. Some evil force indeed had been at work to summon the forces of the dead to the aide of the Dark Lord, and the Necromancer was amazed at the completeness to which the undead soldiers preformed ther master's will. Some enemy Necromancer was obviously at work against them and had been able to succssesfully ressurect not one, nor two, but tens upon tens of glaring, rotten corpses to do his or hers evil bidding.
Doing his best to summon up some skeletons of his own, and sensing that, whatever Necromatic power was at work upon these undead, it was from far awy that it hailed, not anywhere within the forest, at least. So, this knowledge gained, the Necromancer set about creating an army of his own minions to aide him in battle. Soon, six gleaming skeletons slashed thier way into battle with the two men and vicious blood figure. This would do for now, the evil army was pushed back for the moment and the heroes received a much needed breather.
"There is some other evil force at work, to have brought back these dead soldiers to reanimated life, brave Paladin of the west." The Sorcerer informed the Knight, both at eachother's backs, circling and awaiting the next onslaught of hellish spawns.
"Please, call me Damathodor, it is the name I was ordained to in my service to the almighty." Came the reply, tired but still very much willing to carry on. The Necromancer felt a bit envious at the knight's confidence in close battle. It was very rare for a Sorcerer of his type to fight his own battles. . .
"May Trag'Oul give me stregnth. . ." beseeched the Necromancer, and at once his hellish armor appeared magically and enclosed his body seamlessly. The Paladin stood amazed, and could only shake his sweating head in astonishment as the Necromancer's weary face was replaced by the horrific bone helm, sharp horns and all.
"You must teach me this magic someday. . ." began the Knight.
"In order for this, you must be in the favor of the mighty Trag'Oul, the dragon on whose back the world rests." The Sorcerer's voice replied from beneath the fanged teeth of the skull-helm. Then the hollow eyes began to glow menacingly as the Necromancer began to chant once more, and the demons came rushing again.
Slolwy the battle went, alternating fighting and resting on both sides, and no clear victory was to be seen, as the warriors of humanity wearied, so the hordes of hell fell beneath thier blades, and the claws of the mighty blood demon. Eventually, as the day wore on into the late of night, the demonic pygmies began slowly to diminsh in number. They were either all dead, or to tired or discouraged to continue to do battle. Corpses of hundreds of demons and a few undead monstrosities littered the forest floor, and the constant ferocity of the indefatigueable skeletal warriors terrified even the most fanatic of the living demons.
Only the undead were not discouraged, and onwards they marched, unable to feel pain or pity, or see the extreme danger of the warriors they marched to. Many fell, but they were hard to kill, much harder to quell than the demons, who could feel and be daunted by the pain of a sword. Soon the two men were alone with a very weak blood minion, a skeleton with a broken sword, and an unconscious, useless preist.
"Damathodor, brave knight, step you back from the fray, for my magic will finish this or destroy me. . ." the weary Sorcerer commanded, setting the bloody monster and his skeletal fighter to protect him as he began to carefully contact the dying spirits of the hundred of corpses around them. It would be no use summoning hundred of more skeleton warriors, it would be too much for him to control, but what he could do was force out the last bits of dying lives from several large groups of the bodies, which would result in a powerful. . .
An explosion ripped through the silence and at least fifty carcasses of slain demons began to violently tremble, and then simply exploed in violent force. Shards of bone shot through the ranks of the undead, and many were cleaved and fell. All that remained were headless, wandering corpses, which in due time fell in slow and silent agony.
The battle was over.
The Paladin crossed himself wearily and turned to his companion, who had finished the fight. "That was truly the most spectacular-," but he saw his companion fall heavily to his knees, then, as is lifeless, slump backwards onto his legs, his head hitting the ground deftly. The blood creature crumbled and fell to peices, and the skeleton warrior immeadiatly imploded and crumbled to the earth.
"Oh no." Whispered Damathodor.
-J. Diabolico-
Before the sun had risen the Alliance had set out, Durag having left his quarters and met up with the Paladin whom he would share his quest with, (for the time being,) and his annoying, squabbling comrade, Bometh.
By sunrise, the companions had crossed the threshold of the city and were making thier way into the Dulathian wilderness; a dark and hideous trail leading through the woods of Garma and passing on towards the local capital, York. They had still not happened across any demons as they took thier first steps across the shadow into the Garma woods, not three miles from York. . .
"This is unatural." Whispered the Necromancer cautiously.
"I agree; no birds sing in this desolate place. . .not a sound is to be heard above the creaking of the trees. . ." complied the Paladin. Looking across at him, the Necromancer realized that he still did not know his name.
"Say, Holy Knight . . ." he began, but was cut short by a horrifying sound; "Get down!"
A second later a sabre swooped past overhead, slicing through the thick air above Bometh's balding head. The weapon sunk with a heavy Thud deep into the wood of a far tree, and quivered there, reverberating a curious sound through the silent forest.
"Demons!" cried the Paladin, "By the gates of Heaven; may you fight as well as you did yesterday, Necromancer!" for indeed a mighty horde of demonic shapes now burst headlong through the underbrush before them, dark green and brown figures at full speed and closing fast. Bometh whimpered pitifully and brought his staff to bear, and the Paladin quickly drew his mighty broadsword in the shaded light.
The Necromancer, realizing his amulet of stregnth was still gone from his neck, cautiously began to chant in his sharp, old-age tounge. . . "Haladin, mu' a jigar, a gighad; A GIGHAD!" he cried, his hand once again spread out over the frightful scene, his eyes closed in deep concentration.
"Necromancer, hold to sword and fight!" shouted the Paladin; this was no time for silly tricks; there were too many of the little wretches!
"A GIGHAD, ELBERE' NI, A GIGHAD!" and suddenly, as if out of nowhere, there erupted a roaring white light from the ground in front of the nearest demons. Twisting and intermingling, gleaming white shapes could be made out, shifting and interlocking to form. . .
"A wall of Bone!" exclaimed the astonished Knight. "A barrier of pure bone. . ." but the Necromancer was still deep in chant and summoning the reserves of his streghnth; to summon a wall of that size was indeed a toll took heavily upon his mind, and he could already feel it crumble beneath the blows of the tiny monsters on it's latter side. . .
The Knight's assistant crossed himself as the first of the demons broke through; a twisted look of satisfaction worn across it's hideous visage. The sword of the Paladin fell heavily across it's shoulders, and the tiny head rolled blankly up to the feet of Bometh, who promptly vomited.
"Namu' ih nish-karesh. . .Namu a Elbere' ji'-kushar!" came a haunted chant from the lips of the meditating Sorcerer. Durag, still chanting, took up his twisted kris in one pale hand, and, holding out his unarmored arm, cut a sit on the underside of his forearm, and felt the blood trickle slowly from his body. . .
"Namu' ih nish-karesh, Namu a Elbere' ji'-kushar. . ." and with a final chant, made a swift motion with his sword arm, now wetted in blood, and the earth began to rumble. A single drop of blood slid to the point of the kris; then dropped to the cold earth. Upon contact, the dark speck of red began to rapidly spread outwards, more and more blood appearing from this single drop; and it began to swirl and bubble upwards from the steadily growing pool. Soon a shape was discernable; and feet, red and horrible, took the first steps of false life; a giant, grotesque creature, bubbling and veinous, stepped quickly up to the nearest hole in the wall and began hacking viciously at the demon limbs jutting through with massive, glowing claws.
Bometh had fainted and the Paladin, mighty as he was, took a step back in astonishment and fear, as the creature relentlessly sealed the holes in the bone with the corpses of demons.
"What in the name of God is that?" uttered the transfixed and terrified Knight. The Necromancer opened his eyes slowly, they were glowing green once more, and said, in a voice not all his own;
"He is me, and I him. Made of my blood, he holds within him the spark of life that I hold even now within myself. His pain, I feel, my death, he suffers, and his every victory brings blood and life flowing back into my veins."
Indeed, as the Paladin watched in fascination, the bloody slit in the Sorcerer's forearm was healing with the every merciless fall of the monster's claws. If the thing was covered in the blood of a mass of enemies, or if it was in it's own horrible, dark red skin, was impossible to tell. It only fought harder the more holes opened up. There needed be no commands, for the creature instinctivly knew it's master's biding; it was, after all, the same life they both shared . . .
Soon the holes and jagged gaps became too much, however, and neither the bloody monstrosity nor the brave Paladin could hold back the issueing demons with all the combined force of thier fury, and many great peices of the barrier began to crumble and break away rapidly. Soon the companions were in up to thier elbows in demonic creatures.
Swinging viciously with thier swords and daggers, (and in one case, bloody claws,) the groups of heroes slowly ripped a circle about themselves from demons, and the fainted Bometh was dragged to the middle by the obedient creature of blood.
Although the Paladin fought both viciously and with the heart of five strong men, the horde was closing, and other, strange creations of hell had begun to filter through the trees to aid the falling demon hordes. Soon the companions were surrounded by not only the green skinned, vile bastard demons, but filthy, rotted dead as well. Some evil force indeed had been at work to summon the forces of the dead to the aide of the Dark Lord, and the Necromancer was amazed at the completeness to which the undead soldiers preformed ther master's will. Some enemy Necromancer was obviously at work against them and had been able to succssesfully ressurect not one, nor two, but tens upon tens of glaring, rotten corpses to do his or hers evil bidding.
Doing his best to summon up some skeletons of his own, and sensing that, whatever Necromatic power was at work upon these undead, it was from far awy that it hailed, not anywhere within the forest, at least. So, this knowledge gained, the Necromancer set about creating an army of his own minions to aide him in battle. Soon, six gleaming skeletons slashed thier way into battle with the two men and vicious blood figure. This would do for now, the evil army was pushed back for the moment and the heroes received a much needed breather.
"There is some other evil force at work, to have brought back these dead soldiers to reanimated life, brave Paladin of the west." The Sorcerer informed the Knight, both at eachother's backs, circling and awaiting the next onslaught of hellish spawns.
"Please, call me Damathodor, it is the name I was ordained to in my service to the almighty." Came the reply, tired but still very much willing to carry on. The Necromancer felt a bit envious at the knight's confidence in close battle. It was very rare for a Sorcerer of his type to fight his own battles. . .
"May Trag'Oul give me stregnth. . ." beseeched the Necromancer, and at once his hellish armor appeared magically and enclosed his body seamlessly. The Paladin stood amazed, and could only shake his sweating head in astonishment as the Necromancer's weary face was replaced by the horrific bone helm, sharp horns and all.
"You must teach me this magic someday. . ." began the Knight.
"In order for this, you must be in the favor of the mighty Trag'Oul, the dragon on whose back the world rests." The Sorcerer's voice replied from beneath the fanged teeth of the skull-helm. Then the hollow eyes began to glow menacingly as the Necromancer began to chant once more, and the demons came rushing again.
Slolwy the battle went, alternating fighting and resting on both sides, and no clear victory was to be seen, as the warriors of humanity wearied, so the hordes of hell fell beneath thier blades, and the claws of the mighty blood demon. Eventually, as the day wore on into the late of night, the demonic pygmies began slowly to diminsh in number. They were either all dead, or to tired or discouraged to continue to do battle. Corpses of hundreds of demons and a few undead monstrosities littered the forest floor, and the constant ferocity of the indefatigueable skeletal warriors terrified even the most fanatic of the living demons.
Only the undead were not discouraged, and onwards they marched, unable to feel pain or pity, or see the extreme danger of the warriors they marched to. Many fell, but they were hard to kill, much harder to quell than the demons, who could feel and be daunted by the pain of a sword. Soon the two men were alone with a very weak blood minion, a skeleton with a broken sword, and an unconscious, useless preist.
"Damathodor, brave knight, step you back from the fray, for my magic will finish this or destroy me. . ." the weary Sorcerer commanded, setting the bloody monster and his skeletal fighter to protect him as he began to carefully contact the dying spirits of the hundred of corpses around them. It would be no use summoning hundred of more skeleton warriors, it would be too much for him to control, but what he could do was force out the last bits of dying lives from several large groups of the bodies, which would result in a powerful. . .
An explosion ripped through the silence and at least fifty carcasses of slain demons began to violently tremble, and then simply exploed in violent force. Shards of bone shot through the ranks of the undead, and many were cleaved and fell. All that remained were headless, wandering corpses, which in due time fell in slow and silent agony.
The battle was over.
The Paladin crossed himself wearily and turned to his companion, who had finished the fight. "That was truly the most spectacular-," but he saw his companion fall heavily to his knees, then, as is lifeless, slump backwards onto his legs, his head hitting the ground deftly. The blood creature crumbled and fell to peices, and the skeleton warrior immeadiatly imploded and crumbled to the earth.
"Oh no." Whispered Damathodor.