III
"Well met, noble paladin!" Warriv exclaimed as Luther strode into the walled camp. The camp appeared almost deserted, since the inhabitants were apparently sleeping in the myriad of tents scattered about. Even as late as it is, I'm not sure I could sleep with this aura of evil and terror hanging in the air, Luther thought to himself as he strolled over to the bonfire with Warriv.
"Most all the camp is asleep, obviously" Warriv stated, "It's my turn at watch, we've had a few fallen try to raid the camp."
"Fallen?" Luther asked.
"Oh, nasty little things, small red beasts with scimitars. Never mind that, you'll meet more than your fair share soon enough. Go get some rest noble one, a tired warrior is a dead warrior" Warriv led Luther towards a tent.
Dawn came but did little to expel the darkness that seemed to hang in the very air. Luther rose from a fitful night's sleep, ghosts of the past tormenting his dreams again, as they often did. He stretched a bit, shaking off the stiffness that came with sleeping while armored. The aura of evil compelled him to remain prepared to stride into battle. Luther walked out of Warriv's tent, intending to thank the caravan master for allowing him to share the shelter of the tent with him.
Warriv appeared to be enraptured in the conversation he was having with a large redheaded woman, so Luther decided to leave him be for the moment. Luther wandered over towards what appeared to be a blacksmith's stall.
"Good morning! I'm Charsi, the smith here" a blonde woman greeted him.
"Well met Charsi" Luther replied, moving towards the anvil where the woman was standing. "Could you perhaps repair my armor? It's been some time since I've had the services of a smith"
"Let me take a look" Charsi said while indicating Luther should remove his breastplate. She studied it carefully, and placed it on the anvil, beginning her work.
"Ahh, here we go. Leave the rest of your equipment here, and I will repair it. While I do, you should go talk to Akara, the camp healer"
Luther complied, and Charsi's eyes widened as she noticed the Blessed Hand. "Wow! That's a nice weapon!" she exclaimed.
Luther allowed himself a smile and feeling a bit naked without his armor, turned to seek out this Akara.
Luther made his way to the opposite end of the camp, passing several rogues whom he knew to be excellent archers. The Sisters were renowned for their abilities. He passed Warriv who was still speaking with the redheaded woman intently. He offered a brief hello, as he spotted his destination. The village healer stood over by her tent, and older woman, with seemingly the weight of the world riding her shoulders.
"Ahh a paladin! I hope you were able to rest last night, for we need your help this morning" Akara greeted him, coming right to the point.
"Hail to you, how may I help?" Luther answered.
"There is a place of great evil outside here, a cave nearby full of foul demons" Akara gestured beyond the palisade as she spoke.
"Say no more, I shall cleanse this cave before the demons threaten this camp!" Luther began to start back towards Charsi's to collect his equipment.
"Wait, there is something else" Akara stopped him. "There is a brash young sorceress trying to make her way to the monastery. Kaysha's scouts have reported seeing her moving through the wilderness. I fear for her, she is not ready to face the darkness she is rushing to face. Please, if you can, help her before her mistakes become fatal"
"I will try to watch for her" Luther pledged before striding away from Akara's tent.
Moments later Luther stood outside the camp, his armor shining gloriously in the sun. He took a deep breath and prepared for the battle of his life, the battle of all time. He strode forward, seeing a couple of rotting zombie corpses strewn on the ground. The sorceress had headed off in the direction of the distant monastery judging from her tracks. Luther sighed, this spell caster was playing a dangerous game, by being overconfident. He moved his attention to the task at hand, finding this den that the sorceress had neglected, and clearing it for the safety of the camp. He found no thoughts of rushing in his mind, most likely this young sorceress was already dead.
He made good time across the plains, finding little resistance other than a few of these 'fallen' demon creatures and a few quill rats. Those beasts fell easily to Luther's Blessed Hand. He soon found the entrance to the cave he was seeking. Luther took a deep breath, blessed his shield, and climbed in the entrance.
He was met with the sound of a thunderous roar as soon as his feet touched the floor. Luther quickly took a defensive position. A large creature charged him, at least the size of a man and a half, covered in hair, and madness swimming in its eyes. Before Luther could draw his weapon back the beast was on him. A huge clawed hand swooped back into the air. Luther instinctively pulled his glowing shield up to deflect the blow. The beast brought his arm smashing down into the shield, the force of this creature's strength knocking Luther back against the cave wall. The breath was knocked from him, and Luther's vision swam briefly. Luther lied there, in all appearances dead, except for the dancing of fire, lightning, and ice on the head of his scepter.
The animal approached slowly, thinking the fight to be over. Luther waited, his eyes open just enough to see the brute approach. The creature jabbed him once, and apparently satisfied that the paladin was dead, turned away. Luther leapt to life, swinging his arm with all his might. A terrible death cry echoed throughout the cave.
Luther had spent a few days clearing out the demon infestation from around the camp when he came across a strange tree. It stood several feet higher, and a great deal thicker than the surrounding brush. This tree seems to have avoided the corruption tainting the lands around it. Luther felt a strong aura of magic flowing from this tree.
Luther strode forward, and braved a touch. Even though the tree looked old and rough, it felt wonderfully smooth to Luther's hand. Power emanated into Luther's hand, refreshing him and giving him strength. Luther allowed this power to flow into him. As Luther began to draw his hand away, he saw that a scroll had attached itself to his gauntlets. The scroll seemed to have been part of the very tree itself, and radiated the same Light power the tree pulsed with. "I must take this to Akara" Luther said aloud, the tree the only testament to his words.
"You did well to bring this to me, Paladin" Akara said as she studied the scroll. "This scroll is written in the ancient language of the Horadrim, an order of holy men from times past"
"Yes I know of them, the history of the Order is taught to children in Kurast, but why is it here?"
"I can only make out Cain, what appears to be a chant, and something about touching the Carin Stones" Akara informed Luther, her forehead wrinkled in thought. "Yes, that's it. Go to the Carin Stones, speak Lem-Ko-Tir, and then touch them in the order listed here on the scroll. Do you know of the Stones?"
"I believe so, I have seen 5 rocks in a circle with these symbols on them. They were guarded by a nasty little Fallen that was unnaturally quick. I shall go see what is going on there" Luther said, striding away.
"May the Light guide you noble paladin" Akara called after him.
After a quick visit to Charsi to get his equipment repaired, Luther was off. He met little resistance. Soon he arrived at the stones. "What manner of surprise awaits me?" Luther wondered aloud. He looked around, making sure the area was secure. He took a deep breath. "LEM-KO-TIR" he shouted, and quickly leapt around touching the cool stones. Each one lit up and hummed with his touch. When the last one began glowing, the sky itself seemed to close, and lighting danced down from the sky, striking each stone. The stones began flinging bolts between them, and a bright red oval opened in the center of the formation. Luther had seen this magic before, when dealing with mercenary wizards. It was a portal to somewhere, and he would probably find a battle on the other side. Luther again took a breath, blessed his shield, and stepped through the portal. Nothing could have prepared him for the horror he saw.
The first thing to assault his senses was the overwhelming stench of death. This putrid smell, like a beast strangling the air, turned its claws upon the paladin even before his vision cleared from the transportation. Luther swallowed back a gag, never being able to recall such a powerful odor in all his days, never was the smell this bad on any of the many battlefields he had strode on in his life.
As his vision cleared, he found himself standing outside the red portal, on the edge of a shell of a town, completely burnt out. What was once a thriving small community was nothing more than a land of death now, seemingly the capital of death itself, if such a place ever existed. Along with the horrid smell of death and burning wood, came the rumble of dark unmentionable demons, lurking in the shadows, seeking to devour any who came across their path.
Fear gripped at Luther's heart, as he came to realize where he was. Even though he had never seen this place before, he knew it to be Tristram, where the first brave warrior had vanquished Diablo from the earth. This was a place of victory, a bastion against all evil. But now, Tristram had fallen.
Surely the brave warrior would have defended this town, kept safe the place that had been saved once before from the terrors of the Dark Lord. Luther's heart sank at looking on this place. Surely the first brave warrior was dead. There was no other explanation for the demon infestation. This saddened Luther a great deal, he had hoped to recruit the warrior to fight with him in glorious battle. He had not been here to assist with Diablo's first defeat, but feverently wished to walk with the victor for the repeat of his performance here. It appeared that Luther would never have such a chance.
Not only had the world apparently lost the original warrior, but there was another of great importance in this place, the great Horadrim Cain. He was a venerable font of knowledge and wisdom, a great asset in the battle against the darkness. Luther wasn't sure if the battle against the Dark Lord could be won with strength alone. Wisdom and information would be needed, and now the best source seemed to be lost. Despair wrapped its bony claws around Luther's heart. Beginning to believe the battle was hopeless, Luther nevertheless pressed on, determined to die trying, if he must. He would do anything he could to prevent the tragedy that had befallen his son, and he knew if he failed, that horror would befall the entire world.
Luther picked his way through the burning rubble, looking for any signs of life. Nothing met his senses but death and decay. On the south side of a house, snuggled close to another running perpendicular to it, he found the corpse of a man. The man was badly mauled, vicious gaping wounds spread across his chest and face. The man appeared to have tried to run, but for some reason was unable to. As Luther examined this body, not only did the scent of death wash across him, but another smell, nearly as strong, of alcohol. This man had been a drunk. Luther shook his head in sadness, for such habits were shameful to his priestly way of life. Though it made little difference, sober or drunk, death was assured to this poor soul.
As he lingered on the fate of the villager, the evil here made itself known. A large beast jumped from the shadows, a creature not quite man, but not quite beast either. It had the head and legs of a goat, but the torso of a man. The goatman's head and legs were covered in coarse black hair, while his chest was hairless, and a dull shade of grey, akin to a rotting corpse.
A wicked black two handed mace sliced through the air, moving as quickly as thunder. Luther skirted to the side, managing to avoid the mace's arc, although barely. Before he could catch his balance, the goatman had jerked his weapon from the ground and prepared for another swing. Luther allowed a wicked smile to cross his face, for this was where he truly loved to be, in the midst of battle against evil.
Luther raised his scepter, the elements enchanting the red tip almost naturally. He brought it to bear on the goatman, smashing it down upon the beast's shoulder. Luther expected to feel the crushing sound as the creature's bones gave way. His ears were not satisfied however, and the blow seemed to glance off the demon's skin. Luther was surprised, and caught off guard for a moment. He had never once run into a situation where his scepter had failed in its strike.
He staggered back, trying to recover his balance. This provided the perfect opportunity for the goatman's comrades, and they sprang out of the darkness, the ambush sprung. A mace smashed into Luther's back, the sharp spikes bristling from the head piercing his armor and biting into his flesh. Another goatman to his left sent his weapon slicing through the air, where it crashed on Luther's shield, leaving deep scratches in its surface. Luther reeled to his right, stunned from the blow. Yet another goatman smashed his mace into Luther's right side, again puncturing his armor and digging into his skin. Luther crumpled to one knee, desperately attempting to regain his breath.
The demons paused in their attack, leering at their prey, assured now of their victory. They reveled in their evil, savoring the pain and suffering they were about to inflict upon their target. Luther could smell the stench of their evil, could feel their bloodlust, as though it was an aura about them. Pain pulsed in Luther's back and side, the wounds throbbing, threatening to overwhelm him. He knew that the weapons had carried poison on them, maybe not intentionally, but surely at least from the foulness of the beasts coupled with the putrid remains of their previous victims. The creatures licked their lips, and bleated an awful sound at one another, as they slowly moved in for the kill. This momentary lapse would prove to be their undoing.
Luther felt a righteous rage overcome him, an anger sent down from the high places of the Light, and blessed by the same. He was no longer a paladin, a man, but instead an angel of death, the destroyer of evil, a holy purge over the creeping oppressing darkness. A scream erupted from his throat, a sound beyond any war cry known to any barbarian to be found, a sound of pure hatred, and anger, a sound seeking nothing but death. The aura of fanaticism encased him, and a glow seemed to emit from his body. He rose, standing completely still. The goatmen were taken back by the cry, and stood stunned, unsure on how to react to what had happened. The glow in Luther intensified, and he began to shake violently. The glow finally erupted out of him, and hammers of pure energy began arcing around him, smashing into the goatmen.
Once again the scream escaped his lips, and he shot forward faster than the eye could follow. His intense charge attack made him nothing but a blur. He raised his scepter and smashed it down into the goatman's head, repeating the blow nearly as quickly as it fell. With the intensity of a zealot, he struck the beast's head countless times, just as one of the hammers ripped through its torso. Surely the creature was dead by the fall of the second blow, but Luther did not relent. After several blows, he sprang back with nimbleness uncharacteristic of an armored knight. He quickly turned to the three other goatmen and pressed the attack again. His blow struck down, and as he raised his weapon again, quicker than sight could follow, and landed the next blow upon a different target. His zeal allowed him to strike endless blows against all the beasts nearly simultaneously. Death came for them, with no chance of mercy. If they didn't fall from the vicious blows from Luther, then the magical hammers would remove their torsos.
In a blink of an eye, all the beasts lay dead at Luther's feet, nevermore to inflict pain or spread darkness again. They had died quickly, maybe even mercifully. They had been spared the horror they had shown their victims. This angered Luther, but he had no choice, his anger did not facilitate torture, and even as wicked as they were, neither would his nature. He knew deep down that no amount of torture, no amount of suffering would make up for the pain and emptiness he felt inside, nothing could replace little Milly.
Just the thought of his dear departed son renewed Luther's rage, and he charged forward to bring more death to any evil that crossed his path.