Chapter 5, up and done. I hope it is enjoyable. As always, I ask that if you read, please review. Good, bad, indifferent, whatever. I just would like some feedback from my audience. My goal is to give you, the reader, an enjoyable story. Lemme know how I'm doing.
Chapter 6 shouldn't be far off, it is coming along quickly. Maybe I'll be done in time to post it as a big ole Christmas present to the Net. But for now, I hope you enjoy chapter 5
V
"Thank you very much, noble Paladin" Deckard Cain huffed, "Without you, I would have surely met my death by now"
"Mention nothing of it, good sage. However, it was not my scepter that saved your life, it was your magics that instead saved mine. Without your portal here, that lumbering zombie would have finished me off.
"Ah, yes, such a tragedy that one is. That zombie was once a close friend of mine, and a crucial help in defeating the Dark Lord when he appeared under Tristram. The zombie's name was Griswold, a peerless master smith. He could hone an edge sharp enough to split hairs, armor strong enough to withstand being crushed by stones, and enchant his works with magic so powerful to make even Tal Rasha envious. Not to mention being strong as an ox as well." Cain explained.
"Since you came and rescued me, I assume you are on a quest to rid the evil that has befallen the land. I will aid you in every way I possibly can. If you find any unusual items, you can bring them to me, and I will identify them for you. I will also impart my wisdom during your journey. With your battle skills, maybe I can help direct you in what course to take in this most epic of quests. Perhaps fate will be more kind to you than it was to the last hero."
"I am grateful for your help, wise sage, but I must continue on my quest" Luther answered as he strode away. A great sage Cain may be, but he definitely had a penchant for prattling on. Luther made another stop at Charsi's, paying her to repair his equipment. Upon finishing, he made his way to Akara's tent, seeking her council before resuming his quest.
"Hello Luther, I must thank you for saving Deckard Cain. He will be invaluable to not only us, but you as well. I know he is a fountain of words with no seeming end, but in that fountain can be found the waters of wisdom, do not forget that" Akara said, leading Luther into her small tent.
The air inside the tent seemed to be charged with magical energies, threatening to coalesce into bolts of power, straining to do so, but held in check by Akara's skills. Aromas of exotic herbs, and unknown concoctions danced around, hinting at the secrets of the power they held.
"Yes of course, without a doubt Cain is a man to be listened to well" Luther replied as his eyes adjusted to the dim candlelight that illuminated the makeshift laboratory.
Akara laughed lightly "Be sure not to waste valuable time however, sometimes Cain has to be prodded to get to the point.
"But enough about that. I'm sure you're quite ready to continue on, and I have good news concerning just that. Through my divinations, I have discovered the nemesis which you seek here. The Dark Lord has moved on, unfortunately, however, there is yet one here that continues to taint the land. She is a demon of great power and strength. The arch demon Andariel. She is Diablo's handmaiden, his concubine. If you are to help this land, and destroy the Lord of Terror, first you must remove her."
"I will do so, where does this hag of evil lie in wait?"
"Deep under the cathedral's monastery. On the third floor underground, you will discover your prey." Akara answered.
"Very well, I am off to free this land from the shadow" Luther said, turning back towards the flap that served as the tent's door.
"One thing before you go, Frost is still out there. There has been no sign of her since she embarked. I believe in my heart that she is still alive however. I can feel her powerful, arrogant aura in the air. But it is very weak, and I fear she has been injured." Akara said, as she produced a tattered scroll from the small satchel she wore at her side. "Take this, it is a town portal scroll. Use it to return here if you face a dire situation."
"Thank you Akara. I will watch for the sorceress, and return swiftly with news of Andariel's death."
With that Luther once again trekked into the evil wilderness beyond the palisades of the camp.
It took Luther little time to move down the road leading towards the monastery, since most of the foul creatures along the way had been slain by Luther's own hand, and the area beyond his travels to that point revealed frozen shards of demons, and large swaths of burnt ground, markers of Frost's trail.
Luther made his way to the entrance of the cathedral, the ornate wooden door standing imposingly as though a guardian of the terror inside. Chills raced down Luther's spine, and a cold hard ball of fear settled in his stomach. Frost's trail had led this far, leaving no doubt that she had entered this place. But what bothered Luther was the permeable sense of evil that set just beyond these doors, and seeped even into the area outside. There was demons on the other side, of that there was no doubt. Luther sighed to himself, bracing himself in case he found the remains of a young sorceress in the courtyard. A crazed warcry lifted Luther's head, and an instant later, a blazing rock fell from the sky, striking beyond the borders of the stone walls and cold wooden door. He had found his sorceress.
Luther quickly smashed through the door, and was greeted by the sight of a pale skinned, near nude rouge lancer driving her spear deep into the shoulder of a green clad sorceress. In that instant, Luther no longer saw Frost, but instead his vision swam with images of his beloved wife, and the murderous thugs that had killed her.
His rage was instantaneously uncontrollable. He would stop them, he would save his wife. He would change things, and not fail this time in his vow to protect her. He shot forward with such force and speed as to take back even the most powerful paladin. The Blessed Hand of Light went from an ornate, pristine symbol of purity to a bloody, ravaged nightmare of a weapon in a blink of an eye. Luther rained blows on the rouge so hard and so fast as to resemble an explosion.
With the final blow, that separated the rouge's arms from what was left of her torso, the spear that pierced Frost snapped off, a foot or so from her body. Frost's body, separated from the support of the rouge's strength, twisted and fell to the ground in a heap.
Luther watched as she fell, his mind not yet accepting this was not his wife. Pain seared through him, increasing his agony tenfold as he relived the feeling of failure to protect those he loved. His only recourse was the eradication of evil. Luther loosed a howl loud enough to split the heavens and turned to the three rouges left.
The demon women were standing a good ways off, finding their interest in the young sorceress had diminished a great deal upon seeing their comrade turned into a putrid, black, sticky cloud of blood in a blink of an eye by an armored man that seemed to appear out of nowhere. They held their lances at the ready, but made no offensive moves.
Luther's rage overcame him again, and he called down the power of Light from the very heavens, a brilliant flash of lightning swiftly arcing down to the ground, catching the middle rouge squarely on her head, reducing her to a split second scream and then a pile of smoldering ashes and a few twisted burnt bones. The other two rogues jumped away, startled. That was all the opening Luther needed. With the elements dancing about the head of his scepter, ice replacing lightning, fire replacing ice, he strode forward and struck.
The rouges fell quickly, and Luther ran back to the young raven haired woman lying on the ground, tears already streaking his battle worn face. He kneeled down, his vision clearing enough to realize this was not his departed love, but the young sorceress. The deep ache of loneliness that had occupied his heart since that fateful day settled in once again. Yet another warrior of Light lost to the forces of Darkness.
Luther bowed his head, about to begin the prayer that would help guide Frost's soul to peace, when a ragged, gurgling gasp escaped the woman's lips. Shocked, Luther jumped in surprise, and quickly came to realize she was not dead, just badly injured. Luther jerked off his gauntlet, and gripped the twisted, black shaft of the spear donated to Frost's flesh from the rouge. He gently moved the lance, testing its resolve to remain wedged in its current position.
With even the slightest movement, Frost shuddered in pain, wheezing breaths jumping from her throat. The spear did not wish to be freed, but Luther knew he did not have time to remove it properly. The metal tip of the weapon was a dull black, covered in what appeared to be dried blood, and some strange streaks that were surely a form of poison. Time for the sorceress was quickly running out.
Luther gathered his strength, assured he had a firm hold on the lance, and pulled straight up with all his might. Metal screamed as the tip fought for a grip as it was ripped back through her armor. Luther immediately tossed the shaft aside, as a geyser of blood shot from the hole left by the weapon. Blood sprung up, coating Frost's armor in crimson, and splattering on Luther.
Luther slapped his bare hand down over the wound, the sharp edges of Frost's armor exposed by the exiting spear head biting deep into his flesh, adding a small bit of his blood to hers. Regardless of the pain, he could not release, for to do so would be death for the young woman.
He cleared his mind of the pain, chanting softly the prayer to the Light to ward the poison, his aura beginning to glow a soft white, and growing large enough to encompass Frost as well. He then focused his power into his hand, bringing soothing magics to bear on the wound, inspiring her body to heal enough to stop the flow of blood.
Frost's breathing resumed a pattern closer to normal, easing Luther's mind. He lifted his hand, grateful as always of his small abilities of healing, for the cuts on his hand from Frost's armor had mostly healed while he was working on her. Frost's wound was still very serious, maybe even mortal if not attended to by a proper healer. Luther reached into the small pouch built into his plate belt, and retrieved a tattered old scroll. He unfurled it, reading the arcane words aloud, and making the gestures with his hand that Akara had shown him. A blue portal swirled into existence, a gateway to safety. Luther picked up Frost, holding her gently, and stepped through the portal.