The Forging of Destiny
Faerel Darklancer had walked from the archbishop, who had just knighted him as a Paladin of the Zakarum faithful. He couldn't stop grinning. He had found himself waiting to join his colleagues in the field of honour, aiding those who needed assistance and warding off the foul legions of Hell's minions. He had worn his silver full-plated armour that signified his position as a Paladin. He had just received a consecrated longsword, adorned with a single cruciform on the hilt of the blade. The weapon had no other special décor, as it seemed like any other blade. The young man also managed to keep the bastard sword that had been in his family's legacy. The larger weapon had seemed more along the lines of a true cruciform, as its blade appeared dull and point flattened. To an expert, the weapon was sharp, well balanced and happened to have a subtly rounded but deadly edge. The sword was in his bunk, but he knew he would sling it on his back once he joined the outside world.
The rise of demons lately had been terrifying. Several towns had been destroyed and many survivors had petitioned the king of Westmarch to do something about it. There were all kinds of creatures that lurked outside. The recent devastation towards the Rogues in the west, between Westmarch and Tristram had caught the attention of the king and even the Zakarum. Many of the creatures had found their way towards Lut Gholein, the golden jewel in the east, but as always, they were repelled. The golden jewel had been built over the site of a Vizjerei sorcerer and the magic he had wielded now formed a protective barrier around the city.
It was guaranteed the young Paladin would find a demon and make his mark known throughout the hells. Walking towards a trio of newly knighted Paladins, Faerel grinned widely and joined his friends in their own excitement as well.
"Well well, what have we here? Seems to me that the ol' archbishop made a mistake. You know that the demons love pretty boys like you," came the greeting of Darin Fallan.
"Seems to me that the demons should. After all, the demons will probably mistake you for one of their own," Faerel replied, his grin never fading.
The two Paladins had been friends since they were 7, going to school and earning a great education. It so happened that both of their fathers were good friends and both wealthy merchants within Westmarch.
The young man had turned his head and noticed another fellow friend. She stood slightly shorter than the young man himself, just reaching at his nose. Her skin was bronze and she had chestnut brown hair that reached her shoulders. There was no doubt she was beautiful. Her armour was much more supple and lighter than the cumbersome armour her male companions wore. Her armour—silver chainmail-- shone with brilliant silver, with the symbol of the church on the center of her armour as well as the other Paladins. "Raine," he said. Her soft brown eyes always revealed a gentleness and fondness she felt towards the young man.
"Congratulations," she said, smiling amicably. "You're going to join us now, right?"
"Yes, yes, of course. Um… where are we headed?"
His trio of friends looked to each other and laughed for a few moments, realizing that he had not received his orders yet. It was the large, fiery maned Gregorius Radian who spoke up. "We're headin' to some town call'd Vernon Falls." The large golden coloured man smiled, revealing all of his teeth. He had specially fitted full-plated armour that could never seem to have the same gleam of silver that his companions had. He also happened to wield a rather large claymore that had been consecrated, since longswords appeared to be nothing more than shortswords to him. Oddly enough, the weapon had the engraving "GR" on it. He had been found on the doorsteps of a monastery, a lone baby with the rather large weapon. He had no parents. It was most likely that they had been killed. As it would soon turn out, Gregorius hailed from the northern barbarian tribes. It was believed he might have actually come from as far as Harrogath, but that concept was only a rumour.
"Vernon Falls?" The younger man was certainly puzzled. "Why would they do something like that?"
"Because there happened to be a sighting of a few demons. As holy warriors of the Light, it is our duty to make sure that the minions of the Prime Evils return to their homeland. Now come on, let's get going," the energetic Darin replied.
As the group made their way towards their bunks within the barracks, the archbishop Dalarus, moved further into the antechamber. The ceremony was over and he was tired. He had succeeded the archbishop Lazarus after he had a fateful encounter within Tristram. As it had turned out, Lazarus had sold out the king's son, allowing the demon Diablo to encompass the young man's body. A warrior had killed Lazarus—who had been corrupted by the demon's power—and was forced to kill Diablo, sacrificing the poor prince's life in the process.
The older man, no more than 68, rested comfortably in his chair. He had grown weary, his body was tired and the old man found himself beckoning the call of Heaven's light. He had lived a long time, aiding fellow young Paladins towards fighting for the Light and all that was holy.
A younger man, his soon-to-be-successor, Horus, came to the older man. He was dressed in white robes, a ceremonial gown that covered his feet but did not drag on the ground itself. His black hair had been short and formed a bowl around his own head. His visage seemed to permanently form itself into a sarcastic expression. He nodded respectfully towards the old man, presenting him with a goblet of wine. "Father," he said, "your wine."
The old man took the goblet gratefully, eager to drink it. "Thank you, my son. Now leave me, please. I am tired and weary."
The younger man bowed and left the antechamber, turning himself around the corner of the crimson curtains that had marked the area. Now we shall wait and see, he thought. His expression turned into a snakelike smile. There had been no doubt that the old man was a kind gentle soul, but he was frail and dying. Horus was eager to accelerate the man's progress to the Light—or the Hells, if need be.
As the archbishop gulped generously from the cup, he didn't notice the swirl of a black cloud form above him, on the ceiling. The cloud continued to grow, no one in the room noticed. The cloud was a deep purple nimbus, with sparks of miniature lightning striking within itself. He had paused for a few moments, feeling a sharp pain within his chest. As he began to gasp for breath, his vision blurred. He couldn't breathe. He found himself being assailed by more pain that continued throughout his body. His head joined the growing amount of pain. His eyes were closed as he tried to center and calm himself. He began chanting a few words, only to feel the pain continuing to wrack itself around him. I don't understand, he thought. How can this be? My healing ward does not help. The pain continues to grow.
It is a poison beyond your healing skills, old man, boomed a deep voice within archbishop's skull.
The old man opened his eyes, feeling the voice resonating against his bones that were grinding. What he saw before him was an unmistakable sight of horror.
The room had become darker; the crimson robes were tattered and torn, dripping a generous amount of scarlet blood. He continued to be assailed by this vision as he looked along the wall to notice the blocks of stone were mossy and unkempt. The room was lit with candles, the sky was black and the acrylic windows that embodied the artistic paintings of the archangels were smashed. The guards who stood near the moldy wooden gateway were skeletons in dilapidated armour. The guards were slightly decomposed, in moldy red and gold and stained silver armour. Their spears were drenched in blood. In the center of the chamber itself, stood two figures. The first was a young man, who wore the white robes of an archbishop. The young man's hair was black and short. His expression always seemed dour. It was Horus, in a bloodstained archbishop's robes. Behind him was something infinitely more terrifying.
The creature stood tall and proud, reaching as tall as 9 feet. It had the skeleton of a man, with the organs displayed and secured within its midsection. The heart continued to beat, its rhythmic melody filling the silence of the horror. It had the feet shaped like a man, but the toes were claws as the hands were talons. The skull seemed more beast-like, with long canine teeth and its long down sweeping horns. The creature had its mouth open; its long glistening red tongue reached the young man's face as it bent to taste him. Its eye-sockets were filled with black endless eyes that seemed to pierce into the old man's hapless soul. As the creature moved from the young man towards Dalarus, the ground shook beneath them, several tapestries dropping from its ancient and unkempt holders. Thick, venomous ash flew from its body as it moved towards the poor man. The smoke shrouded its bones, dancing slowly into the air and dissipating as the creature came face to face with the terrified archbishop of the Zakarum. There was no doubt that this creature was a demon.
Demons, of course, had no power to enter the church, due to the fact that it would burn and be destroyed if it entered a holy and sanctified place. Ostensibly, that fact was moot as this demon had entered the church itself without any injury or harm. It also appeared that Lazarus must have done more than just sell his soul. He must have profaned the very thing that had been a guiding beacon of Light.
"Do you wish to die, old man?" Its voice rumbled through the air, a deep, booming voice that spoke as if thousands of voices were speaking.
Forgetting his momentary lapse of pain, the archbishop bravely replied, "you will find only death and banishment to the Hells with you, demon!"
"How can you achieve this when you are merely weak and cannot defend yourself, old man?" He mused. The creature let out a raucous laughter that shook the antechamber around the two.
"I will see you burned to the ground for desecrating the holy temple!" As the older man tried to get up, he found himself strangely grafted on the chair he had come to love. "What is this! Your vile demonic tricks will not work on me, I am a servant of the Light. A warrior of the Archangel Yaerius himself!"
The creature once more laughed, sending chills down the old man's spine. "Your archangel has forsaken this tomb, you ignorant fool! If you do not wish to fall into my service, then you shall find yourself falling into oblivion." His hand encompassed the old man's skull, where he uttered several words that no human tongue could possibly seek to master.
As the old man cried out, he was encompassed in bright blue flames for a few moments before the demon let go of the former archbishop, only to find the charred husk of a frail old man sitting in the chair. The husk revealed the orange glow of burning embers on the body of the old man. There was no sickly sweet odour of burnt flesh.
As the demon turned around, he found his quarry standing firm and eager for his posting as a man of great power. Power only the demon, Praxidikus, could give to the young man. "Are you happy now, demon?" The young man's voice was filled with sarcasm and disdain directed at the demon. He knew that the creature could spell the doom of them both as they could have been found out by some hapless priest who walked into the room at the wrong moment.
"I needed his soul, his power and devotion towards the Light made him a delicious target. It is now done, Horus Memnon. You are now the archbishop and we can now use this power to enslave more." He paused for a few moments and then in a purring tone, he added, "including that king of yours." It was apparent that the creature had desired more from the beginning of their relationship, yet the young man knew that he had much to gain from their fragile alliance. The one thing that kept both of them working together was the fact that they were bound to each other. It occurred when Horus had uncovered the tomb and dungeon beneath the Zakarum cathedral and the demon had promised him limitless power. Binding the demon to himself was the only way to bring the demon out from the netherworld that was his prison. The lure of power was very strong indeed. It would be beneficial to them both, especially since Mephisto was buried under Kurast's Zakarum temple and would never escape.
The cathedral had returned to normal, with the exception of the archbishop, who now sat on his chair, burnt to a crisp. The demon had also happened to disappear with the illusion. The creature had given the man an involuntary shudder everytime he came near.
Horus walked towards the smoking husk and threw the body aside, eager to dust off the chair himself. As he sat down, he looked at the remains of the man who was the archbishop of the Zakarum church and he chuckled to himself. "Ah, old man. It is a pity that you chose to defy the demon. Oh well, at least you've found some peace at last. Now I can rule and I will not be stopped." He smiled deviously. He got up and knelt to the body of the dead man. Wrapping his arms around the charred remains, he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Somebody! Help! The archbishop has been murdered!"