You didn't know. Nobody did. We were all fooled grievously, but you did the right thing, you know. Please don't say you are sorry, or that you regret it. You've saved so many lives with your sacrifice. People will be singing your song for eternity. You're a hero, brother. – Arcanna Gravija, former Zann Esu witch

OoOoOoO

The people of Tristram gathered at the center of town, the local well. The sounds of battle had ceased for the first time in weeks, after a terrible, inhumane roar erupted from the fiery chasm. The rift had opened itself up seemingly of its own accord less than three days earlier on the southwest edge of the tortured village. A group of heroes, the ones of the week at least, had ventured into the chasm depths, claiming Diablo, the Lord of Terror himself, was waiting for them. Now the townspeople didn't know what to do. Deckard Cain, the town's unofficial ruler, stood silently, shifting on his feet in anticipation of the coming argument. Though learned and wise, the last of the Horadrim was an advisor, not a true leader. Picking at his heavy, worn, brown cloak, he sat on the edge of the well, resolving to not take part in the town's decision. Griswold, the town's blacksmith, was the first to speak up in his guttural, thick accent.

"We should go after them" the slightly overweight man declared. Although new to the town, this particular group of adventurers had won the blacksmith over in a brief period of time. He recalled countless times the diverse group of heroes impressed him, and the town with their constant displays of martial prowess against seemingly impossible odds. The group of adventurers had succeeded in taking the fight to the demons for the first time since Lachdanan's questing. What a dismal end our dear captain and his knights came across for it, too. He reached a calloused, chubby hand to his side and grasped his smithy hammer for comfort. Sighing deeply, he fingered the cracked flathead of the tool. Days earlier, it fractured when he crafted without a doubt the finest sword he had ever forged on the legendary Anvil of Fury. The outgoing warrior Canen's massive frame had beamed with pride both when he presented the enchanted anvil to Griswold, and when Griswold bestowed the elegant blade to the warrior as payment. The two had shared a common bond since day one, understanding each other's roles in the bleak times surrounding them, and becoming vastly important to one another. That was the last I saw of the kid. I hope he is faring well.

"No. It is better to let them come to us, if they still live." Adria spoke for the first time since her arrival, breaking the silence. The old witch was hunched over with age, leaning heavily upon her staff for support, and her eyes darted around as if looking for an unseen threat. Shaking her blue cloak off her head, she revealed the rest of her aged face. Flowing grey locks framed a wrinkled and repugnant countenance, lips permanently curled in a snarl. The years had not been kind to the woman. She rubbed her staff, a dangerously powerful item knowing her, and continued. "It is best to stay here and face whatever comes out on our own ground."

None dared refute the old witch's wisdom. As a practitioner of the magical arts, she was an outcast, feared and respected. Some looked to Deckard Cain for confirmation – regardless of his involvement in the conversation, he was the only political figurehead the ravaged town had left. Cain only nodded his head, and averted his eyes. I won't condone sending another innocent to certain death ever again! These people are all fools. They haven't seen true terror, even in these times. The townspeople huddled closer, eyes glued to the fiery chasm, waiting impatiently for something to surface. They did not have to wait long.

Emerging first was a taller than average, lithe looking man. A deep tan, a freshly shaven head save a generous pony tail, and a handsome face made the moderately armored man very pleasing to look upon. A comely woman lay unconscious in his arms. Rich brown hair cascaded over her limp body, hiding the fact that her well muscled form was in fact larger than the man who carried her. Hayden's biceps curled up in effort, proving that he must have carried Katja a great distance indeed. The monk's scale mail and cape were in a horrendous condition, contrasting greatly with the identical armor of Katja. Numerous gashes and rents adorned his mail, exposing bare skin and open wounds beneath. Fortunately, none of the wounds were very serious and he lacked the burns of their comrade due to his nimble fighting style. He was simply too quick and agile for the slower magical projectiles to be very effective. Katja stirred in the arms of Hayden, snuggling closer into him for comfort before passing out again. The monk smiled in spite of his beaten body, and weary heart. He had lost many friends on this campaign.

The figure that followed Hayden and Katja shocked the townspeople, and an audible collective gasp could be heard as he walked into the sunlight. The young boy flinched at the intrusive light, and he teetered forward. Before he could fall, a darkly skinned arm, covered in a brightly colored turinash, or spirit robe, that could only be from a sorcerer of the far east, stopped his fall. The boy let out a small cry of fear, and jerkily ran towards the town. Gillian, a fair bar maiden was the first to voice what everyone else in the town was thinking.

"Prince Albrecht, you have returned to us! We all thought you had surely perished long ago in the depths of that dreadful cathedral." Recognizing his name, the young price altered direction and tackle-hugged the woman. Gillian stood, prince in her arms, dumbfounded. As the heir to the throne, she would have been punished severely for ever touching the boy, simply for being low class. Sobbing like an infant, the prince held on to Gillian's waist fiercely, as if letting go would mean certain death. Gillian hesitated only for a few seconds, pushing thoughts of capital punishment out of her mind, before warmly embracing the emaciated young prince. He needed support, and she was the only one who could give it to him at the moment, social rules be damned. Gillian was a good woman, and it didn't go unnoticed. Flaxen haired Ogden, the town's innkeeper, stared intensely with desire. Although the two spent most of their time together, both working and after, he hadn't asked her the big question just yet. The ring, a plain silver band, rested in Ogden's front pocket. There is nothing stopping me now that the town is saved. Tonight it is, then.

Cheers roared through the small town, filling the air with a palpable energy, the likes not tasted by Adria since King Leoric first ascended to the throne. The crowd swelled with the hundreds of would-be adventurers living in Ogden's inn, raising the cheering by decibels. It was the first time the people of Tristram felt raw, pure joy in many months. Numerous warriors, rogues, bards, and even the occasional sorcerer or monk drifted to the town center to partake in the celebration. The demonic taint that plagued Tristram was finally gone, and even the most magically inept could sense it deep within his or her being. Adria sighed heavily, both in relief and out of weariness. Witchcraft was taxing on the mind, body, and soul, and she had been at it furiously since the beginning of the darker times that befell Tristram. She could rest her old bones now, and perhaps even take on an apprentice. I'm not getting any younger, and this town won't survive without a witch.

Flames licked high in the air, dancing playfully to the music of the few bards who still possessed enough skill for the task. Few had wanted to listen to the bards' music in the grim times, which meant even fewer parted with coin for their efforts. Now, coin and music alike flowed just as freely as the ale. This was a time of celebration indeed. Night made its presence known, darkening the sky to a beautiful reddish-orange, tinged with azure. The celebration became a fabulous party, reminding Adria of her younger years. Though her unfortunate face and body did not suggest it, she had been a rare beauty in her time, and a wild one at that. The old witch chuckled to herself in amusement, pondering the past. It has certainly been an unusual journey for me. As she circled the bonfire, she noticed the Vizjerei sorcerer sitting cross-legged before the fire, muttering to himself in a language she did not recognize. Eyebrows raised wrinkled skin up a few notches as Adria approached the mysterious man. He continued speaking to himself in the strange language, even as Adria sat next to him.

Adria leaned closer to get a better view of him. The bonfire created playful shadows on his face, obscuring it quite well, with a few short bursts when the shadows played somewhere else for a bit, revealing his worn face. He stared blankly at the fire, ignoring her completely. His face was creased, with a dusting of darker facial hair. He could easily be twenty or fifty; his was a timeless face, as with most users of magic. The thing that Adria paid particular attention to was his forehead. It was scabbed over in a circle just below his hairline, as if he had received a nasty wound and had it cauterized. Keen magical senses told her that it was no natural wound, so she examined further. If she looked at the right angle, she could make out the shape of some cylindrical piece of red stone, just beneath the skin. Red stone… Where have I heard of that before? Bright red trimmed in gold and blue flashed before her eyes, and she realized the sorcerer was looking at her. His turinash settled around him, and he glowered at her for staring at his head wound. Her wrinkled face twisted in confusion. I know I have heard of a red stone in a forehead before. Suddenly, realization dawned on her.

"Flux Gravija, what have you done to yourself?" she half-whispered. Her tone was harsh, stunning the sorcerer. He gathered himself, and looked at her in a resigned, beaten fashion. His visage explained everything; he had sacrificed himself to wrestle with the demon for all eternity for control over his own body.

"There was no other choice… He, I dare not say his name here as it might give him power, would have just taken another host. I had to force his hand." Flux replied, shaking almost imperceptibly. Unable to take the intense look Adria was giving him, he turned to the fire and continued. "Isn't it odd how one little action can change everything? Hate can end a life, but love can give it. The question remains: what will you choose? Love or hate? I know the correct answer. Choosing it is another matter entirely. I think this is the real test of inner-strength, of being a hero."

Adria placed a comforting hand on the sorcerer, tears spilling freely, pooling at her feet. The Vizjerei mage had sacrificed his entire being for the good of humankind, knowing that he would eventually be overpowered by Diablo. His soul would belong to the demon in time, condemning him to an eternity of possession, and anguish. "My dear Flux..." Her voice faltered, but she pressed on "…what you did was out of love, of that I am certain. Your decision was a very brave one, and also one with many consequences." She took his hands in her own as the shadows danced over their faces. She sobered up, and became suddenly serious and commanding. "You cannot stay here Flux. It's too dangerous, for everyone."

He didn't seem to hear her. "I fear that I made the wrong choice." His voice was somber, and he began crying as well. "Dear God. Adria, what if I made the wrong choice?" He turned to her, resting his head on the woman's shoulder, embracing her. Adria was shocked. Flux Gravija had always been friendly, and outgoing. He had never shown a negative emotion to the people of Tristram, always pointing out the good in every situation. He was the best kind of friend one could hope for, but now he was a mess. Hope was a luxury he had lost the second Diablo's soul stone pierced his head.

"There is no right choice on this. Grave matters of angels and demons should never have been brought into our realm. The only thing we can do is deal with it as best we can. And that, my dear, is what you have done, and are doing even at this moment." Adria's words sang in Flux's ears as true, and as beautiful as any he had ever heard. The old witch was wise beyond her years, and experienced in ways he could not know. She had an outlook forged by an insightful soul, and tempered in heated times of war and demons. Besides Deckard, and the warriors who fought Diablo himself, she was the only person in Tristram that truly understood the events that transpired in the fiery chasm beneath the town.

"You are an amazing woman Adria. I find it hard to believe that you have remained single all these years." She smiled warmly at the compliment. "Though I doubt you would have wanted a man around to distract you." Her smile broadened. He had a decent grasp of her inner workings, and he was using it to flatter her. He reached within his robe, causing the elderly woman to jump. Slowly, for her comfort, he removed his hand, revealing the spectacularly crafted bone knife, Wizardspike. Adria's eyes gleamed. For all her skill at making magical items, she had never been able to create anything that could compare to the dagger he held in front of her.

"I have a sister, Arcanna. She will come here for me once she hears the ordeal is over. I won't be here to give her this. Will you give it to her for me?" Adria nodded, and grabbed the knife from his burned right hand. She gazed at the peculiar knife, tracing a finger along its shaft. Eventually she slipped it beneath her cloak. Wordlessly, she left the bonfire and celebration, looking for Deckard.

She found him in front of Griswold's shop, discussing rebuilding that would take place of the town. Besides being a weapon master, the grizzled blacksmith was a superb carpenter, able the build multiple storied houses given enough wood and time. The town had lost a few buildings to fire and demon attack early on in the darker times, and they planned to start rebuilding them as soon as possible. The shop was well lit, so Griswold and Deckard noticed her approach early on, turning to face her as she came near.

"Deckard Cain," she began, leaning on her staff and breathing heavily, "we have a problem." Her grey eyes spoke volumes. Deckard bowed slightly to Griswold, taking his leave. When Adria spoke of trouble, it was not wise to procrastinate. Almost to reaffirm this point, Deckard thought of the last time Adria had offered to speak in this manner. It had been when King Leoric was first haunted with bad dreams. Nobody, save Adria, knew the true cause of his terrorizing dreams. She was refused entrance to the palace, and everyone in Tristram knew the terrible outcome of that decision. King Leoric, Prince Albrecht, and the Arch-Bishop Lazarus had all disappeared the very next night, signifying the beginning of the demon infestation. All of Tristram dramatically shifted views of the crazy, solitary woman to fear and respect, after that.

OoOoOoO

Hayden stood by her at all times. Many women asked, pleaded, and even begged him to leave her side, if for only a single dance, but he always denied them. Over the past two months, he had grown quite fond of Katja. Not sexually, of course, but he had come to view her as a close friend. After losing so many friends on the campaign to defeat Diablo, he was not going to leave her so long as she was wounded.

"Are you going to watch over me all night?" the rogue asked. It's endearing really, but he can't just stand there all night! "It's a party, Hayden. Celebrate."

She sat on the course log bench, waiting for him to say something. Her hair, normally tied in a pony tail, hung limply around her face. He pushed her rich, brown hair back, revealing her countenance. She was a plain woman, muscular, tall, and had typical features for a woman in the western territories. Still, she held some sort of extra allure, with her face scrunched up in irritation. It was clear that she was used to getting her way.

He smiled broadly, revealing rows of pristine, white teeth. Sitting next to her, he began checking the bandages covering her wounded side. Diablo's fury had been intense; the single blow he landed upon her broke ribs, pushing internal organs aside, causing her much pain. She was lucky her broken ribs didn't pierce anything vital; else she would have bled to death in Hayden's arms on the way back to town.

"Will you leave me be!" she demanded. "I'm fine, really. Go dance, I know you love to."

"If that is what you wish, my lady." Hayden relented, bowing in the process. Marching to the dancing area, he reflected on his friend. She can be quite demanding at times, but she has a good heart.

Katja watched her friend begin to sway rhythmically in time with the music. His was an unusual style of dancing, incorporating spins, dips, leaps, and a lot of pelvic thrusting. He moved effortlessly through the crowd of dancers, gracefully bounding, flipping his arms in wide circles and spinning as he did. His dancing is strange, just like his fighting style. It suits him though. The music became more bass intensive, and the singing stopped altogether. The crowd created a large circle around Hayden, allowing his 6'1" body enough room to do the more acrobatic dance moves that he preferred. Percussion instruments filled the air, increasing the tempo, causing the monk to dance savagely, with a zeal that startled onlookers at first. Katja smiled, watching him dance. He was completely lost in the music, and she doubted if anything could disturb him in the state he was in. Tumbling forward, he reversed motion, executing a back flip, landing in time with the final note of the song. The crowd cheered.

Katja grimaced as a wave of pain shot up from her injured side. Perhaps watching his eccentric dancing wasn't the best idea. Still, it was worth it. She gazed at a couple on an adjacent log bench. The fair featured man with flaxen hair dropped to one knee, holding an outstretched hand to the woman. Gillian squealed with delight, and quickly adorned the silver band. Looks like this just became an engagement party. The music played on.

OoOoOoO

Moonlight wisped glowing tendrils across the gravel road to Adria's shack on the eastern side of the village. To any casual observer, it would appear to be an aging couple on a midnight stroll, delirious with love, even after so many years of marriage. Deckard and Adria strolled arm in arm purposely, to keep that appearance up, intent on keeping the townspeople ignorant of the dark matters they discussed. The people needed celebration to lift their spirits, deserved it even. Crazy, old, and outcasts they may have been, but Adria and Deckard were not heartless.

"He will lose control eventually." Adria stated matter-of-factly. "He seems to be fine for the moment, but when the demon overcomes him, and we can be certain that he will, he will be all the more powerful in that Vizjerei master's body. Oh Deckard" she paused, not wishing to continue her thoughts, "I fear Tristram won't survive this." She shivered suddenly, and stumbled on the gravel path. Deckard steadied her, moving his arm from hers, to her waist. He left his arm there, as he responded.

"This is terrible news indeed. Our course of action is clear. You know I hate to ask of it, my old friend, but the mage clans need to be warned. Nay, everyone must be warned. You must go to the ancient forests near Scosglen and beseech help from the druids; to the temple of the Viz-Jaq'taar in Westmarch to enlist the help of the deadly women there; you must even warn the priests of Rathma under the fetid jungles of the east. If you cannot reach any of these places personally, you must send a messenger." Cain swallowed hard, and looked passionately in the grey eyes of Adria. "Uileloscadh Mór is approaching. We must be prepared."

Adria stiffened at the mention of Uileloscadh Mór. The final battle between humans and demons? I never would have imagined it would happen in my time. Bracing herself on her staff, she began chanting quietly. Her staff started to glow, faintly at first, but increasing in brilliance until its light rivaled the bonfire in the middle of town. Her chanting became louder, but Deckard could not hear it. The staff released a low pitched rumble, masking Adria's chanting, and then the bright yellow light suddenly vanished, leaving a perfect quiet, and a perfect dark behind.

Deckard stared in amazement. He had seen magic before naturally, but never anything quite so dramatic, or amazing. Adria's weathered face grinned in triumph, sweat dripping, and mana depleted. The mighty staff was recharged.

"What was that?" he asked, giddy as a child.

"I channeled energy into this staff. It contains an old magic, older than either of us, or our orders for that matter. I can travel great distances with this artifact in the blink of an eye, but its toll is heavy. I have to recharge it periodically; else it would sap my own energies dry." She was a driven woman now, with a course plotted for her, and the means to accomplish her tasks. Deckard's mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came out. With a twinkle in her eye, she moved to open the door to her shack.

"What? How do you think I've kept my wares in stock when we haven't had a caravan stop by in months?" the old woman teased, disappearing behind the closing door. Deckard heard a faint noise, similar to two pieces of metal grinding upon one another, and a brief glow emerged from the slit under Adria's door.

"I don't think I will ever understand that woman." Deckard walked back to the bonfire with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. His night would be filled with worry, and his dreams with demons. The music played on, and the people celebrated with light hearts for the first time since the demonic infestation. Deckard noticed Flux Gravija, the unfortunately doomed Vizjerei sorcerer grasp his head as he stumbled to his room in Ogden's tavern. They will not be celebrating for long.

OoOoOoO

To my beloved reviewer, Mirith: Thank you for the review! I've never considered myself a spectacular writer, but I have always been on the lookout for ways to improve my writing. Now that I read over the first chapter again, it does have some choppy, shortened paragraphs that fly by some scenes. I'll be on the lookout for that in the future. As far as continuing the story of these characters, the answer is most definitely yes. I have long term plans for this story, though reality might keep me from updating as often as I would like. Thank you for your kind words!

Speaking of reviews, please do! I would love to know what the readers think, especially what works and what doesn't work. Thanks all!