‡ Essence of Evil ‡
By: Matt and Phil
Chapter Two
By: Phil
Ezra blinked as he readjusted his eyes to the dull grey that tinted the barbarian village of Harrogath. A steady snow fell from the clouds, which coloured the sparsely populated area. Harrogath's walls were augmented with the flame of nearby torches and fire pits. Ezra surveyed the great carvings that were etched into the walls years before him and smiled, he knew his home was safe now.
Ezra had received word that a lone Paladin and a band of necromancers had laid waste to Diablo and Mephisto's arcane bodies, and destroyed the soulstones in which their spirits retreated to, banishing them from all existence in this world. He was happy that his work was appreciated in other places of the world. All that remained was Baal's – and though Ezra wanted to dispose of it himself, Tyrael had said he needed to do it. He figured that an Angel was well capable of a destruction spell of some sort. But as glad as he was to see his hometown safe, he yearned to depart from it. Too many memories had occurred there, and he wished not to relive them, but as the necromancer would soon realize, he had no say in the matter.
"Hello, Ezra."
It was a woman's voice, soft as freshly fallen snow. Ezra quivered as a chill spread through him. He did not want to turn around; he feared looking into the speaker's eyes. He knew it was that of Anya, the daughter of the village's leader. As children they had once been friends, but things changed as time progressed. Ezra failed to protect her father in the fight against Baal. The elders designated him to be in charge if they had been defeated, and when they fell, Ezra ordered their forces to fall back. Ezra knew that Baal's minions would have taken out the army, and then he alone would be left to fight Baal. He was the best fighter the Barbarian army possessed, thought to be more skilled that even Qual-Kehk, for he had seen too many winters. He claimed he did not wish to sacrifice so many men who could protect the village, but his true fear was having the weight of the world's future riding upon his shoulders. But that was before destruction had taken the Worldstone. Ezra had no choice but to go after him, for Ezra's own father betrayed the world and gave Baal access to the Worldstone. And with the support of Tyrael, Ezra did what he thought impossible – barely.
He turned to face Anya, and she gasped. There was a huge gash in his midriff, encircled with Charred skin. His left forearm was covered in thick red blood, a river it fed it from a deep wound in his upper shoulder. His legs were cut all over, and from the bottom corner of his right eye stemmed three lighting bolt shaped cuts, each pouring hot crimson liquid down his cheek.
"Anya."
He spoke those words calmly, hiding the great anxiety he felt within. Anya surveyed his wounds again, and then shook he head to her left, her deep black coloured hair swayed with the movement of her head.
"We had better get you to Malah, its going to take the both of us to heal those wounds."
Anya's eyes lingered on Ezra, but as he noticed her attention drawn to him, he turned, and began to limp towards Malah's Inn. Aching muscles pushed the broken body over to the small in closer area by Malah. He breathed in the crisp air of the mountain. Being frail as he was already, it did not take much to damage the little man's weak shell. Malah's eyes fell on his wounds for an instant then she sighed in happiness and regret.
"Oh Ezra, thank you so much..."
The necromancer grunted a reply as best he could, then looked at the blood covering his body. A soft whisper flowed through pursed lips and hit a note that snared the senses and brought upon a very unpleasant feeling, like something was trying to pull you into the ground. The note carried long and true, and before Malah and Anya realized what the note was, the thick red liquid covering Ezra' body began to boil and slither, until it shrunk back into his body. He took in a breath and then lay down on a bench, signaling for the healers to begin. It was nothing too special, a few spells, then some medicinal attention and Ezra felt as good as new. He drew out his findings from his trip while they finished taping up his stomach, and began to look them over.
First off was a large bottle, much too large to hold a potion. Within it was a swirling grey cloud. Immediately Ezra recognized this as a hidden item, and judging from the aura it gave off he had found a rare one at that. It was unique in all senses of the word – it was the only one of that item in existence, and as such contained incredible powers. He pulled out a scroll from his pouch, a red seal holding it closed. He opened it and held it in his left hand, while his right grasped the neck of the large bottle. A quick glow and the items contents unblurred, the smoke forming into a solid figure, though it was still indiscernible. Moments later the scroll curled up and turned into dust, and the item was easy to see. It was the head of a Zakarum Demon – A Hierophant Trophy. But more important than that, it was in fact, the most powerful Hierophant Trophy in existence – The Homunculus. It was a pinkish colour, with deep blue eyes, so powerful that even though the head was dead, it still shone with life. In the creature's forehead rested a red jewel, a ceremonial remnant of the creature's once religious heritage. The handgrip was blue with a yellow band around it. Ezra was thrilled with such a find and barely noticed the tug of Malah's bandages around his stomach, and the sting of the ground plants on the damaged skin. He knew from his studies the powers this trophy possessed, and would grant to him. He quickly stashed it away, not wanting to show anyone else what he had found, for he wanted to inspect it further himself.
The rest of the items were nothing special, a few potions, a belt, which did not fit, and a paladin shield that did not really interest him. He stuffed the useful things away and gave the belt and smaller potions to Malah, not wanting the gold she offered him in return. He turned off from her hotel, and across the village to his home, to Nihlathak's home, his father's home.
By: Matt and Phil
Chapter Two
By: Phil
Ezra blinked as he readjusted his eyes to the dull grey that tinted the barbarian village of Harrogath. A steady snow fell from the clouds, which coloured the sparsely populated area. Harrogath's walls were augmented with the flame of nearby torches and fire pits. Ezra surveyed the great carvings that were etched into the walls years before him and smiled, he knew his home was safe now.
Ezra had received word that a lone Paladin and a band of necromancers had laid waste to Diablo and Mephisto's arcane bodies, and destroyed the soulstones in which their spirits retreated to, banishing them from all existence in this world. He was happy that his work was appreciated in other places of the world. All that remained was Baal's – and though Ezra wanted to dispose of it himself, Tyrael had said he needed to do it. He figured that an Angel was well capable of a destruction spell of some sort. But as glad as he was to see his hometown safe, he yearned to depart from it. Too many memories had occurred there, and he wished not to relive them, but as the necromancer would soon realize, he had no say in the matter.
"Hello, Ezra."
It was a woman's voice, soft as freshly fallen snow. Ezra quivered as a chill spread through him. He did not want to turn around; he feared looking into the speaker's eyes. He knew it was that of Anya, the daughter of the village's leader. As children they had once been friends, but things changed as time progressed. Ezra failed to protect her father in the fight against Baal. The elders designated him to be in charge if they had been defeated, and when they fell, Ezra ordered their forces to fall back. Ezra knew that Baal's minions would have taken out the army, and then he alone would be left to fight Baal. He was the best fighter the Barbarian army possessed, thought to be more skilled that even Qual-Kehk, for he had seen too many winters. He claimed he did not wish to sacrifice so many men who could protect the village, but his true fear was having the weight of the world's future riding upon his shoulders. But that was before destruction had taken the Worldstone. Ezra had no choice but to go after him, for Ezra's own father betrayed the world and gave Baal access to the Worldstone. And with the support of Tyrael, Ezra did what he thought impossible – barely.
He turned to face Anya, and she gasped. There was a huge gash in his midriff, encircled with Charred skin. His left forearm was covered in thick red blood, a river it fed it from a deep wound in his upper shoulder. His legs were cut all over, and from the bottom corner of his right eye stemmed three lighting bolt shaped cuts, each pouring hot crimson liquid down his cheek.
"Anya."
He spoke those words calmly, hiding the great anxiety he felt within. Anya surveyed his wounds again, and then shook he head to her left, her deep black coloured hair swayed with the movement of her head.
"We had better get you to Malah, its going to take the both of us to heal those wounds."
Anya's eyes lingered on Ezra, but as he noticed her attention drawn to him, he turned, and began to limp towards Malah's Inn. Aching muscles pushed the broken body over to the small in closer area by Malah. He breathed in the crisp air of the mountain. Being frail as he was already, it did not take much to damage the little man's weak shell. Malah's eyes fell on his wounds for an instant then she sighed in happiness and regret.
"Oh Ezra, thank you so much..."
The necromancer grunted a reply as best he could, then looked at the blood covering his body. A soft whisper flowed through pursed lips and hit a note that snared the senses and brought upon a very unpleasant feeling, like something was trying to pull you into the ground. The note carried long and true, and before Malah and Anya realized what the note was, the thick red liquid covering Ezra' body began to boil and slither, until it shrunk back into his body. He took in a breath and then lay down on a bench, signaling for the healers to begin. It was nothing too special, a few spells, then some medicinal attention and Ezra felt as good as new. He drew out his findings from his trip while they finished taping up his stomach, and began to look them over.
First off was a large bottle, much too large to hold a potion. Within it was a swirling grey cloud. Immediately Ezra recognized this as a hidden item, and judging from the aura it gave off he had found a rare one at that. It was unique in all senses of the word – it was the only one of that item in existence, and as such contained incredible powers. He pulled out a scroll from his pouch, a red seal holding it closed. He opened it and held it in his left hand, while his right grasped the neck of the large bottle. A quick glow and the items contents unblurred, the smoke forming into a solid figure, though it was still indiscernible. Moments later the scroll curled up and turned into dust, and the item was easy to see. It was the head of a Zakarum Demon – A Hierophant Trophy. But more important than that, it was in fact, the most powerful Hierophant Trophy in existence – The Homunculus. It was a pinkish colour, with deep blue eyes, so powerful that even though the head was dead, it still shone with life. In the creature's forehead rested a red jewel, a ceremonial remnant of the creature's once religious heritage. The handgrip was blue with a yellow band around it. Ezra was thrilled with such a find and barely noticed the tug of Malah's bandages around his stomach, and the sting of the ground plants on the damaged skin. He knew from his studies the powers this trophy possessed, and would grant to him. He quickly stashed it away, not wanting to show anyone else what he had found, for he wanted to inspect it further himself.
The rest of the items were nothing special, a few potions, a belt, which did not fit, and a paladin shield that did not really interest him. He stuffed the useful things away and gave the belt and smaller potions to Malah, not wanting the gold she offered him in return. He turned off from her hotel, and across the village to his home, to Nihlathak's home, his father's home.