Chapter 3: The Legacy of Cain

Johanna leaned hesitantly to peer down into the massive crater. Blue energy of some sort was imbued into the crushed stone. She pulled back quickly until she was safely five or six feet away from the edge. Her heart rate gradually returned to normal and she breathed out long and slow.

Okay. Whatever it was, it was a long, long way down. Surely there had to be some stairs that would lead her down. She turned to look but all she saw was a single staircase going up, and at the moment a steady stream of risen were flooding down it and towards here. She looked back towards the large front doors, but her battle on the way in had attracted a small army of them from the funeral grounds around the side of the cathedral.

She was trapped.

Well, she'd known from the moment she started rattling on the front gate that if she came inside she was committing to this little adventure. I just didn't think I'd be quite so committed quite so soon.

And there was only one way in available to her now. That meant facing the drop. Again. She'd never been so tempted to take on a horde of risen in her life.

…

Marcus frowned as he watched from the rotting benches of a subterranean choir loft as a group of people from some sort of cult performed a ritual. They were trying to summon a demon, by the looks of it, but almost certainly for their own protection. Several of their number were down already while all of those not actively involved in the summoning were trying to hold off a bunch of skeleton warriors.

Whoever they were, they weren't controlling these souls, so they couldn't be responsible for this mess, but they were also summoning a demon. They'd made their choice.

He lined up the shot carefully and released as he breathed out. The black-feathered shaft flew true and took the lead summoner in the heart. He collapsed, and without the anchor point the summoning fizzled out.

Marcus turned to search for new prey as the cultists' screams echoed through the depths of the cathedral as the skeletons moved in, cackling madly.

…

Deckard Cain was right in the middle of a truly fascinating text when the skeletons caught up to him again. He marked his place carefully before closing the book with a thud and moving on as fast as his tired old legs would carry him.

At least this deep into the Cathedral he had only to deal with the slower, lumbering skeletons drawn from the crypts. There was still the question of how it had been done, however.

He pushed against a false wall that revolved to let him slip through. He grumbled in irritation as he struggled with the flint in the darkness, but after a few moments he'd gotten the old torches still in their wall brackets lit up again and he gently pulled out the tome once more.

Now, where was he again?

…

Johanna slowed for a moment. She'd been wandering more or less at random, but this place was even bigger than it had looked from the outside. There was a narrow winding staircase leading deeper below the cathedral and down into the catacombs beneath. The torches down there were lit—she could see their flickering light reflecting off the stone walls. There was no reason for the undead to do that. On the other hand, there was no reason for someone trying to hide from them to do it either. Ah well, why not? It wasn't like she could wander around down here forever. Sooner or later she'd annoy enough undead to swarm her under and that would be that.

Still . . . crypts were creepy enough before the dead started coming back to life. She swallowed hard, set herself, and carefully descended the narrow winding staircase into the catacombs.

The air got colder as she descended deeper beneath the ground. An icy breeze blew, making the shadows dance in strange patterns as the torches sputtered. There were no breezes underground—not natural ones anyway. She shivered.

The crackle of the torches was suddenly joined by other sounds. Johanna froze, straining to hear. Somebody was fighting down there! She burst into motion, charging down the stairs in a clatter of armor, her fear forgotten.

The Crusader burst out of the stairway onto a landing that overlooked the grand entrance to the catacombs marked by two massive, sealed doors. Her attention was not there, but on one of the side passages branching off from it—she heard the rattle of skeletons and the cries of an old man.

"Deckard? Deckard Cain, is that you?"

Her voice echoed out into the darkness. Then he was there, stumbling away from a horde of skeletons. "Deckard!"

He looked up and saw her, then started stumbling her way. The skeletons were gaining. He wasn't going to make it. She sized up the gap between her landing and the plaza below, a massive pit that glowed with a strange blue light. It would be close, but it was the only chance. She chanted a prayer, gathered holy energy within her, then took a running leap off the landing.

She could feel holy power lifting her higher than any natural leap of hers, even if she weren't in armor, and soared in an arc towards the landing. She gathered her energy which crackled with power around her and slammed to the ground with a blast of holy light. The nearest skeletons blasted apart, but more were coming, including a huge skeleton with a massive headsman's axe and the remnants of plate armor. "Get behind me, Deckard." She readied her flail.

…

Marcus was deep within the crypt. He was running low on arrows again. No more fighting until he found whatever was causing this. It was pitch black but that wasn't about to stop him. The whole place was covered in dust, caked onto the rotted caskets and freezing stone. He crept forward, carefully placing each foot to avoid brittle bones. He was close to the royal crypt now, which was the deepest and darkest of the lot, and whatever that star was, it seemed to have gone all the way down. It seemed fitting, somehow. But this door . . . it was big, that was certain. Ornate. Golden candlesticks flanked the entrance. But the doors were barred by a gate with a strange, circular opening. Some sort of key?

A distant sound snapped his head around and he crouched, tense. He hadn't disturbed any of the dead down here, he was certain, so what could . . . the Crusader. It had to be. Barging around like a lost bull, no doubt, the same as always. Damn her, if only she'd left this area undisturbed! But at his feet he could already see the bones beginning to twitch. It was as he'd thought. Something had raised the dead, but the skeletons here, they were controlled more directly by someone or something.

Time to move.

He raced through the black corridors, throwing caution to the winds as the bones raised around him. At last he burst into the light and winced at the glare of the handful of torches that lit the scene. Johanna was there with an old man behind her, trading blows with a skeleton a foot taller than any of others. He knocked an arrow onto the string, drew back, and loosed in a single smooth motion. The arrow snapped through the creature's spine, and it collapsed to the floor in a clatter of bones and dust.

"Marcus! You're here!"

He sneered. "Of course I'm here, crusader. Now you've found your old man, but brought the whole cathedral down on us. You'd best say your prayers now; you won't have time for it soon."

...

Johanna looked at him, puzzled but not offended. She'd heard the jibes far too many times to care, but he hadn't seemed the sort. She shrugged. He was right about one thing—it wouldn't matter in a few moments anyways.

"No, there is a way for us to escape."

The Demon Hunter looked at Deckard in surprise, but there was something else Johanna couldn't quite put her finger on. Disappointment? Surely he couldn't hate her that much.

"Do tell, old one."

Deckard slowly made his way over to a massive bookshelf piled high with scrolls, some sort of record of burials. He placed his hands carefully and pushed with an odd lifting motion. The bookshelf itself slid backwards and open to reveal a hidden staircase. "I learned of this secret passage through some of the old maps I found deep in the Cathedral. Now come, we haven't much time left."

Johanna followed Cain with a whispered prayer of thanks and they closed the bookshelf behind them, dampening the cackle and cries of the dead as they swarmed to the sight of battle. They were silent as they climbed, afraid to draw the attention of the dead as they made their way up the tight spiral stairs. Well, as quiet as they could be—Johanna's armor rattled with every step. Far less than normal plate, thank the heavens, but far louder than she'd have wished. Marcus in particular seemed to wince at each new heavy footfall on stone. They seemed to climb for a long time before, at last, they reached a small door. Deckard forced it aside and they stepped out and onto a walled-off courtyard. Deckard shut the door behind them, carefully replacing the drapes of ivy that masked its presence.

"Well done old man. But unless you want us to throw you over the walls, I don't see how we're going to get you out of here. That gate is rusted enough to bring a thousand dead down on us before we could get it open."

"There is no need, young one." He started walking.

Johanna glanced at Marcus, as mystified as he clearly was. He shrugged his shoulders and followed, and Johanna brought up the rear. Deckard led them to the center of what once had been a garden to a large stone circle on the ground. "This is a waypoint, created by the Horadrim long ago during the Dark Exile. It can transport the user instantly to other waypoints you envision in your mind."

Marcus pounced on it quickly. "Can any person use this?"

"You must be taught by a Horadrim how to use the waypoints. In thanks for saving my life, I will teach you this secret.

Johanna and Marcus watched intently as Deckard Cain began to teach them.

...

Johanna stumbled off the pad and dropped to a knee, her head spinning. She could hear Marcus throwing up behind her. Akkarat above, those things were unpleasant. She looked up to see Tristram not half a mile away. Incredible—it worked.

Deckard spoke up. "Thank you both, but why did you risk yourselves for me?"

"I didn't do it for—"

"We did it because Leah asked us to search for you," Johanna said loudly, talking over Marcus.

The scholar smiled and sagged in relief. "It is wonderful to hear that Leah is well. I feared the worst. But we must discuss the fallen star and there is nothing more we can do here. Follow me, to Tristram."

They trudged after the surprisingly spry old man. The demon hunter was as inscrutable as ever, but at least for her part Johanna was exhausted. She'd always bounced back quickly from exertion and injuries alike, but even so, going out again so quickly was really pushing it.

"It's them, they're back!" The watch cried out from his lookout post, waving his hands in the air to get the townsfolk's attention. "They're back!"

"Uncle, you're alive!" Leah ran towards her uncle at the front of the crowd and threw her arms around him, driving him back a step.

"Indeed I am, thanks to you and your friends here."

Rumford jumped up to the lookout post. A cheer for the heroes who rescued Deckard! Hurrah!"

"Hurrah!" roared the townsfolk, thrilled to finally have something to celebrate, to focus on that wasn't more death and loss. They were cheered all the way into Deckard's home, a lovely thatched roof cottage with plastered stone walls. Yet despite being pretty-looking, it was cramped and damp inside.

Johanna left her weapons at the door and settled into the offered chair. Leah quickly set about getting a fire in the fireplace. Marcus dropped his bow and quiver at the door, at least, though he kept the rest of his weapons on him. He elected to lean against the wall instead of taking a chair. Deckard eased himself with a groan into the over-stuffed easy chair.

The fire crackled to life, casting long shadows of the furniture and Marcus' brooding form. The man waited long enough for them to get seated, at least. "I have but one request, Cain. What do you know of the fallen star?"

Deckard sighed. "Not much, I'm afraid, though the Prophecy of End Days surely points to it as a sign that the end has begun.

"Oh uncle." Leah shook her head fondly. "We're not talking about prophecies and legends; they need to know about whatever it is that fell out of the sky."

"You should not dismiss the signs so lightly. Do you not believe the evidence of your own eyes?"

"I'm not interested in legends, old man. On my way down to the star I encountered a massive locked gate that had some sort of large, round key."

"Ah, you must have discovered the tomb of the skeleton king! The skeleton king was once our beloved Lord, Leoric. He was driven mad by Diablo's evil. He lost both of his sons—and his very soul—before he was finally defeated, after sending his son to Westmarch in order to—"

"A tragic story, but how do I get past the gate?"

If Cain was offended at the interruption, he didn't show it. "The crypt was meant to be preserved only for the royal heirs. To accomplish this, the crown itself was made to be the key to the crypt. Seek out our blacksmith, Haedrig Eamon; he knows of its whereabouts."

Marcus pushed off the wall and stalked out the door without another word.

Leah watched Marcus go until the door shut behind him, then laughed. "Your friend isn't very good with people, is he?"

"Leah, be polite. He did help to save me from the skeletons within the cathedral."

"Yes, uncle."

Johanna smiled at the young woman. "It's fine, Leah. Don't worry about him. Let's let Deckard rest; why don't we take a walk outside?"

Leah nodded and followed her out the door. They started walking slowly through the fortified town. The inhabitants gave them space. "So, what brought you and Deckard to this place?"

"Because of Uncle Deckard. We've been wandering all over Sanctuary for years now while he looks for clues of this prophecy of the end times of his." She sighed with affectionate exasperation. "He's found lots of bits and pieces of old lore he thinks are part of it, but me?" She shrugged. "I'm not convinced yet."

Johanna nodded. "I see. So is this just another stop in your travels, or is this the end of the road?"

"I think this is the end. For a long time, Uncle Deckard avoided coming back to this place. There were a lot of ghosts here for him. He was here you know, when old King Leoric went mad and terrorized the people." She sighed again. "I don't know what really happened here, but whatever it was, it was horrible. Nearly everyone who survived went mad. And now Deckard keeps saying it was demons, the great Lord Diablo, that caused it all. I supposed even old Deckard couldn't come out of something like that entirely unscathed."

Johanna looked at Leah in surprise. "Wait, you mean something like this has happened before? Please, tell me what you know. It may help us put things right."

"Well, I don't know much for certain. Nobody does. But I can tell you Deckard's version of it, for what it's worth."

"Please."

"Okay." Leah began to speak as they walked the grounds, laying out the sad story of King Leoric. He'd come from Khanduras in the name of the Zakarum church. Though initially resented, he ruled with fairness and strength, and gradually the people of Tristram had grown to respect him. But over time he began to . . . change. He turned mean and harsh, executing any who disagreed with him.

"From there the stories go on to blame Diablo for corrupting him and they get less and less reliable. What we know for sure is that he sent his army to fight a disastrous war with Westmarch, and upon their return, some of his knights attempted to assassinate him. The stories say they succeeded, but they must have failed because the king killed them himself, or had them killed, depending on the story. Eventually his son Aidan, a knight, returned and found his father mad. They fought, and Aidan killed him. The incident was so terrible that Aidan couldn't bring himself to stay, and instead wandered away, never to be heard from again."

They continued in silence, both of them thinking over the story and the dark times in which they lived. A few minutes later they found themselves in front of the inn again.

"Thank you, Leah, for telling me the story. And while Deckard may or may not be right about these prophecies, it does seem that he knows what he's talking about regarding this tomb."

"Oh of course! He may be a bit of a conspiracy nut, but he certainly knows his history, that's for certain."

"Well, it sounds as though I need to speak with the blacksmith. Thanks again."

The Crusader left Leah at the inn and walked off to find the blacksmith, who sat hunched over, staring at his anvil.

"Hello there blacksmith."

"Heh," he muttered darkly. "Nothing seems to ever change in New Tristram, does it?"

Johanna moved to sit by the heavily muscled man. "What makes you say that?"

"There's always some threat of the risen dead or foul evil descending on the town, isn't there?"

"Perhaps. But you can't give up hope."

"Hope?" He looked at her critically, bitterness seeping from his eyes. "I just killed some of my friends and my wi—" His voice caught, and he choked down a sob. "I just killed my wife, with my own damned hammer! She was trying to help the other infected and they bit her, so don't talk to me of hope, girl."

Johanna put an arm around his shoulder. "I'm sorry, both for your loss and for what you had to do," she said gently. "But I need your help to save the rest of New Tristram. Can you tell me about King Leoric's crown?"

The blacksmith wiped his eyes. "I can—I can help you there. As I just finished telling that no-good friend of yours, it's buried with the king's chancellor, my grandfather Eamon. You'll find his tomb in the cemetery at the Weeping Hollow."

Johanna hesitated. She had what she needed, but didn't want to leave the man alone like this. "Tell me more about this grandfather of yours."

He shrugged. "Not much to tell. I was living with my father in Caldeum at the time. We—we heard that stayed in Tristram to the end, trying to save lives. Don't know if he succeeded, but there it is. When the Skeleton King fell, grandpa Eamon was dying of a sword wound. He had the crown sealed with him to ensure that tomb was never opened again. Ha! Doesn't seem to have worked, does it? The dead walk again anyways."

"Easy, Haedrig. It takes strength to stand against the dark. Thank you for your grandfather's sacrifice."

He nodded absently. "Thanks. You should go, not waste time trying to make me feel better."

Johanna nodded and rose to her feet. As she walked towards gate she glanced back over her shoulder to see Haedrig sitting a little straighter.

…

Marcus sat waiting for Johanna outside the gates. He wasn't certain why he waited for her, exactly. The roads, while still far from safe, were significantly better since their assault on the wretched mothers. So long as he kept his wits about him, he'd be safe enough. Perhaps it was the oath. He stood to survive longer with her around, and that meant he could kill more demons. Yes, that was it.

"Damn oath," he muttered habitually, though there was no venom in it.

Johanna rounded the bend and stopped dead in her tracks. "Marcus! Were you . . . did you wait for me?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "Maybe. You're pretty handy with that flail of yours. You ready?"

She nodded, and together they started making their way to the waypoint in silence. It wasn't the companionable sort of silence, and Johanna grew increasingly uncomfortable until she couldn't take it anymore. "So tell me Marcus, when you call yourself a demon hunter is that some sort of title?"

Marcus grimaced, but answered. "Yes."

"Where do you get the title? Is it a sort of organization?"

"Nothing so formal as that. We train in the Dreadlands, where no country interferes with us."

"Who is your leader?"

"We have none. All demon hunters fight. It is our oath. None of us live long enough to form a leadership. New demon hunters listen to the old. That's it."

"Do all demon hunters work alone?"

Marcus hesitated, then shook his head. "No."

Johanna let it go. Talking with Marcus felt like an interrogation, dragging information out of him. He wasn't one to contribute unless he wanted something. She shrugged and they walked on in silence, until at last the waypoint came into view.

Marcus stepped onto the ancient stone circle, which glowed with power in response.

Johanna pulled the shield from her back and drew her flail. Time to fight.