The first weekend of Diablo 3 Seasons has ended. How did the ladder rushers enjoy the experience? Which fast leveling strategies worked best (and worst), and does the Torment 6 “kill nothing but level fast” cheese need to be fixed? Featuring Wolfpaq, Rankil, N3rdwords, Katniss, and Flux. Following up Friday’s Season-prep show, this is a […]
This afternoon Blizzard ran their monthly live stream conversation with a developer, and saw John Yang and Nevalistis join two fans for some action. They finished up through GR30 and Nevalistis scored 4 legendary items and a set item from the final GRG, so lucky to her. The conversation during the live stream covered a […]
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Barbarian Short Story: WayfarerPosted 11 Apr 2012 by
The next short story has been released to accompany the Barbarian reveal on Darkness Falls, Heroes Rise promotional page. The previous story for the Demon Hunter was actually fairly well written, and fairly demonic. I was critical at first, but the story eventually brought me in. I have not yet read this short story, but I do hope that it lives up to Hatred and Discipline.
One of the things I really liked about the previous story was that it is the full background of events that happen directly before the falling star hits Tristram Cathedral. I can only assume that this story will be placed during the same time as the Demon Hunter, but elsewhere in Sanctuary.
A small excerpt:
As the sky bruised and the shadows grew long into night, he stood to watch the sun disappear behind the mountains. This was when the whispered sound of the evening breeze would crumble into the slow, shuffling rasp of feet. Her feet… cold and white, frayed tendon and cracked bone worn bare over countless miles of frost-rimmed rock. It did not matter how far Kehr had traveled that day, how many rivers he had forded or cliffs he had scaled. She came at sundown.
The large man busied himself with the fire as the shuffling drew closer. Tinder had grown more plentiful as he had descended into the Sharval Wilds, and Kehr tried to find some comfort in the thought of warm food after weeks of dried venison. It was a futile attempt at cheer, as he knew it would be. The limping footsteps always brought a seeping chill, a liquid sense of ice and horror that rippled and lapped against his skin. They came to a stop in the darkness just beyond the firelight.