Raising Cain

[Sorceress Zahra]

My first short story in pure fiction... I usually write historical fiction, but I decided to broaden my horizons and give this a shot. After all, I love this game!

The story is set in the Diablo universe's equivalent of our late 20th century, and though the city is not named, I call it Citadel City - a town that has grown up in place of the Rogue Monastery at the Rogue Pass. Things have changed in the centuries since the Final Battle... some things haven't.

The universe is, of course, Diablo. The genre is horror (though some game fans may find this humourous). Because of the element of bullying and the use of gore, I'd say that no one under age ten should read the story, but that's my own opinion - no one's obliged to follow my suggestion, but I thought I'd say something and be safe.

Okay, here comes the story:

[Sorceress Zahra]

*Disclaimers and Notes: The artists mentioned here have nothing to do with the Diablo universe. They are used fictitiously. Note, the runeword “Binding” does not exist, and the runes mentioned in association with it were simply pulled from my imagination and spell nothing. “White,” however, is a valid runeword. The Arm of Leoric is a valid Unique Tomb Wand.

Raising Cain

On a cold, moonless fall night, two young boys cautiously made their way down a dark, graffitied side alley that headed towards the New Gholein Highway. The spectacular four-lane divided highway had opened five years ago in response to the congested double-lane highway through the nearby mountain pass. It was the only viable land route linking the fertile western lands with the arid eastern deserts, and had been a trade route for thousands of years. The giant pillars of concrete that lifted the huge expanse of steel, asphalt, and concrete high above the city’s poorest districts had already been slathered in neon shades of spray paint. Some of the graffiti were gang tags, others were the usual dire warnings of the coming End of Days, but most were the common expletives and vulgarities that always permeated a culture’s vocabulary. Covering the graffiti were posters and stickers revisiting the latter two categories in much greater detail.

The two boys made their way past the garbage littering the alley with the help of the dull orange light from a single antique streetlamp on a nearby building. Somehow, it alone had managed to avoid being used for target practice, a miracle in and of itself. It was late, approaching midnight, and well after the city’s juvenile curfew. To be out was to invite trouble. But to be out in this particularly squalid area of town was to invite more than just trouble from the local constabulary.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” the tallest of the two boys whispered to his companion as he tripped over a twisted length of pipe. The boy was almost a full five feet tall, with mouse-brown hair that hung limply against his skull and pale blue eyes that looked a tad lifeless. It was quite obvious that he was by no means an athlete, unless one counted chess as a sport. He was dressed in crisply pressed jeans, a nicely-laundered button-down shirt, and an expensive school jacket that clearly stated he didn’t belong any where near the alley.

“Of course I do!” the shorter boy snapped. This boy was well under four feet tall, though he was roughly the same age as his companion. His blond hair was very fine and hung into his eyes so he kept having to sweep it away. His eyes were a vivid aquamarine, but they were hidden behind thick glasses that were the object of considerable jokes at school. Even skinnier and less muscular than his companion, the boy looked as though even picking up a pawn on a chessboard could prove too strenuous. The stubborn glint in his eyes hinted at his clever mind, and his wary gait and cautious glances told of his experiences with the unwanted attention of bullies.

“Look, Deck, it’s past curfew. I don’t wanna get caught!”

“Keep quiet and you won’t!” Deck hissed back, giving his companion a hard look.

The two continued to the end of the alley, which opened up against a service road that ran east to west along the back side of a row of very old, dilapidated storefronts. The eastern end of the service road ran under the New Gholein Highway and disappeared into shadows and gang territory. The western end of the service road continued along the old storefronts and was littered with garbage that had been accumulating for decades. Along the southern side of the service road, though, was a very old wrought iron fence. It was what lay beyond the fence that was the destination of the two boys.

The iron fence was quite old, a hundred and fifty years at least, and most of it was covered in scaly orange rust and streaks of white that was clearly bird lime. Parts of the fence were bent and warped, others were missing entirely and had been replaced with chain link. In some places, someone had even bothered to weave concertina wire through the mess. The boys walked west along the service road until they came to the farthest edge of the iron fence. The gloom of the night kept them from seeing what awaited them inside the fence, but they could make out some boards that filled in a gap in the iron fence’s broken exterior.

Deck knelt by the boards and shrugged off his pack. He unzipped the main pocked and fished out a small crowbar, which he handed to his companion. He then grabbed a second and looked up with a slightly malicious grin.

“Found these boards last time I was here. Only a few nails to pull, then we’re in.”

The taller boy gave his crowbar a doubtful frown, as if he thought it wouldn’t work.

“Come on, Jered! Don’t go coward on me!” Deck scolded.

The words had the expected effect on Jered, and the tall boy began attacking the boards as if they had personally insulted him. Though neither boy seemed particularly strong, it did not take them more than a minute to pry the boards out and stack them unobtrusively in the shadows. Now, a dark hole in the fence loomed, and Deck sat back, satisfied.

“I’ll go first. You shove my pack though, then follow.”

“Right.” Jered glanced around. The light from the streetlamp didn’t reach this section of the service road, and only reflected light from the city illuminated the eerie scene. It reminded him of a horror film, the scene where he would usually yell at the actors at the screen not to go in because the monster would be waiting. He wondered vaguely why he was even doing this, but reminded himself firmly that his cousin’s adventures were usually interesting, if not fun, and this was reality, not the movies.

Before Jered knew what happened, Deck had scurried into the hole in the fence. Hoping his cousin was already waiting for the pack, Jered pushed it through. Someone on the other side grabbed it. Jered then started his journey into what he suspected would be reminiscent of the stories of Hell.

On hands and knees, he scurried into the void in the fence, scraping his palms on metal and instantly worrying about tetanus. Shoving the thought from his mind, he tried to continue, and felt his jacket snag on something above him. For a fleeting second, he felt panic rise as him imagination threw out the scenario of a ghoul reaching out and grabbing him. Then he felt Deck’s hand reach out and undo the snag, and Jered was free. The terrifying fence crossing had only taken fifteen seconds. Shaking his head on the other side, Jered wished he had a much less active imagination.

“Though you were a gonner, huh?” Deck asked as he shouldered his pack, replacing the crowbars and zipping the main compartment.

“What?” How did Deck know??

“Your jacket,” Deck replied. “I saw it snag. I knew if you ripped it, your mother would go ballistic.”

Jered heaved a silent sigh. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem. What’s family for?”

As his eyes adjusted to the deeper darkness this side of the fence, Jered started to make out where he was. Deck had said they were going someplace special to try out something he’d read about – vague, but Deck was like that, always full of secrets. Jered had expected some hideaway or clubhouse-type setup… but not this.

Rows upon rows of grey fingers protruded from the ground, reaching toward heaven as if yearning for solace they could not have. Tombstones. In the distance were a few crypts and mausoleums. In the middle of the graveyard was a fairly large construction, probably a large family mausoleum, decorated with hideous gargoyles, strange angels, and odd symbols that Jered thought he remembered from somewhere. It was a nightmarish place, and Jered wanted to leave immediately.

Deck, on the other hand, seemed as though he’d found Paradise. His eyes were alight with an inner fire, and he wore a smile that seemed just a little mad. He looked around the cemetery like a connoisseur observing a painting by a master.

“Uh, Deck… this is a graveyard.”

“Exactly.” Deck continued to savor the moldy, dead air. “It took me a lot of research to find it. It’s the oldest one in town. It used to be part of a cemetery that was attached to the Monastery, when it existed centuries ago.”

“Oka-a-a-ay. What are we doing here?” Jered shifted his feet, feeling nervous.

“Come on, I’ll show you.” Without further explanation, Deck grabbed a flashlight from his jacket pocket, flipped it on, and began marching across the cemetery towards the large mausoleum in the center, careful to avoid the sinking grave plots along the way.

Jered had to follow his cousin. He hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight of his own, and the idea of hanging around in the alley waiting for his cousin wasn’t at all appealing. Despite – or, perhaps, because of – his size, Deck could be very stubborn about things. Nothing, not even a bully’s fists, could change his mind about anything.

As the white marble façade of the mausoleum loomed closer, Jered could make out more detail. The gargoyles, he noticed, didn’t really look like gargoyles, but like demons that were writhing in pain and agony. It seemed like the angel sculptures were at war with the demons, and there were humans in the mix. At the base of the mausoleum, there were quite a few hideously positioned human corpses, obvious victims of the battle. It looked like a very vivid illustration of the battle Jered’s and Deck’s grandfather always told them about. There were some very old legends and myths about the wars between the powers of Heaven and Hell, and the role than mankind played in the Final Battle that drove the Prime Evils back into the Abyss. Their grandfather was forever telling them stories about the battles, and reminding them of their ancient ancestor for whom Deck had been named.

Deck looked at the mausoleum with admiration. “It represents the battle between the forces of Heaven and the Prime Evils for dominion over the mortal realm.”

Jered glanced at his cousin. “Sounds like you actually believe Grandpa’s stories.”

“Of course I do!” Deck shot back fiercely.

“They’re just old legends,” Jered said, knowing he’d never get anywhere convincing his cousin. Jered had stopped believing the fantastic tales of magic and demons when he was five, about the same time he’s stopped believing in the mystical gift-bearing elf in a red suit…

“They’re true!” Deck almost shouted. “The Prime Evils existed – Diablo, Baal Mephisto! And Tyrael existed! And he helped a human defeat the Prime Evils! Our family was there!”

Jered raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! Fine! I was just kidding!”

Deck was still furious, though he believed his cousin’s fib. “You shouldn’t joke about stuff like that!”

“I won’t. Promise.”

Satisfied, Deck nodded, then turned his attention back to the marble mausoleum.

In its day, the structure had been the finest money could buy. The sculptor had obviously been talented, because even now, centuries later, the detail work was still immaculate and lifelike. Though acid rain from pollution had damaged the fine marble, delicate features still held their grace and beauty, and minute etched detail had not worn completely away. Had the mausoleum not been in such a depressing, seedy neighborhood, it would have undoubtedly been a famous tourist attraction.

Deck circled the building, taking in all the detail, then returned to the massive copper-sheathed doors in front. The doors might have once had the rich luster of copper, but were now deep green with heavy patina. Above the doors, words were carved in the marble, but neither boy could read the ancient writing.

“I’ll be Grandpa could read that,” Deck murmured.

“I doubt he’d be willing to come out here with us to try,” Jered replied dryly. He looked around, then checked his glowing watch. It was after eleven. “This was pretty cool, but we’d better get going. It’s almost midnight.”

Jered turned to leave, but Deck remained standing before the copper doors as if entranced by something. Suddenly, he dropped his pack and unzipped the main compartment. As Jered watched, confused, Deck once again brought out one of the small crowbars. After a split second, Jered realized what his cousin was about to do.

“No way! You can’t break in there!”

Deck looked at his cousin with a disturbingly calm expression. “What, are you going to stop me?”

Shocked, Jered stood stock still and watched as Deck raised the crowbar and began tapping the bands holding the corroded doors shut, prying gently to loosen them. His cousin was a bit impulsive, but this was ridiculous.

Slowly, Deck tapped out the accumulated corrosion of the centuries and the locking bars began to loosen. Then, he set to work on the lowest. Without looking up, he said to his cousin, “Get the other bar from the pack. I can’t really reach the top lock.”

Jered was still stunned. He’d never known his cousin to break so many rules. There had to be a reason for it, but he wasn’t forthcoming. And Jered knew better than to ask. Digging information out of Deck was like getting water out of a rock.

Noticing that Jered wasn’t helping, Deck paused in his work and looked up. He saw his cousin’s horrified expression and sighed. Sometimes, Deck thought, he wished his motives could be clear to his family, or at least he wished Jered would obey him without question.

“Look, Jered, have I ever gotten you in trouble before?”

It didn’t take much thinking for Jered to come up with an affirmative.

“I mean,” Deck amended, irritated, “have I ever gotten you in trouble without a good reason?”

Now, that took more thinking. And there, Jered couldn’t think of a time when Deck’s intentions hadn’t been for the best. He told his cousin as much.

“Okay. Now, you’re just going to have to trust me on this, but I’m trying to do something tonight that’s going to help both of us.”

Jered couldn’t help himself. “How’s breaking into an old tomb going to help us?”

Deck gave his cousin the look, the one that always settled all the arguments and won over all the adults. He didn’t know how he’d come by it, or really even what it was, but the look always worked.

“Trust me, Jered.”

And, of course, Jered did. He always did. That was just the way things worked with his cousin. Deck was a good guy, and Jered knew it. Odd, sometimes, but a good guy. So, whatever he was up to with the mausoleum, he knew it was for someone’s benefit.

Relenting, Jered reached into the pack and retrieved the second crowbar and began working on the topmost locking bar. Because of the age of the materials and the corrosion, it didn’t take much force at all to pry the bar from its mount. It clattered to the ground in a shower of green dust. Deck’s lock followed in short order, and the pair began working on the second lock. Soon, all three locking bars lay in a dusty pile and the copper doors were free.

Deck was practically bursting at the seams. “Let’s open it!”

Jered put down his crowbar and grabbed one of the ancient metal handles, bracing himself against the expected weight and resistance of the door. With Deck’s help, he yanked with all his might, expecting the door to be stuck fast. Surprisingly, it opened as if its hinges had been freshly oiled, and the boys flew backward and ended up sprawling in the dirt. As they scrambled to sit up, the musty, foul air of the mausoleum exhaled out over them like a corpse’s last breath.

“Yuck!” Jered commented, scrunching up his face.

“Decomposition,” Deck said, covering his nose and mouth with his jacket sleeve and coughing.

“We’re really going to stink!”

“We’ll just have to throw our clothes in the laundry right away.”

Deck and Jered stood up, staring into the gaping mausoleum. Already, the corpse reek was dissipating in the chilly night air. If there had been any sounds in the background before, there certainly were none anymore. Not even the sounds of cars on the highway reached the boys as they stared at the waiting mausoleum. It was as if the world was holding its breath.

“We still going to do this?” Jered asked, casting a sideways glance at his cousin.

“Of course!”

Deck approached the open door and his pack, picked up his flashlight, then carefully stowed the crowbars in his pack, zipped it, and slung it over his shoulder. Casting the flashlight around inside the cold mausoleum, he glanced back at Jered.

“Come on!”

Not wanting to be left alone in the graveyard without a light, and admitting to curiosity, Jered followed Deck into the mausoleum.

Inside, the sculpture work was no less stunning than outside. Protected from wind and rain, the details were better preserved and even more captivating. Inside, the carving seemed more focused on the main characters of the legends: Jered could recognize Diablo from his three horns, and Mephisto from his prominent spine, and Tyrael by his magnificent wings. Baal lurked in a corner, surrounded by tentacles. The images were so realistic, Jered felt a chill creep down his spine.

“Incredible detail,” Deck whispered, echoing Jered’s thoughts.

“Yeah.”

“The sculptor must have been a real genius.”

Jered’s mouth was too dry to comment.

Deck reached out and fingered the smooth marble that had been carefully carved into the visage of an elderly man carrying a gnarled walking stick. The man had been given a kindly, yet wise face, and his eyes seemed to stare through time to meet the boys’.

“Do you know who this is?” Deck whispered in a voice so soft it was almost inaudible.

The man was so incredibly familiar to Jered, yet he couldn’t quite place him. “No, who is he? I think I know him.”

“It’s our ancestor…”

It suddenly clicked. “That’s him?!”

“Yep, that’s the one that started it all…”

“Deckard Cain…”

<Continued in Part 2>

[Sorceress Zahra]

<Continued from Part 1>

It was a long time before the boys could peel their eyes away from the carving of Deckard Cain, the original Deckard Cain, and continue their observation of the mausoleum’s interior. As they moved on, Jered’s attention was less focused on his surroundings as he contemplated the sculpture.

He had known that the Cain family had had an ancestor named Deckard who’d likely owned the last name of Cain – Deck had been named for an ancient ancestor named Deckard. But the legends said that Deckard Cain had been part of the battle between Heaven and Hell and had helped the human savior defeat the Prime Evils. Seeing the sculpture of Deckard Cain, so lifelike, as if the artist had been looking at the living man while making his carving, made Jered wonder if Deckard Cain really had existed as the legends claimed. If he had, what else was true…

Lost in thought, he missed what his cousin said.

“What?”

“Weren’t you paying attention, Jered?”

“Sorry, I was thinking. What did you say?”

Deck gave his cousin a cross look. “I said, we’ve gone below the level of the cemetery, and we’re into the ancient catacombs. Whoever built the mausoleum must have made sure it connected to the old Monastery catacombs.”

“Catacombs?” The word made Jered shiver. “I really don’t want to be down here. Let’s go.”

“Not yet. I need to find the right place.”

Jered furrowed his brow as he frowned. “’Right place?’ Right place for what? Haven’t we seen enough?”

Deck didn’t answer, but turned his back and continued on. In the flashlight’s powerful beam, water could be seen dripping down the walls, and niter could be seen streaking the rough-hewn stone passages branching off from their main corridor. Though Jered spotted the typical catacomb niches in the walls, he was relieved to see that they were empty. He recalled learning in history class that city officials had ordered the catacombs emptied of remains during a plague outbreak centuries ago, fearing that the decomposing remains might contribute to the spread of plague. Of course, they had been wrong about how the plague spread and the remains had needlessly ended up in a mass grave in the middle of nowhere, but at least it meant that now he didn’t have to face rows of mindlessly grinning skulls in the middle of a dank, dark, creepy corridor.

Deck pressed on for what seemed like an eternity, then stopped in front of a wall covered in unique symbols. Jered recognized the symbols as runes. His grandfather had an old leather-bound volume in his den about them, and though Jered didn’t believe in the myths and legend of the Prime Evils, he had found the idea of power from symbols fascinating. In secret, he had tried to make his own runestones and form a runeword to help him in his schoolwork, but it hadn’t worked. He suspected that the runes his grandfather’s volume spoke of were special stones, created by some master craftsman, and his pitiful attempts would never work.

“That’s a runeword for containment,” Jered told Deck, recognizing a series of runes scrawled into the stone wall.

Deck gave his cousin an odd look. “How do you know?”

“Vex, Hel, Cham, Eth…” Jered rattled off the runes in the runeword, ignoring his cousin’s suspicious looks. “It spells out the runeword ‘Binding.’”

“You don’t believe in the Prime Evils and the ancient battles, but you can read runewords?” Deck asked, skeptical.

Jered felt his cheeks flush despite the damp chill of the catacombs. “I, uh, found them fascinating. Look, I know what it says, okay?”

Breaking into a grin, Deck thumped Jered on the back. “I knew you’d come around! This is what I’m looking for.”

“A wall with runes? I could have shown you the same runewords in Grandpa’s study back home.” Jered was now slightly confused. Was this what Deck had dragged him into the middle of the cemetery for?

Again, Deck shrugged off his pack and began rummaging through it. This time, instead of crowbars, out came hammers and chisels. Now, Jered was completely confused.

“That’s a stone wall. What do you plan on doing, knocking it down?” Jered asked.

Slightly annoyed, Deck replied, “It’s not solid stone, it’s a kind of plaster. Here, look.” He dove into the pack again and retrieved a very old, battered volume.

Jered’s eyes instantly grew as wide as saucers. “Deck, that’s from Grandpa’s study! He’ll kill you!”

Shrugging, Deck replaced the volume in his pack. “Grandpa’s at a conference in South Kingsport for the weekend. He’ll never know.”

“Wh-what does the book say?” Jered asked, still shaken. It was very unlike his cousin to be so brazen about theft. And so brazen about breaking and entering, as well.

“Behind this plaster wall, there’s an ancient side crypt and ossuary that the city officials didn’t know about during the plague. It’s remained intact for centuries. Inside are the remains of several powerful Priests of Rathma and their followers.” Deck seemed rather pleased with his knowledge, and the slightly insane smile returned.

“’Priests of Rathma?’” Jered asked. “Who were they? Sound kinda creepy.”

“You never listened to Grandpa, did you?” Deck admonished.

Jered sighed. “Pretend you’re Grandpa. Who were they?”

Straightening and warming to the role of lecturer, Deck brought out the antique volume from his pack and opened it to the spot he’d marked with one of his monster trading cards – the evil yet sultry redheaded Demon Queen Andariel. He set her carefully aside, another member of his audience. (Truth be told, he had a bit of a crush on the image of the sensual Maiden of Anguish, even though he knew she was one of the worst denizens of the Burning Hells. Boris Vallejo had done a superb job depicting the demoness on her throne of bones.)

“The Priests of Rathma were the victims of misunderstanding – a lot like you and me. They understood the cycle of life, and unlike the other magic users of the time, they knew it was wrong to mess with life and death. They were called necromancers by the rest of the world.”

“Necromancers,” Jered blurted, interrupting. “Those guys who raised skeleton armies?! That sounds like messing with death to me.”

Deck once again gave Jered a cross look. “They only raised the corpses of enemies to do their bidding, Jered. That’s like scooping up all the bullets the other side shoots at you and firing them right back.”

Actually, that made pretty good sense, Jered mused. He said as much, but Deck only rolled his eyes.

Continuing, Deck showed Jered the worn, faded image in the tome. It was a woodcut of a gaunt man standing over a corpse which was laid out on a slab of stone. Around the corpse, candles illuminated the scene, which was clearly supposed to be in some sort of crypt. Other people, dressed in long, dark robes, stood just outside the candle glow.

“That’s a scene of a corpse raising,” Deck said. “The man in the middle is a Priest of Rathma – a Necromancer. The others are his students; they’re learning the craft.”

Jered studied the image, then looked at the rune-covered wall behind him. He wondered why Deck wanted to uncover the final resting place of a Necromancer.

Deck must have seen his cousin’s glance, because he said, “Come on, there’s nothing to worry about. These guys are long dead. But one was buried with a certain talisman, the Arm of King Leoric. It’s a wand that’s so powerful, no one would dare touch us ever again!”

The energy in Deck’s words, and the idea of never having to endure another wedgie in the locker room sold Jered. If the Priests of Rathma truly understood the cycle of life, then they wouldn’t mind two undersized seventh-graders borrowing an ancient relic to survive junior high…

“All right,” Jered said. “I’ll do it. But we’d better hope this plaster is thin.”

Deck grinned and carefully stowed the ancient tome with Andariel once again marking the page on Necromancers (he winked at Vallejo’s handiwork before closing the book). Handing his cousin a hammer and chisel, he took up the other and began examining the plaster wall for the best place to begin working. As he searched, Jered studied the runes more closely.

Deck grinned and carefully stowed the ancient tome with Andariel once again marking the page on Necromancers (he winked at Vallejo’s handiwork before closing the book). Handing his cousin a hammer and chisel, he took up the other and began examining the plaster wall for the best place to begin working. As he searched, Jered studied the runes more closely.

“If the guys inside are long dead – and they were good to begin with – I wonder why someone put so many containment runewords on this wall?” Jered tapped one of the runewords experimentally, wondering if anything would happen. Nothing did.

“Probably just their way of protecting the dead so no one would disturb them,” Deck replied, still looking for some obvious defect in the plaster.

“Someone like us,” Jered said, only half joking.

The plaster looked like perfect stone all around, so Deck gave up on finding an obvious defect and set out to make one of his own. He hoped that age and dampness had deteriorated the material to the point where it would be easy to tear down the wall, and placed his chisel in a small depression in the stone. Heaving the hammer with all of his might, he landed a solid blow on the chisel. A piece of plaster chipped out, but not much.

“Come on, Jered. Maybe together, we can get something going.”

Reluctantly, Jered started working on the plaster as well. It was dusty, tiring work, without much to show. The plaster was looking to be as solid as real stone, and Jered was about to heave a sigh of relief. Perhaps now he could convince Deck to turn around and head home – in fifteen minutes, it would be midnight, and midnight in a graveyard was just too spooky.

Frustrated, Deck hurled his hammer at the wall and spat an expletive at the same time, a word Jered didn’t expect to come from his cousin. Before Jered could admonish Deck, a loud crack resounded in the corridor and both boys turned to look where Deck’s hammer had landed against the plaster wall.

A large crack now split a section of the plaster, and a small hole had opened where the hammer end had punched into the plaster material. Their work had paid off, and the plaster was nowhere as thick as they had expected. Deck approached carefully, surprised his temper had actually helped for once.

“I think we can widen this crack,” Deck said, poking it with the end of the chisel he still grasped in his hand.

Jered glanced around and found his cousin’s hammer, which had ricocheted into a corner. He handed it back to Deck.

“Be careful, okay.”

Deck accepted the hammer without a word and began working on the crack like a man possessed. With Jered working higher up, it didn’t take very long to open the crack wide enough to admit the two slim boys. Deck put aside his hammer and chisel, puffing from exertion, and thrust his flashlight into the wide crack.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed.

“What, find a mummy’s treasure?” Jered asked excitedly.

“Mummies only exist in the desert, you moron,” Deck shot back. “There are a whole bunch of stone caskets in here, decorated really neat! It’s awesome.”

Despite his trepidation, Jered wanted to see. He realized that they were the first to see the tomb since it had been sealed, which had likely been centuries before.

Stepping cautiously into the tomb, Deck panned the flashlight around, and Jered had his first glimpse. He’d expected everything to be covered in layers of dust and cobwebs like in the movies, but everything was startlingly pristine, as if some ghostly maid had come in and cleaned moments before. He figured that the seal had been so tight, nothing, not even dust or spiders, could get in or out, but the effect was still eerie. Candles that had once adorned altars near the stone sarcophagi had burnt down to nothing, and the wax looked strange, though ancient wax probably should look strange after so much time in a damp environment.

The walls of the tomb were not adorned with decoration like the mausoleum above, but care had still been taken with their carving such that angles were sharp and Jered was certain that if he’d brought his father’s surveying equipment, he’d have found the stone room to be perfectly square.

The sarcophagi were decorated with images of a dragon upon which rested a depiction of the world. The dragon’s eyes portrayed a deep wisdom, as if it knew the answers to all the questions anyone could ever ask. Jered found himself fascinated by the detail work on the sarcophagi, such a contrast to the stark tomb around them. He ran his fingers over the fine carving, musing that the men interred within must have been very powerful Priests of Rathma indeed to have warranted such rich burials.

“The dragon is Trag’Oul,” Deck said, noticing Jered’s admiration of the beast. “The Necromancers believed that the world lies on his back.”

“So he’s their deity?” Jered asked, looking again at the dragon’s all-knowing eyes.”

“Not really, but he’s the closest thing they had to one,” Deck said. Holding out his arms to encompass the entire tomb, he said, “Isn’t this place amazing?”

“Yeah, it’s great,” Jered admitted.

Deck set his flashlight on an altar so its beam pointed up, illuminating most of the tomb. Setting his pack on the altar’s wide top as well, he began rummaging through and removing more items. First, he set out candles in holders he’d borrowed from home. Using a cheap plastic lighter, he began lighting a dozen candles and handed them off to Jered to place on the other altars in the tomb.

“We need plenty of light,” Deck explained, continuing to light candles as if he were working an assembly line.

After two dozen candles were set out and the tomb glowed with an almost cheery orange flicker, Deck turned off his flashlight and tucked it into his jacket pocket. As Jered watched, Deck removed more items from the seemingly bottomless pack. Again, the ancient tome came out and was set in the middle of the altar, but so was a pale stick that was covered in odd squiggles that looked to Jered like a poor attempt at making runes.

“What’s the stick for?” Jered asked.

“It’s a wand,” Deck replied. “I was supposed to cover it in certain runes – how’d I do?”

Jered came forward and picked up the stick. He recognized the wood as yew, but he couldn’t tell what Deck had been trying to write.

“Let me see what you needed to do. I might be able to help,” Jered offered.

Deck pulled out another leather-bound volume, another from their grandfather’s study. Jered tried not to wince as he took it from Deck and headed to another well-lit altar to examine the runes in the book and see if he could correct Deck’s wand attempt.

As Jered worked on the wand, Deck continued to set up his altar. Salt, incense, a plastic cup filled with water, a sacred dagger he’d also “borrowed” from his grandfather’s study called an arthame, and a large red candle. He also set out a small leather satchel containing herbs, some fresh and some dried.

<Continued in Part 3>

[Sorceress Zahra]

<Continued from Part 2>

Nose tucked in the rune book, Jered ignored his cousin’s work at the altar. Deck had tried to make the runeword “White” with the runes Dol and Io. But neither rune was especially easy to carve, particularly on the small, curved surface of the wand. Taking out his pocket knife, Jered opened it to the smallest blade and began correcting the runes. He wasn’t sure that carving runes would actually work, though. All his research on runes and his own failed rune experiments led him to believe that he needed the original runestones. But knowing his cousin’s obstinate nature, he decided to say nothing.

Finished with the wand, Jered closed his knife and returned it to his pocket, then presented his cousin with the finished, corrected piece. The look in Deck’s eyes was all the thanks Jered needed. Though Jered liked adventuring with his cousin, they didn’t share the same beliefs. Working together, believing in the same thing, meant the world to Deck.

“Now, one last thing,” Deck said, reaching into his pack.

Jered surveyed the neatly laid out altar, noting that it looked like Deck was preparing for some sort of ritual. What ritual would they need to find the Arm of Leoric?

Deck withdrew a small box from his pack with reverence and set in the exact center of the altar. The box was covered in swirling writing that Jered only recognized as the Eastern language.

“What is it?” Jered asked.

“One last thing I borrowed from Grandpa’s study,” Deck replied, completely evading the question.

“I figured that,” Jered replied in exasperation, “but what is it?”

With all the care and reverence as if he were handling a holy relic, Deck opened the box and revealed what was inside. A small stone shard rested on red silk within. It was attached to a black cord, but Jered doubted that it was meant for anyone to actually wear. In the flickering candlelight, the stone seemed to glow with an inner, amber-colored fire.

“Is it actually glowing?” Jered asked, reaching out to touch the stone.

“It’s a piece of the Worldstone,” Deck said in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

Jered’s hand stopped before it reached the stone. He hadn’t heard right, obviously.

“The Worldstone?” he asked, incredulous.

“Yes, the Worldstone,” Deck said, unfazed by Jered’s tone. He started in awe at the softly glowing shard. “Just before Deckard Cain died, Tyrael appeared to him and gave him a piece of the Worldstone, said it was something to remind Cain’s descendants that evil really had existed in the world and to be ever vigilant lest it reappear.”

“But… it was destroyed!”

Deck looked up and gave his cousin his trademark superior sneer that was becoming all too common anymore. “Yes, Tyrael destroyed it. But he didn’t obliterate it. Seriously, Jered, you really need to listen to Grandpa one of these days. He picked up a piece and kept it. He really regretted having to destroy the Stone.”

Jered stared at the shard, a funny feeling blossoming in his stomach. Something was really not right about this situation. He really had listened to his grandfather’s stories about the destruction of the Worldstone, but nowhere had the elder Cain mentioned anything about a shard of the Stone remaining. Jered suspected that the remnant’s existence wasn’t a good thing.

“Look, Deck, what does all this have to do with finding the Arm of Leoric? I don’t understand what we’re doing down here.”

Deck’s superior look returned, and Jered found it infinitely annoying. “Jered, there are six caskets. The lids are too heavy for us to lift. I’m just going to do a simple spell, and the talisman will come right to us. Simple, easy, we’ll be out in no time.”

Jered’s feeling of uneasiness grew. Somehow, he knew his cousin wasn’t telling him the whole truth. There was something more going on, and Jered knew it had something to do with that shard. But he couldn’t have left, even if he’d wanted to. He hadn’t paid any attention where they were headed as they’d descended into the catacombs, and though he was fairly certain the corridor was a straight shot, he wasn’t about to risk getting lost in the ancient catacombs. And Deck had the only flashlight. A candle might last a little while, but not long enough to get him out of the graveyard. Jered was, he realized, stuck.

Settling onto the floor in a corner of the tomb, Jered stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and waited, silently wishing he didn’t have such a charismatic cousin – or any cousin at all, for that matter.

Flipping to another section in the first leather-bound volume, Deck found the section he’d marked with the Duriel trading card. Julie Bell had made Duriel a muscle-bound human male with blue skin and a vicious grin, though Deck recalled his grandfather’s tales that Duriel was really part-maggot. The Prince of Pain was set aside and Deck read carefully through the incantation the card had marked. He’d read it many times before, but it was complex and he needed to make certain that he made no mistakes. The words were of an ancient language, but Deck had worked hard to make sure he had the proper pronunciation. He’d worked for many months in secret to prepare for this night. No one, not even Jered, his best friend, knew to what lengths he’d gone.

Positioning the tome so he could follow the incantation and have access to the items on the altar, Deck reached into the box containing the Worldstone shard and picked up the glowing piece by the cord. The Stone was much heavier than expected and pulled hard on the cord as if it were trying to escape. Deck put the shard around his neck and the glow seemed to strengthen and turn from amber to daffodil yellow. He then picked up the wand and noticed his cousin’s corrections. Jered really had studied the runes – Dol and Io were carved as perfectly as if done by a master’s hand. Truly, Jered was a Cain whether he liked it or not.

Scratching a circle into the stone floor with the arthame, and creating a second, smaller circle within that made of salt, Deck felt that the ritual’s preparations were ready. Had he been a true Necromancer, he could have simply recited the incantation without all the preparation. But as a novice, he didn’t have the strength of will, and things could go terribly wrong.

“Jered, come here and step inside the circle.”

The taller cousin looked at the ritual setup with a mixture of puzzlement and concern. “Deck, magic doesn’t work. It’s not real.”

Feeling distinctly like a teacher working with a very dull pupil, Deck sighed in exasperation. “Jered, don’t you understand? I have a shard of the Worldstone. There’s enough energy left in it for a spell.”

“But it’s not real,” Jered insisted. “The stories of magic are just… stories. The Worldstone was just a convenient excuse for magic.”

For a fleeting moment, Deck felt true hatred for his cousin well up. As quickly as it had appeared, it vanished, leaving nothing but annoyance behind.

“Jered, just do me a favor and stand in the circle.”

Heaving a sigh that seemed to go all the way to his toes, Jered stood up and walked over to his cousin and the concentric circles. Careful not to touch them, he stepped into them and shrugged.

“There, happy now?”

“Just stand there and be quiet.”

Jered watched over Deck’s shoulder as his shorter cousin looked at his watch and counted down the seconds to midnight. Midnight. In a dank tomb. Under the earth. With six stone sarcophagi and their contents and a cousin who seemed more than just slightly insane. Jered felt his heart start to beat a little faster as he flashed back to the carving of the elderly man in the mausoleum above. What if everything their grandfather had said was true? What would happen if Deck succeeded with his magic? Since the Worldstone’s destruction, magic had not existed and mankind had existed quite comfortably without it. Was avoiding the torments of bullies worth disturbing the slumbering powers of Heaven and Hell?

Whatever the case, it was not Jered’s decision. When Deck’s watch beeped the midnight hour, Deck began the incantation, the odd words swirling about them within the circle like a dense fog rolling off the water.

Looking around nervously, Jered expected the tomb to crack open and a host of angry angels to come in with swords waving, demanding to know what they were doing. But nothing of the sort happened. Instead, Deck’s incantation continued to swirl around them, then swept out into the tomb like the wind from a summer storm, causing most of the candles to go out. When Deck finished the words, a sharp sound rent the tomb and Jered swore he could hear the low rumble of heavy stone scraping against rock. The remaining candles guttered, then went out completely, throwing the tomb into utter blackness.

The boys stood rooted in place for a full minute, hardly daring to breathe. Finally, a scuffling sound from the direction of the plaster wall caught their attention.

“What’s that?” Jered whispered in the ear of his cousin, a corner of his mind wondering what it would be like to be eaten by a zombie.

Not replying, Deck took the flashlight out of his jacket pocket with trembling fingers and switched it on, aiming it at the tomb entrance. Though the beam of the flashlight had been strong when they’d started out on their adventure, it was now weak and golden. But it showed the source of the noise.

Jered wished with all his heart it had been a zombie. A zombie would have been much easier to deal with.

In the crack in the plaster wall stood a very large boy a head taller than Jered and more than twice as wide. He had curly red hair and a remarkably porcine face. Though he was quite overweight, his arms were very muscular and powerful and could land a surprising number of painful blows. He grinned at his quarry, revealing yellow, crooked teeth.

“Mal,” Deck groaned.

That the boy’s name meant “bad” in Latin was certainly ironic.

“Well, well, if it isn’t little Dekkie and Leggy,” Mal sneered, sizing up the two boys. The school’s main bully, Mal had beaten them both bloody on numerous occasions.

Jered loathed Mal’s nickname for him, Leggy. Mal had bestowed it upon him because Jered ran track, and was quite a good runner despite his thin stature – mostly because he was always running from Mal and his gang at school. Jered had once tried telling the superintendent about Mal’s bullying, only to have Mal catch him later and give him a black eye, a cracked rib, and too many bruises to count. After that, Jered had learned to run every time he spotted Mal or one of his minions.

“I followed you two out here,” Mal continued as he squeezed through the crack in the plaster. “I wondered why you goody-goodies would be breaking curfew.”

“Don’t say anything!” Deck whispered, warning his cousin, though Jered had no intention of explaining anything to the oversized lump of flesh with fists.

“You got a pet down here?” Mal asked, looking around in the dim lighting.

Without the candles, almost nothing could be seen of the tomb. Deck kept the flashlight beam pointed in Mal’s face so the pudgy boy couldn’t see the altar or the sarcophagi. Jered realized, with a sinking feeling, that Mal was between them and the only exit, and it was just a matter of time before he decided to stop talking and start swinging.

Then, another voice joined Mal’s. “How’d you get through here?”

Another boy was coming through the crack in the plaster. Larger than Mal, Niles was Mal’s best friend and second in command of his gang. Mal was never seen without him, so it was only inevitable that the boy would show up at the tomb as well.

If Mal was large, Niles was huge. He seemed to have a perpetually surprised look on his face, which made him look extremely stupid, especially since he never knew the answers at school. Rumor had it that he’d been held back several grades, and he was large enough that most people believed it.

When Niles finally joined Mal in the tomb, Jered’s sense of dread was complete. Zombies, demons, even facing Diablo unarmed would have been better than facing the two worst bullies in school. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, and neither Deck nor Jered had anything to use as a weapon if things got ugly – and they would.

“So, what’d you find down here, kiddies?” Mal sneered. “Anything I’ll like?”

All the pent up anger and frustration in Deck came out at once. “Leave us alone, Mal. There’s nothing for you here but death and dust.”

Startled by the answer, it took Mal a moment to digest it. “Is that a threat, little man?”

“Not if I don’t want it to be,” Deck snapped. He still had the yew wand in his hand and he instinctively gripped it tighter.

“Deck, what do you think you’re doing?” Jered hissed frantically in his cousin’s ear. Deck’s behavior had been odd all night, but this was by far the worst.

In his own mind, Deck wasn’t really sure what had come over him. He just felt an overwhelming need to lash out and release his anger and frustration, but there was something more to it. It had felt good, too. Powerful.

Suddenly, in the back of Deck’s mind, he felt something tingle, almost like a half-remembered thought or idea. Then a word formed in his mind: Master. Somehow, he didn’t think the word was his, but he didn’t know where else it could have come from. He tried to push the thoughts aside as he focused on Mal and Niles, who were not at all happy with him.

“Dekkie, you’re really pushing my limits,” Mal said, stalking closer to the small boy and starting to bunch up a fist.

A scraping sound in a dark corner of the tomb caught the attention of the four boys.

Rat, Jered thought, keeping his mind on the impending doom of Mal and Niles before him.

“So, you do have a pet down here, huh?” Mal said with some satisfaction. “What is it, a nice, juicy rat?”

“None of your business,” Deck shot back, getting angry again.

“Oh, touchy,” Mal noticed with a wicked grin. He turned to Niles, malice glinting in his beady black eyes. “Go find that rat. Let’s show these kiddies what respect means.”

Jered could just imagine what Niles and Mal would do to a living creature if they found one. But at least Niles’s attention was elsewhere. If Mal would move away from the crack, he could make a run for it and be back with help before the bullies could do any serious damage to Deck. Deck would forgive him for running – Deck wasn’t a runner, and though he was quick and agile, he just couldn’t match Jered’s all-out speed. Surely, there would be a patrol nearby. Though it would mean confessing to several serious crimes, he’d confess to murder if it meant escaping Mal and Niles.

He was about to ask Deck to distract Mal when another, more prolonged scraping noise came from the same tomb corner. Jered frowned slightly. Really big rat, he thought, then remembered their entrance to the tomb and realized that not even spiders had lived there. So what’s making that noise? Another of Mal’s gang? But, surely, Mal would have mentioned that instead of pretending it was a rat, wouldn’t he?

Niles turned his enormous back on the group and headed for the corner of the tomb, shuffling along since he didn’t have a flashlight. Apparently, he thought he could catch a rodent bare-handed in the dark. Seeing as how he could best be described as a rat himself, though, the plan probably had merit.

Again, Jered felt the odd tingling in the back of his mind and the word Master came to mind. He pushed it away. Why was that word coming to mind now? All he wanted to do was concentrate on finding a way to get rid of Mal and Niles. He could imagine a thousand different painful ends for them, but none were exactly feasible. At the moment, though, he really wished a zombie would spring from the shadows and attack. Though he knew it was wasting time and energy, he allowed himself the luxury to enjoy the thought of Mal and Niles at the mercy of the undead. As he turned the images over in his mind, the tingling in the back of his mind became stronger, and he had the sudden impression that his idea had been understood by someone, though he’d never spoken a word.

Mal grinned at Deck and Jered, knowing they were trapped and about to witness the torture and death of whatever rat they had befriended in the tomb. Feeling very full of himself, he glanced to the corner where Niles was supposed to be hunting the creature. His friend was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, Niles, what’s taking so long?” Mal demanded. “It’s just a dumb old rat!”

<Continued in Part 4>

[Sorceress Zahra]

<Continued from Part 3>

Instead of an answer from Niles, the reply came in the form of a series of wet slurping sounds, drawn out and horrid like boots pulled from thick mud. The next sound was a dull thud, much like a heavy sack of potatoes dropped onto the floor.

Mal continued to look at the corner, confused, but Jered’s imagination pieced the sounds together into a horrifying picture – something had attacked Niles and dropped his lifeless body to the floor. Deck had apparently come to the same conclusion, because his face shone with a mixture of terror and excitement.

“Deck, let’s get out of here!” Jered said, grabbing his cousin’s jacket sleeve, ignoring the fact that Mal still stood between them and the exit.

Deck didn’t move. Instead, he swung the flashlight’s beam into the corner where Niles had been searching for the rat. When the impassive beam found the remains of the bully, he wished he hadn’t.

What remained of Niles was hardly recognizable as human. Bloody bones and shreds of tissue lay in a haphazard pile in a pool of glistening blood that steamed slightly in the tomb’s chill. An eyeball with a hazel iris stared up in bewilderment from the mess, as if the attack had taken Niles by such surprise that his corpse even yet didn’t realize it was dead. Droplets of blood spattered the walls and ceiling of the tomb corner, indicating the stunning force of the attack. A full-grown, muscular man with a hunting knife couldn’t have done such work.

Panning the light slowly back towards the altar, Deck found the attacker. He had accomplished what he had set out to do months ago, and the results were nothing short of astonishing. Standing a good six feet tall and more, the skeletal warrior still wore the remnants of the armor he had been laid to rest in – leather, chain, steel; dull and glinting, spikes and studs, straps and buckles. The crown atop the skull bore the dragon crest of the Priests of Rathma, and the skeleton wielded a Kris blade crusted black with what had to be the infamous poisons the Necromancers were known to use. Fresh blood spattered the reanimated skeleton, staining his tattered robes and grey bones with crimson.

Deck knew that the sight before him should be terrifying, but he felt a strange sense of exhilaration and wonder, like the time his father had taken him for a ride in a sports car on the New Gholein Highway right after it had opened. He had raised a skeleton! He had become a Necromancer! Indeed, the Worldstone shard had held enough of the old magic for him to raise a skeleton to accomplish what he’d dreamt of doing ever since he’d entered junior high – ending the reign of bullies like Mal and Niles. Niles was dead. Now for Mal.

Concentrating, Deck imagined the undead warrior destroying Mal. Again, the idea of understanding tingled in the back of Deck’s mind and he realized that he’d formed a bond with the summoned skeleton. It was, he figured, the only logical way a Necromancer could control his minions while in a heated battle – shouting incantations all the time would be too complicated.

Jered watched in utter horror as Mal was ripped to shreds by the reanimated corpse. Nothing from his grandfather’s stories had ever prepared him for anything like this. Then again, this kind of thing only happened in movies and ghost stories. He wouldn’t have believed it to be real, but Mal’s blood splattered across his face and the coppery metallic odor told him that his imagination was, for once, dormant.

What has Deckard done? Jered wondered, glancing at his cousin and seeing the excitement flushing his cousin’s pale cheeks. Deck looked like he was enjoying himself. Obviously, Deck had never intended to find the Arm of Leoric, whether it existed or not. His sole purpose had been to find a tomb with a suitable corpse he could reanimate. He’s been working on this for weeks – months, even! What has gotten into him?

The skeleton finished its grisly work and what had once been Mal was now laid out in a Jackson Pollock-like arrangement on the formerly pristine stone floor. The warrior stood calmly over his handiwork as if critiquing it, ignoring Deck and Jered.

“Deckard Cain, what in the name of Heaven’s Light have you done?” Jered demanded, not raising his voice too loud, but attempting to make it as stern as possible.

Deck looked at his cousin as if Jered were the insane one. “What? I did what I had to do. Mal and Niles had to be stopped.”

“Did… did you invite them down here?” Jered asked, incredulous.

“’Anonymous tip’ was more like it,” Deck coolly replied.

“You murdered two people, Deckard!” Jered could not believe what was happening. Surely, this was all some sort of twisted nightmare. The alarm clock would ring soon, and he’d wake up shaken, but in his own room…

“Murder? I never raised a hand to anyone, Jered. You saw that.” Deck gestured to the hulking revived skeleton. “I can’t help what happens when a cranky corpse wakes up.”

Things began clicking into place, including the runeword on the wand. “Yes, you could, Deck,” Jered said. “You somehow told that rack of bones to murder Niles and Mal. That makes you a murderer.”

It was becoming increasingly obvious that, although Jered was family and had a talent for runes, he had no understanding of family ties or to what ends suffering could drive a person. Deck was a little sad that he couldn’t depend on his cousin. He would have made Jered a partner in his ventures with his new-found power. But if Jered wasn’t going to help him, he could always summon a corpse to be a friend later – maybe even Jered’s own skeleton.

“Step out of the circle, Jered,” Deck said, his voice dead calm.

“What?” Jered didn’t understand what circles had to do with murder.

“Just… back up. I want you to see something.” Deck gripped the yew wand tight and started focusing his mind, now acutely aware of the presence of his bond with his summoned creature.

Wary, Jered backed up, but stayed within the circles on the tomb floor. He knew nothing about the rituals surrounding magic, but instinct told him that if Deck wanted him out, he’d better stay put. He glanced around, looking for any distraction, anything to help him. His only possible weapons were under him – his legs. The path to the tomb exit was clear, and in a pinch, he could make it to the exit and run, praying the corridor was straight and that he was headed the right way out.

Deck noticed that his cousin hadn’t obeyed and he felt a surge of anger. Surprising himself, he lashed out at Jered and tried to shove him out of the circle. Jered, watching Deck, caught his cousin’s movements in time and grabbed him before he could get up enough force for a descent shove. The two went sprawling to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, thrashing about wildly, each flailing blindly at the other in unsuccessful attempts to land blows. The only thing they managed to do was disturb the circles on the floor: their thrashings swept away patches of the salt circle, and their shoes scuffed away the markings of the inscribed circle.

Their tussle only lasted until Deck ended up with a split lip and Jered was nursing an eye he was certain would turn black. The two broke apart and went to opposite sides of the circle, furious with each other. Jered now had no clue what was wrong with his cousin. Deck never fought, ever. He’d been more secretive and cranky than usual for the past couple of months, but Jered had figured it was just because Mal and his gang had chosen to focus on him a little more-

It hit Jered light a bolt of lightning.

“Mal really did something terrible to you, didn’t he?” Jered asked of his cousin, his anger with him starting to abate.

Those words seemed to make Deck even more furious. “Mal’s a pig, but I can handle myself!” he spat. “You want to know something? I found the truth, Jered. I found the Stone, and I realized the truth.”

Now, Jered felt confusion setting in. What truth?

“Deck, you’re not making any sense.”

Deck drilled his cousin with his piercing glare, but Jered realized that the eyes were no loner the vivid aquamarine he knew so well. They were… red. He blinked, sure it was an illusion. When he looked again, he noticed that the shard of the Worldstone had also changed: its glow was now a brilliant neon yellow. Deck’s eyes were still smoldering red embers, and his lip curled in a cruel and menacing expression.

“Who… What…” Jered couldn’t find any more words. He realized that his cousin wasn’t the being standing before him in the tomb – something had overcome him, something very sinister and far worse than the skeleton warrior who liked to make fingerpaintings with viscera.

“Your cousin performed well for me,” a raspy, vile voice spoke from Deck’s mouth. “He found the shard with my essence, and he so desperately wanted something I could provide for him – vengeance.”

Jered’s head swam. He thought back to the shard and his grandfather’s stories. Baal’s touch had completely corrupted the Worldstone. It had to be destroyed, his grandfather had said, recounting Tyrael’s decision. The consequences of the words hit Jered like a fist. By Heaven’s Light, Deckard was messing with tainted power to begin with! What has he done? Oh, sweet angels in Heaven, help us!

“You know, now.” The words were a statement, as if the being possessing Deck could read Jered’s mind.

Looking up in astonishment, Jered was taken by further surprise. Where his cousin had once existed, he was no more. Instead, terrible demon stood in his place. Smoldering red eyes, tentacles draping from the back of his cranium, and four thick legs that reminded Jered of the legs on a preying mantis. He recognized the image, though he’d never believed the being had ever been real.

“Baal,” he whispered.

Baal laughed, a high-pitched hysterical laugh of pure madness. With a mere gesture, he raised the five other skeleton warriors from their not-so-final resting places. All were dressed similar to the would-be viscera artist.

The terrified Jered tried to run, but found himself tied in place by foul-smelling tentacles that sprouted from the ground, holding him in place like living ropes. He tried to scream, but one snaked its way into his mouth and blocked any sound but a whimper. As he struggled, he thought he lost control of his bladder, but realized that the event was the least of his problems.

Baal finished laughing, then addressed his small army and the captive Jered. “Thanks to the descendant of that thorn in my side, Deckard Cain, I can live again and have some more fun. Now, we go and rebuild our army. With no Horadrim around to stop us, we’ll rule the world.”

Settling his eyes on Jered, Baal said, “Now, let’s go raise a little Cain, shall we?”

-END

[Sorceress Zahra]

Okay, that's my first story. So, what's the verdict?

[The Last Melon]

Okay, that's my first story. So, what's the verdict?

Uh...brilliant?

I found a few problems, although I feel like I'm intruding upon RevenantsKnight's territory...


“Though you were a gonner, huh?”

Hopefully that's a typo. Should be easy to fix.

...All right, one problem. I couldn't find the rest.

[Sorceress Zahra]

Uh...brilliant?

I found a few problems, although I feel like I'm intruding upon RevenantsKnight's territory...



Hopefully that's a typo. Should be easy to fix.

...All right, one problem. I couldn't find the rest.

Eeek! Typo! <Faints into a heap on the floor. Comes to after dog licks my face - I'm now blushing.>

:lol: Okay, typos aren't death. Thanks for pointing it out, The Last Melon. I can't edit the story here, but I'll edit the main copy on my computer.

Glad you liked it! I'm working on more...

Question - did you find it too long? RevenantsKnight thought I should have waited in between posting the story's parts so as not to intimidate from sheer length. Your opinion?

-Zahra

[D2Freak91776]

I really liked it. I can see another typo:

“I’ll be Grandpa could read that,” Deck murmured. bet?

Really nice job. Is there going to be a sequel?

[Sorceress Zahra]

I really liked it. I can see another typo:

“I’ll be Grandpa could read that,” Deck murmured. bet?

Really nice job. Is there going to be a sequel?

Drat! Another typo! And I was sure I fixed that one when I copied the document to the forum... Oh, well, in some 70,000+ chars, 2 typos aren't bad.

Sorry, no sequels to this. It's a stand alone. I don't even know if it's the kid's nightmare, of if this is Baal's way of coming back. Heck, can evil ever really be killed?

-Zahra

[tamrend]

It's good to see someone new visiting the FFF. Overall impressions first: I thought that the plot and pacing were generally good, though I found the characterization to be a bit lacking at times. In particular, the bullies are given cardboard dumb bully personalities. The boys seemed to be a bit off at times as well, and the choice of names (Jered and Deckard are both names of ancestors) made it easy to forget who was who, given the omniscient viewpoint.

Still, I would have to say that this is one of the better "modern-day Sanctuary" stories I have seen, and one which uses such a setting intelligently. On to the nitpicks:


It was what lay beyond the fence that was the destination of the two boys.

This is one instance where passive voice takes away from the narrative. "The boys' destination lay beyond the fence," is a much tighter sentence, though admittedly less self-important.


He had known that the Cain family had had an ancestor named Deckard who’d likely owned the last name of Cain – Deck had been named for an ancient ancestor named Deckard.

A bit of repetition.


Deck must have seen his cousin’s glance, because he said, “Come on, there’s nothing to worry about. These guys are long dead. But one was buried with a certain talisman, the Arm of King Leoric. It’s a wand that’s so powerful, no one would dare touch us ever again!”

The energy in Deck’s words, and the idea of never having to endure another wedgie in the locker room sold Jered. If the Priests of Rathma truly understood the cycle of life, then they wouldn’t mind two undersized seventh-graders borrowing an ancient relic to survive junior high…

The rationalization doesn't fit here. Up until this point and for almost the rest of the story, Jered doesn't believe in magic. His first impulse should be doubt, not the prospect of protection from bullies.


Instead, terrible demon stood in his place.

Another typo. Catching them helps me feel better about mine. ;)

[Sorceress Zahra]

Hello, tamrend!

I actually wanted my bullies to be cardboard in this story since they were only intended as a sort of "decoration," and an explanation for the motives of Deck...

The scene with the Arm of Leoric was, admitedly, lame. I'd taken my medication for nighttime, was waiting to fall asleep, and thought I'd write. Bad combination, and I never repaired the damage because... I couldn't think of anything better. How would Deck get his cousin down into that particular tomb otherwise? Admit he wanted to raise a corpse? I probably should have come up with something about a cool sarcophagus or a pet rat or snake or something really awesome and non-magic :xmas23:

Sigh, typos. They'll be the end of me... :xmas1:

-Zahra :xmas8:

[TrubbaNot]

I was glad you posted all parts together.

Really very few typos for a piece of this length!

I enjoyed reading the story, and it actually stayed with me for about a day. I was least satisfied with the bullies. I didn't catch any foreshadowing of them, and they felt like an afterthought even though they drove the plot to its conclusion.

I could have been the first to comment, but felt shy because I don't usually visit here (I'm generally in the SPF). And now I'm quite tired (and rather less than coherent), so this is not an extensive critique.

I'd just like to add that I like your writing style and hope to see more of your work. :xmas23:

[nichols]

I became a fan yesterday while reading your writing about the sorceress in the Diablo 2 RP thread that was made. This was a very captivating story, and I'm sorry to hear that poor Jered did not make it. I'm one of the people that likes happy endings. Not that it was bad but, I thought it would be so cool if Jered then found the Arm of King Leoric and lol, I know this is insane, but either hindered Baal or :xmas22: killed him :xmas22:. I was wondering if Jered was going to be part of the action since he too seemed to be a Necromancer since he could hear the "master" thing in the back of his mind. Sorry to be a critic, just my 2 cents. Amazing story and loads of descriptive words for everything. Very vivid!!! :winner:

[Chewtoy]

great story, i loved it. i hope to see more of your writing some time :xmas9:

[Raging_Zealot]

“All right,” Jered said. “I’ll do it. But we’d better hope this plaster is thin.”

Deck grinned and carefully stowed the ancient tome with Andariel once again marking the page on Necromancers (he winked at Vallejo’s handiwork before closing the book). Handing his cousin a hammer and chisel, he took up the other and began examining the plaster wall for the best place to begin working. As he searched, Jered studied the runes more closely.

Deck grinned and carefully stowed the ancient tome with Andariel once again marking the page on Necromancers (he winked at Vallejo’s handiwork before closing the book). Handing his cousin a hammer and chisel, he took up the other and began examining the plaster wall for the best place to begin working. As he searched, Jered studied the runes more closely.

“If the guys inside are long dead – and they were good to begin with – I wonder why someone put so many containment runewords on this wall?” Jered tapped one of the runewords experimentally, wondering if anything would happen. Nothing did.


You accidentally repeated a paragraph, just thought I'd point it out since no one else seemed to.

Definitely a great story though, I enjoyed your writing style.

By the way, in the tomb you have Jered feeling the "master" in his head, but then it switches to Deck feeling the link, and seemed to imply the "master" was him feeling the link for the first time. Did Jered feel/hear the "master" and Deck felt the link, or was it meant to be all about Deck feeling the link?

[RevenantsKnight]

Overall, I thought this was a pretty good read. Jered and Deck are well done, I’d say, and the Sanctuary-turned-modern setting didn’t feel too out of place. The writing in general also had a strong, fluid feel to it, which made this fun to read. One quibble I had with this was that it felt too slow at the start; while the level of detail here is excellent, it does bog the story down some and I would say that you could pare it down a touch without really hurting the overall description of the plot or the world. After maybe the first five pages, though, it picked up to a pretty good pace. Also, the ending and general idea of Deck-as-Baal didn’t feel as supported by the story as it could have, perhaps. You do have hints as to this prior to the end, and it’s not exactly something that should be known too early, but for me, it didn’t seem really integrated into the rest of this adventure story. I may just be going insane again on this, but it may be worth another look. Anyway, here’re some specific comments, excluding suggestions already made:


On a cold, moonless fall night, two young boys cautiously made their way down a dark, graffitied side alley that headed towards the New Gholein Highway.

There’s a lot of detail here, which definitely helps with a mental image, but in this case, some of it feels unnecessary in terms of what would be implied. “...dark, graffitied side alley” in particular seems mostly repetitive; if it’s night out, the alley’s probably dark, and I don’t really see the difference between an “alley” and a “side alley.” Also, you touch on the graffiti part later, so “graffitied” could probably be dropped from this sentence. Trimming this down some may help to ease the reader into the story; there’s plenty of time to have details later.


The spectacular four-lane divided highway had opened five years ago in response to the congested double-lane highway through the nearby mountain pass.

This particular description of the highway just seems to fill space to me. There isn’t much of a reason to talk about it in detail other than worldbuilding (at least, as far as I can tell,) and even then, I think there’s enough in the story to do that already. Also, the first sentence had a bit of a horror-story energy to it, with Jered and Deck rather out of their ordinary lives, and by stopping to describe the highway for the rest of the paragraph, I think you lose most of what that first sentence starts to set up. For that reason, I’d suggest cutting down on sentences like these at the start, since they add minor details at the cost of pacing. You could probably mix them in later, even, if you really want them in here.


It was the only viable land route linking the fertile western lands with the arid eastern deserts, and had been a trade route for thousands of years.

Huh...not sure to which highway “it” refers, and either way, there’s more than one viable land route with the two of them, unless you meant to consider them as one route since the New Gholein Highway could more or less follow the other. This could use some clarification.


Covering the graffiti were posters and stickers revisiting the latter two categories in much greater detail.

Again, I’m not really sure why this is in here. It’s an extra image for the reader, but it’s not something that adds a lot beyond what the graffiti does, unless I missed something.


The two boys made their way past the garbage littering the alley with the help of the dull orange light from a single antique streetlamp on a nearby building.

You use “made their way” in both this sentence and the first one of the story; while the repetition isn’t bad, I’d suggest perhaps changing one of them for something else because “made their way” is a bit vague, as well as somewhat casual in tone.


The boy was almost a full five feet tall, with mouse-brown hair that hung limply against his skull and pale blue eyes that looked a tad lifeless.

Good job with the boys’ descriptions, I’d say. The only possible quibble I have here is that the presentation felt a touch like a list, but I think that it works well enough here, since you’re comparing the two of them a bit.


He was dressed in crisply pressed jeans, a nicely-laundered button-down shirt, and an expensive school jacket that clearly stated he didn’t belong any where near the alley.

“Anywhere” is one word.


Parts of the fence were bent and warped, others were missing entirely and had been replaced with chain link.

The comma after “warped” should be a semicolon, since you move from one subject (“parts of the fence”) to another (“others.”)


The gloom of the night kept them from seeing what awaited them inside the fence, but they could make out some boards that filled in a gap in the iron fence’s broken exterior.

“Fence,” sometimes with the adjective “iron,” comes up a lot in this paragraph; I’d see if you can’t trim a few of those off so it sounds a bit less repetitive. For instance, you could probably drop “the fence” from this entirely without changing the meaning, and “iron fence’s broken exterior” could be replaced by simply “ancient metal” or something like that.


The taller boy gave his crowbar a doubtful frown, as if he thought it wouldn’t work.

Nice image.


It reminded him of a horror film, the scene where he would usually yell at the actors at the screen not to go in because the monster would be waiting.

Heh. Another good touch.


Jered then started his journey into what he suspected would be reminiscent of the stories of Hell.

Uh...even with the horror-movie setup, this felt overdone. While this may not be too far from the truth, it feels like you went too heavy on the dramatic here with “stories of Hell.”


For a fleeting second, he felt panic rise as him imagination threw out the scenario of a ghoul reaching out and grabbing him.

That should be “his imagination.” Also, “threw out the scenario” is a bit on the dry side, and I’d suggest trying to make it something with a more urgent feel to it.


As his eyes adjusted to the deeper darkness this side of the fence, Jered started to make out where he was.

I might suggest describing Jered’s initial surprise or something here, before you move on with the rest of the paragraph. Something like “Squinting, he leaned forward curiously, then jerked back in shock” might introduce the “didn’t expect that” sort of feel in the next few sentences.


It was a nightmarish place, and Jered wanted to leave immediately.

Couldn’t hurt to go into a little more detail here on Jered’s reaction, especially if you want to contrast it with Deck’s.


As the white marble façade of the mausoleum loomed closer, Jered could make out more detail.

Hrm...seems like that should be “more details,” though that may be just me.


It looked like a very vivid illustration of the battle Jered’s and Deck’s grandfather always told them about.

There’re a lot of uses of “battle” in this paragraph; I’d suggest replacing or deleting a few of them. In this case, I might use “stories.”


Jered had stopped believing the fantastic tales of magic and demons when he was five, about the same time he’s stopped believing in the mystical gift-bearing elf in a red suit…

That should be “...the same time he’d stopped...”


“The Prime Evils existed – Diablo, Baal Mephisto!”

There should be a comma after “Baal.”


Deck circled the building, taking in all the detail, then returned to the massive copper-sheathed doors in front. The doors might have once had the rich luster of copper, but were now deep green with heavy patina.

I think you could drop “copper-sheathed,” given the second sentence here.


Jered turned to leave, but Deck remained standing before the copper doors as if entranced by something.

Minor nitpick: I’d drop “...by something” from the sentence, as it seems to weaken the end by being too vague.


Sometimes, Deck thought, he wished his motives could be clear to his family, or at least he wished Jered would obey him without question.

I’d replace the second “he wished” with “that,” since he’s not really wishing twice.


Now, that took more thinking.

This felt a bit too conversational in tone; I think you could drop “Now” to address that without changing this too much.


Not wanting to be left alone in the graveyard without a light, and admitting to curiosity, Jered followed Deck into the mausoleum.

Hrm...maybe “submitting to curiosity” instead?


The images were so realistic, Jered felt a chill creep down his spine.

I think the comma here is unnecessary.


In the flashlight’s powerful beam, water could be seen dripping down the walls, and niter could be seen streaking the rough-hewn stone passages branching off from their main corridor.

Personally, I thought the passive voice didn’t add much to the story here. I’d suggest dropping “In the flashlight’s powerful beam,” since that’s more or less implied, and then just switching the rest to the active voice, though that may just be me.


Deck pressed on for what seemed like an eternity, then stopped in front of a wall covered in unique symbols.

“Unique” doesn’t seem right here, since even though the runes may be special, they certainly exist in other places, such as the book Jered read.


The energy in Deck’s words, and the idea of never having to endure another wedgie in the locker room sold Jered.

There should be a comma after “room.”


He hoped that age and dampness had deteriorated the material to the point where it would be easy to tear down the wall, and placed his chisel in a small depression in the stone.

Seems to me that this should be “Hoping that age and dampness...he placed his chisel...” since the hoping and placing aren’t a sequence, but more simultaneous.


A large crack now split a section of the plaster, and a small hole had opened where the hammer end had punched into the plaster material.

Again, there’s a bit of repetition over this paragraph with the word “plaster.” I’d try to drop a few of them, if possible.


“Be careful, okay.”

Seems like that should be a question mark, not a period, at the end.


Candles that had once adorned altars near the stone sarcophagi had burnt down to nothing, and the wax looked strange, though ancient wax probably should look strange after so much time in a damp environment.

I’d add “he reasoned” after “though” here, since otherwise it sounds like the narrator’s thinking this, which contrasts with your general portrayal of the narrator as more removed from the story.


“So he’s their deity?” Jered asked, looking again at the dragon’s all-knowing eyes.”

There’s an extraneous set of quotation marks at the end here.


Using a cheap plastic lighter, he began lighting a dozen candles and handed them off to Jered to place on the other altars in the tomb.

I wouldn’t specify a number of candles here, since you do that later. Just “...began lighting them...” probably works.


Jered tried not to wince as he took it from Deck and headed to another well-lit altar to examine the runes in the book and see if he could correct Deck’s wand attempt.

I’d try to drop one use of “and” here; perhaps “...from Deck, heading to another...” would suit your needs.


Salt, incense, a plastic cup filled with water, a sacred dagger he’d also “borrowed” from his grandfather’s study called an arthame, and a large red candle.

Technically, this isn’t a complete sentence because there’s no verb. I think this is all right as it is, but if you can get the same idea across with a grammatically correct sentence, all the better.


Deck had tried to make the runeword “White” with the runes Dol and Io.

This seemed like too much adherence to the game to me, since it’s just the narrator telling the reader this without it being necessary; in theory, this entire scene could probably happen with the reader having no idea what runes those were, and that wouldn’t really change much. If you want to keep this detail, I’d try to present it in Jered’s thoughts as he tries to figure out what runes he needs so that it isn’t just the narrator popping in to drop a few facts.


Deck looked up and gave his cousin his trademark superior sneer that was becoming all too common anymore.

I don’t think you need “anymore” here.


“Seriously, Jered, you really need to listen to Grandpa one of these days. He picked up a piece and kept it.”

The way this is worded, it reads as if Grandpa picked up the piece of the Worldstone. I’d switch the order of these sentences to help clarify that.


Deck’s superior look returned, and Jered found it infinitely annoying.

From the story, I didn’t get the impression that that look had ever left, so “returned” seemed off.


He hadn’t paid any attention where they were headed as they’d descended into the catacombs, and though he was fairly certain the corridor was a straight shot, he wasn’t about to risk getting lost in the ancient catacombs.

I’d try to replace one use of “catacombs” here; perhaps the second one could be replaced by “tunnels” or something.


Julie Bell had made Duriel a muscle-bound human male with blue skin and a vicious grin, though Deck recalled his grandfather’s tales that Duriel was really part-maggot.

I don’t think “part maggot” should be hyphenated.


He’d worked for many months in secret to prepare for this night. No one, not even Jered, his best friend, knew to what lengths he’d gone.

This might be better off left unknown to the reader, for now...it seems like there are ample hints towards Deck’s reasons, and I’d suggest having the narrator work more from Jered’s perspective, not Deck’s, in these cases, since that’s the reader’s as well in a sense.


The Stone was much heavier than expected and pulled hard on the cord as if it were trying to escape. Deck put the shard around his neck and the glow seemed to strengthen and turn from amber to daffodil yellow.

The idea of the first sentence could be played out a bit more, I think; it’s something that caught my attention, and I suspect did so for other readers as well. Given that, it’s a bit of a disappointment to see you just touch on it and then move on as you do.


He then picked up the wand and noticed his cousin’s corrections.

I thought that he’d already seen them, since “The look in Deck’s eyes was all the thanks Jered needed.”


Had he been a true Necromancer, he could have simply recited the incantation without all the preparation. But as a novice, he didn’t have the strength of will, and things could go terribly wrong.

This seems more or less unnecessary to me; it’s a detail that didn’t add much to the story, in my opinion, and slowed the pace down a bit. Also, it doesn’t really flow well into the next part...


Since the Worldstone’s destruction, magic had not existed and mankind had existed quite comfortably without it.

That seemed a little too factual in its presentation; I can see why you’d want the reader to know this, but it feels like you forced it in via narration for that reason. I might have Jered think back quickly to a history lesson or something, but this definitely would sound better as part of his thoughts, and not as a fact injected by the narrator.


That the boy’s name meant “bad” in Latin was certainly ironic.

That felt a bit forced to me; I mean, who the heck names their kid “Mal”? Cardboard characters are one thing, but this seemed like a bit much.


Mal was never seen without him, so it was only inevitable that the boy would show up at the tomb as well.

This seems a bit unnecessary to me, and also, I think it weakens the next bit a little, since Jered could have more of a “going from bad to worse” feeling if this wasn’t more or less a given.


Rat, Jered thought, keeping his mind on the impending doom of Mal and Niles before him.

Seems a bit contradictory to have Jered think about that, even for a second, if he’s “keeping his mind” on something else.


Surely, there would be a patrol nearby.

I don’t know if you need the comma here, though I think it’s fine as is.


Again, Jered felt the odd tingling in the back of his mind and the word Master came to mind.

As Raging_Zealot pointed out, this was a confusing shift. Starts with Deck, moves to Jered, back to Deck...I’m assuming that this should all be Deck, from the plot. If not, this needs some explanation.

(continued)

[RevenantsKnight]

An eyeball with a hazel iris stared up in bewilderment from the mess, as if the attack had taken Niles by such surprise that his corpse even yet didn’t realize it was dead.

Nice touch.


Standing a good six feet tall and more, the skeletal warrior still wore the remnants of the armor he had been laid to rest in – leather, chain, steel; dull and glinting, spikes and studs, straps and buckles.

I think the semicolon after “steel” should be a comma, though I’m not certain that that would be correct; a semicolon just doesn’t seem to fit.


The crown atop the skull bore the dragon crest of the Priests of Rathma, and the skeleton wielded a Kris blade crusted black with what had to be the infamous poisons the Necromancers were known to use.

I don’t think “kris” should be capitalized.


Fresh blood spattered the reanimated skeleton, staining his tattered robes and grey bones with crimson.

Erm...your previous description doesn’t suggest “tattered robes,” more “armor.”


His sole purpose had been to find a tomb with a suitable corpse he could reanimate. He’s been working on this for weeks – months, even!

This seems more like the narrator’s knowledge, not Jered’s. I’d see if you can’t find a different way to present this, or perhaps remove it entirely; it feels like the reader could infer a lot of this even if you don’t say it explictly.


The skeleton finished its grisly work and what had once been Mal was now laid out in a Jackson Pollock-like arrangement on the formerly pristine stone floor.

I’d drop the Jackson Pollock reference since that’s not an element of Sanctuary; even in narration, I’d try to stick to things that would make sense in the story world, simply because then it isn’t the narrator telling the story to a modern audience by necessity.


It was becoming increasingly obvious that, although Jered was family and had a talent for runes, he had no understanding of family ties or to what ends suffering could drive a person.

At first, I had no idea whose point of view this represented. This could use some more clarification at first, especially since there isn’t a strong transition into it.


The only thing they managed to do was disturb the circles on the floor: their thrashings swept away patches of the salt circle, and their shoes scuffed away the markings of the inscribed circle.

This was a bit too dry in tone, I’d say; this is as much of an action scene as you get, so I’d try to mix this in with a few more sentences of them fighting so that you don’t lose as much energy from cutting over the action.


Their tussle only lasted until Deck ended up with a split lip and Jered was nursing an eye he was certain would turn black.

That should be “...tussle lasted only until...”


The two broke apart and went to opposite sides of the circle, furious with each other.

Nitpick: the circles should be gone, given the narration, so they can’t go to opposite sides of them.


Now, Jered felt confusion setting in.

I’d drop the “now,” since it makes this seem conversational.


Deck drilled his cousin with his piercing glare, but Jered realized that the eyes were no loner the vivid aquamarine he knew so well.

That should be “...were no longer...”


Looking up in astonishment, Jered was taken by further surprise.

Hrm...perhaps “taken by surprise again” or “beheld another surprise” or something like that would work; “by further surprise” just sounds odd to me, though for all I know, it may be right too.


Smoldering red eyes, tentacles draping from the back of his cranium, and four thick legs that reminded Jered of the legs on a preying mantis.

“...tentacles draping from...” sounded weird to me; I’m not sure what to suggest, other than perhaps just a general rewrite. Also, this technically isn’t a complete sentence, as there’s no verb; while it works as a stylistic choice, it’s just something to consider.


“Baal,” he whispered.

You know, as much as Baal is the one associated with the Worldstone, this whole story felt more like Mephisto’s doing. Deck’s motivations would probably be most accurately described as hatred than destruction, or any of the other Great Evils’ portfolios, for that matter. Also, undead, and skeletons and zombies in particular, are listed as Mephisto’s servants. While Mephisto would require some revisions with the Worldstone, I could see it perhaps engineered as some sort of object with a link to Hell, and the Lord of Hatred just happened to be the best fit to cross over into the mortal realm in this case. Something to consider, perhaps.


“Thanks to the descendant of that thorn in my side, Deckard Cain, I can live again and have some more fun. Now, we go and rebuild our army. With no Horadrim around to stop us, we’ll rule the world.”

Hrm...somehow, this dialogue didn’t quite suggest a powerful speaker to me; although Baal doesn’t show up much outside of fighting, I suppose, there are indications, such as in the Act IV-V transitional movie, that he’s more of a well-spoken villain. This seemed a bit bland, honestly.

Overall, I thought this was pretty good. There’re some things here and there that I think could use some improvement, but in general they’re the exception to the rule. Thanks for posting!

P.S.: Heh, I may have to eat my words on the "don't post all at once" suggestion; looks like this worked out OK. Ah well...

Also, to The Last Melon: I don't have "territory" per se, and if you folks find typos in stories, well, less work for me! :)

[Sorceress Zahra]

Ouch! Nailed by the grammar police! Only joking :xmas9:

I prefer the use of incomplete sentences - I guess I rebel at the thought of dreary days in English class...

This was my first work in a couple of years, so I'm not surprised it needed some tweaking.

I was actually going to use Mephisto instead of Baal, but I couldn't figure out how to describe him, so I changed my mind to Baal at the end. How would you describe him, anyhow, aside from a hideous floating spinal column?

As far as the Jackson Pollock involvement... I was trying to make a point about how the entrails were laid out and couldn't think of a better way to put it. He has this way of making perfect splatters and drips...

I may revise this and post at TDL, but perhaps not. I'm working on a completely new story at the moment, which I might be able to post sometime next week.

Thanks for the input!
-Zahra :xmas8:

[The Last Melon]

Question - did you find it too long? RevenantsKnight thought I should have waited in between posting the story's parts so as not to intimidate from sheer length. Your opinion?

-Zahra

My opinion? You're asking a guy that posted five parts of a story in six posts all in one time - I don't mind long :xmas24:

[Fluffballer]

Good story, I enjoyed it.

I'm a bit torn, but I think I prefer your original plan to make him Mephisto. The Worldstone thing works with Baal, but Revenants makes good points about hatred and undead. Ultimately, my prejudice is that Mephisto is kind of scary and Baal looks like an idiot.

Anywho, I think the transformation of Deck might be too sudden. In addition to some more foreshadowing, the physical transformation is pretty quick as well. Perhaps Deck still looks like himself but has the red eyes and possibly long black fingernails or some small detail. While four of the people the prime evils originally possessed were clearly more... strong willed than Deck, they each took a good long while to transform from human into demon. That also makes a bit more sense logistically in terms of cellular transformation (or whatever) as well size issues. Jered is only a few feet from Deck as a human, but if Deck turns into Baal he's going to increase his mass 900% or more. Baal would fill the whole room.

[CoyoteKid]

wow.. good job..