<![CDATA[Diablo 3 & Diablo 2 Forums - Fan Fiction]]> http://diablo.incgamers.com/forums/ For budding Fiction authors. en Thu, 26 Nov 2009 18:42:49 GMT vBulletin 60 http://diablo.incgamers.com/forums/images/d2images/misc/rss.jpg <![CDATA[Diablo 3 & Diablo 2 Forums - Fan Fiction]]> http://diablo.incgamers.com/forums/ Thanksgiving in Sanctuary, 2002 http://diablo.incgamers.com/forums/showthread.php?t=749630&goto=newpost Thu, 26 Nov 2009 16:05:35 GMT This was the first of five (plus a short epilogue) humorous stories I wrote in 2002-2003. The rest will be posted later this year, and links will be added between the stories, for easier navigation. This story and the other comedy holiday ones I wrote feature the game characters interacting with... This was the first of five (plus a short epilogue) humorous stories I wrote in 2002-2003. The rest will be posted later this year, and links will be added between the stories, for easier navigation.

This story and the other comedy holiday ones I wrote feature the game characters interacting with the monsters on a social level, exchanging gifts, arguing, flirting, etc. These tales kind of break the fourth wall, and enjoying the humor requires the reader to step outside the game's typical framework and view it as an ongoing fiction, rather than a matter of life and death.

See the post after the story for some notes and original feedback.

_______________________


A long, wide, table stood in the middle of a vast cave, illuminated by flickering torchlight and dozens of candles. Fourteen chairs stood around the table, seven on each side but none at the heads of the table. There was no one in the cavern as of yet, but voices could be heard echoing down passageways to each side. From the north came human voices, male and female, and footsteps. From the south came snarlings and growls, and the clicking of claws on stone.

The table awaited them all, so loaded with food the white tablecloth could hardly be seen. Calling it "a feast" did not do the serving justice. The table was simply buried in food, stacked high with plates and dishes and pots. There were platters of stuffing, great bowls of mashed potatoes, urns of cranberry sauce, tubs of sweet potatoes, platters of fresh baked bread, and several troughs of vegetable casseroles. Crowding them for space on the table were huge bowls full of salad, half a dozen candelabras, plates and mugs and bowls and silverware, napkins, and even decorations, small colorful gourds and twists of dried corn in every color of the season.

The voices grew louder, as did the snarling, and after another moment humans entered the room from the north, just as a pack of demons entered from the south. Both groups grew silent, and after eying each other for a moment they approached the table, walking cautiously.

The humans numbered seven, and they were all well armed and armored, though no weapons were drawn at the sight of their traditional enemies. The Paladin and Barbarian led the way, followed closely by an Amazon, Sorceress, Assassin, and Druid. The Necromancer brought up the rear, his beady eyes gleaming from beneath his bone helm as he eyed the curvaceous backside of the Amazon walking before him.

The demons numbered six, and they approached the table less silently, stomping, slithering, and shambling at a steady pace. Diablo took heavy strides while his brother Baal scuttled along next to him. They were followed closely by the limping Pindleskin, his long two-handed sword dragged behind him like a dead puppy. Stomping next to him came Andariel, her nipple chains clinking softly as her hoofed feet clopped towards the feast. Fangskin the serpent demon slithered silently, and last of all came Mephisto, floating along in a cloud of mist.

At the table the thirteen met, staring at each other over the steaming feast. The Barbarian was the first to speak.

"Ugg greet monsters! Merry Thanksgiving Day!"

His words broke the silence, and there were murmurs of "Hello." and "Nice to see you." as everyone sat down. The large wooden chair creaked beneath Diablo's great weight, and everyone flinched at the metallic clatter when Pindleskin dropped his sword next to the table. Baal eyed his chair for a minute, then looked down at his crab legs and kicked the chair aside. Squatting down, he was easily tall enough to reach the table even while sitting on the floor. Andariel flipped her chair around and sat down straddling it, and Fangskin tried to coil his tail on his chair twice before giving up and hurling the seat away. He settled himself in a neat coil, like a cobra in a basket, and his elbows resting on the table.

"Where is your seventh?" The Amazon inquired, her voice cool. The Necromancer was seated immediately to her right, trying to look like he was studying the table while actually staring down her cleavage.

"Duriel could not make it." Baal hissed, laughter in his voice. "He's grown too fat to leave the pit in the tomb."

Mephisto laughed, a deep echoing rumble that set all the human heroes on edge.

"We threw him a few town guards," Baal continued, "and he seemed happy enough." All of the demons laughed at this, and the humans smiled politely. Or tried to at least.

"And what of Tyrael?" asked Andariel, her hissing voice threatening to shatter the crystal goblets. "Was he not to be here as well?"

"He begged off." the Paladin replied. "Something about not wanting to eat anything with wings and feathers."

"His loss." croaked Pindleskin, the eyeless sockets in his skull somehow seeming to gleam with hunger as he looked to the left. Everyone turned to follow his gaze, and a chorus of eager sighs rose as a Blunderbore emerged from a side tunnel, bearing a turkey before him on a great platter.

"I hope it's not wrapped in chains." The Sorceress muttered into the Druid's fur-tufted ear.

The turkey was not, and the Blunderbore set it down in the middle of the table, then turned and stomped back into the tunnel. Steam rose from the giant bird, and picking up the long carving knife, Diablo asked, "Who wants white meat?"

"Allow me." spoke the Paladin, and leaping to his feet, he snatched the knife away from Diablo. The demons recoiled in alarm as the Paladin's arm became a blur of Zeal, striking the Turkey faster than the eye could follow. Just seconds later he dropped the knife and sat back down, wiping the splatters of grease off of his hand.

"Well," said Diablo, eyeing the perfectly sliced turkey. "I guess that skill does come in handy at times."

The Lord of Terror leaned over and stabbed several slices, lifting them with the fork and carving knife. Plates were passed and loaded with turkey, and the meal began. The Barbarian ate hugely, stuffing slices of turkey and globs of stuffing into his mouth with his bare hands. Next to him the Sorceress looked horrified as she took small, neat bites, occasionally pausing to emit a flame or puff of frost from one finger, as she heated or cooled a bit of turkey to the perfect temperature. A large dish of green bean casserole sat just in front of the Barbarian, and rather than ask him to pass it, she gave a short "Hah!" and as her hair swirled the dish vanished, appearing in her hands an instant later.

Across the table, Pindleskin was on his second plate, though the entire first plate was piled in his chair and scattered on the floor before him. As the Assassin watched, he took a large bite, the food falling straight through his empty rib cage and joining the rest on his lap. Turning her eyes from Pindleskin to Fang Skin, she watched in envy as the serpent demon stabbed a baked yam on one of his long claws. Making eye contact with the reptile, she raised her own claws and quickly skewered half a dozen black olives, then picked them from her blades with her teeth while eyeing the viper intently. Fang Skin hissed and stabbed at the mound of stuffing on his plate, doing nothing but pushing the food around in anger.

Mephisto didn't seem to have much of an appetite, and had no better luck actually eating than Pindleskin did. Food stayed in his mouth, but his lack of internal organs meant that it just dropped out a moment later, falling to the floor or sticking to his exposed spinal cord. Every now and then a puff of the vapor that swirled beneath him would steam up from beneath the table, smelling faintly of swamp gas.

As Mephisto picked at his plate he looked at the Amazon, eyeing her helm and breastplate. "That armor looks familiar, Amazon."

"It should," the blonde heroine replied with a smirk. "You dropped it for me not two weeks ago." Mephisto's scowl deepened as the Amazon added, "As well as my lovely amulet." leaning forward and turning her chest side to side to display the jewelry around her neck.

To her right came a crash as the Necromancer's head smacked into his plate, splattering mashed potatoes and gravy. He sheepishly sat back up, taking off his bone helm to wipe it off. He had been resting his chin on one palm and staring sideways at the Amazon, and her chest-thrusting display for Mephisto had surprised him enough that he'd pulled back, sliding his elbow right off the edge of the table and falling forwards.

The Amazon turned to the lord of the dead and said quietly, "You are not sitting next to me at Christmas."

The meal went quickly, and soon there was nothing left of the turkey but bones. Diablo reached forth and pried the wishbone out, then held it up, extending his arm across the table "Who would like to pull with me?" he asked.

The Paladin stood up and reached forward, but was interrupted by the Barbarian. He knocked his chair over backwards and leaped onto to the table, standing before the picked-over turkey. "Ugg Hork!" he shouted, before making a loud grunting noise and reaching down. A splash of blood washed across the table, and with a triumphant shout, the Barbarian stood up with a second wishbone in hand. He leaped back down and sat on his fallen chair, beaming at the chunk of bone and gristle pinched between his thumb and forefinger, oblivious to the blood that was now dripping off the table.

The Paladin shook his head, and reached forward again, taking hold of the wishbone that Diablo clenched. They strained for a moment before there was a sharp crack, and Diablo sat down heavily, his spikes piercing the back of his chair as he looked at the short end of bone he held.

"Ha!" shouted the Paladin, as the rest of the humans clapped and whistled.

"Make your wish, Holy Knight." Mephisto hissed.

"I wish... I wish for a mighty Windforce Bow!" he said. The Amazon sat up straight. "I want it for a gift," continued the Paladin. "A gift for a special woman, for an Amazon who has stolen my heart." He turned to look at the Amazon, and she smiled while blushing brightly. Andariel looked green with envy. Well, greener.

"I know who has a Windforce." the Necromancer said, in his sly voice.

Conversation came to an end, and all eyes turned to the figure in bone armor.

"One of these demons has one. I can sense it." the Necromancer intoned. The Paladin paused a moment, then turned from the Necromancer to gaze across the table. His piercing gaze took in each of the demons in turn.

"Don't look at me," Mephisto said. "You know I can't carry one of those things."

Diablo glared back at the Paladin, clenching his fist defiantly, furious that he couldn't either. The Paladin looked at Fang Skin for but an instant before letting his eyes drift speculatively over Baal, and from him to Pindleskin. The skeleton was oblivious to the entire exchange, and still eating, though food was piled up in his chair nearly to his fourth rib.

"There will be no killing at this table," Baal said, though he looked nervous and his words lacked strength.

At last Pindleskin became aware of the tension in the room and he paused, a spoon still clenched in one bony fist. A glob of cranberry sauce dangled from his upper palette as he looked across the table, his vertebra grinding as he turned his head from side to side.

"There will be no killing at this table!" Baal repeated, rising to his feet... things. The crab-like legs clicked against each other as he took a step to the left, towards Pindleskin.

"Hai!" the Necromancer shouted, and as he gestured a swirl of red light appeared. An instant later the turkey burst, chunks of gristle and picked over meat flying into the air as the carcass blackened with decay. The revived poultry turned in a circle, then fixed upon Pindleskin and leaped at him, one gnawed drumstick flipping back and forth in mid air.

A glowing orange aura appeared beneath the savage entree, and it crashed into Pindleskin, knocking him over backwards as it flapped at the surprised skeleton. All chaos broke forth from that point.

The Assassin and Fang Skin faced off, claws slashing at claws, sparks flying. Baal leaped backwards and started cursing, Decrepify appearing over the heads of the heroes, while Baal seemed inexplicably unwilling to fight now, when he had so many minions around. The Necromancer returned the favor and the Paladin switched from Fanaticism to Holy Freeze, instantly turning all of the demons blue. Diablo battled the Barbarian, and Mephisto fended off the Amazon's hail of arrows.

The Druid flashed into werewolf form and leaped towards Andariel, but stopped short. Stretching his head to the left, he kicked at his neck with his left hind leg, his head twitching and collar jangling as he furiously scratched his neck.

Just as the fights were growing serious, two Blunderbores emerged from the side tunnel, both carrying trays loaded with pies. The scent of fresh-baked apple, pumpkin, pecan, and lemon-creme pie wafted through the air, and all combat ceased as the heroes and demons sniffed and peered at the dessert platter.

With much clearing of throats and shrugging of shoulders, everyone returned to their places, pushing aside platters and stacking broken plates to make room for the pies. The revived turkey leaped and snarled for a moment more before the Necromancer Unsummoned it, coughing nervously as he returned the bones to their inert state.

With the pie came coffee and tea, and once everyone had a few slices in them there was much groaning and leaning back in chairs. The Paladin eyed Pindleskin for a moment, then popped his belt another notch and sighed deeply, dropping his fork beside the crust of his fourth slice of pumpkin pie.

The Barbarian was the only one still eating, and he seemed insatiable, downing an entire pumpkin pie by himself and finishing off the last half of a pecan and an apple pie. "Wafer-thin mint?" asked Baal, with a sly smile.

At last even the Barbarian was full, and everyone gathered their weapons and parted with smiles and waves. Diablo called out, "See you all for Christmas dinner!" and led the demons back down the tunnel to the south as the humans left the room to the north. ]]> Fan Fiction Flux http://diablo.incgamers.com/forums/showthread.php?t=749630 <![CDATA[A Paladin's Lesson, Halloween 1998]]> http://diablo.incgamers.com/forums/showthread.php?t=749498&goto=newpost Wed, 25 Nov 2009 04:21:00 GMT An action-heavy story about a deadly encounter between a rude Paladin and a ruthless Necromancer. This story was first posted on Halloween, 1998. (Long before D2's release, so many of the skills described were still speculative.) The story is presented in three parts, for length considerations. See author notes and some original reader feedback after the story.


____________________________


A Paladin's Lesson


Morokai was tending the bar when Shebzio leaned over, tapped him on the shoulder, and whispered, "Oh fer tha love o’ the Angels, ‘ere he comes again."

Morokai had but an instant to wonder what Shenzio was talking about before the swinging doors of the Yellow Boar Tavern were knocked violently open. A heavy footstep could be heard, and Morokai remembered an instant before he would have been reminded anyway.

A towering figure strode out of the dark night and into the torch-lit tavern, and Morokai wasn’t the only one to groan under his breath as the giant of a man stopped just inside the doors and bellowed out a greeting to the crowded room.

"Hail and well met, fellow citizens!"

A half-hearted chorus of "Hail Paladin!" drifted down, but the huge man was already striding towards the bar, the wooden floor boards creaking under his metal boots.

Morokai nodded to the beaming Paladin as the man settled onto a groaning bar stool, then looked across the room and caught the eye of Salleth, one of the two bar maids working that night. Morokai gave her a curt nod and gestured with his thumb towards the back room, and Salleth, well-remembering the Paladin’s last visit, excused herself from the conversation at the table she’d been serving and hurried towards the back, intercepting the other bar maid on the way, a new girl just in from some farm, and dragged her into the back. Morokai noticed that the Paladin hadn’t caught sight of either of the maids before they'd scurried off for a quick costume change, and breathed a sigh of relief. He quickly stepped up to the bar in front of the Paladin and said, "What will ye quench your thirst with tonight, me fine sir?"

"What will I have to drink?" The Paladin echoed, in a much louder voice than was required. "Why a glass of your finest, barkeep, what else would befit a man of my stature?" The Paladin broke into his hearty laugh after this, and Morokai did his best to chuckle along, though he frankly saw nothing funny about it. He also knew that the Paladin wouldn’t touch "a glass of his finest" since "his finest" was brandy, or perhaps that small cask of Turbanian whiskey. At least that was "finest" in the opinion of everyone in the bar but the Paladin, not that anyone else's opinion mattered to him.

While the Paladin was still leaning back, roaring his insincere laughter, Morokai caught sight of Salleth returning from the back room, a shawl wrapped modestly over her shoulders to conceal the very ample cleavage her dress was tailored to display. Morokai threw her a quick nod of approval, glad to see that she’d understood the situation perfectly. Last time the Paladin had caused a scene with a table-thumping diatribe against the "whorish" clothing the bar maids were wearing.

When some wit had wondered how the Paladin knew so much about whore clothing, the Paladin had knocked out six teeth and broken the man’s jaw with one back-handed swipe of his plate-mailed fist. No one made any jokes at the Paladin’s expense anymore.

His gale of laughter over with, the Paladin leaned back over the bar and caught Morokai’s eye. "What barkeep, have you no finest to present to me? Why how long does a man have to wait here for some service?" Again, his voice was pitched loudly enough to wake the dogs in the street.

Morokai turned to the bar and selected a bottle of red wine, one of his personal favorites. It didn’t sell well, as most of the lot in this place liked their drinks as cheap and full of alcohol as possible, but it was a very fine vintage.

He held the bottle, turning the label so the Paladin could read it. The man scarcely glanced at it, waving his hand dismissively. "Surely thou knowest my faith precludes partaking in any such sinful beverages, barkeep?"

Morokai, who had poured oceans of every sort of alcohol for every other Paladin he'd ever served over the long years he'd tended bar, held his tongue and put the wine bottle back, wondering what he could possibly serve this fool that would shut him up for a moment. Last time the man had contented himself with some soft cider, but Morokai had none of that in stock now. Fortunately the Paladin launched uninvited into a lecture, speaking to no one in particular, in a voice so loud no one could ignore it. This gave Morokai some time to think what he could put in a mug that this fool would drink.

"Aye, tis a difficult life to live, being so above the common rabble. Held to a higher standard, unable to partake in the simple pleasures so many others enjoy. But tis my calling! Trained as a lad I was, indoctrinated into my discipline of steel and faith. Where so many others faltered and grew weak, I thrived and grew stronger! Yea, there be few who can match my kind in power or fortitude, and though ye might think that the lack of worthy opponents in the years since we crushed the evil armies of King Leoric would have made us grow soft, we merely use this time to train all the more fiercely!"

Morokai, taking pity on his customers’ ears, broke in here, setting a glass of malted beer cut with milk and honey down in front of the Paladin.

"Pray try this, kind sir, may it soothe thy aches and envigor thy frame."

"Ahh, a truly pleasant concoction, my good man."

Morokai was annoyed by the artificial formality and sincerity the Paladin forced upon him, and he held his breath as the Paladin lifted the glass and drank deeply.

"Aye, tis a fine brew bar keep. Another would surely be even finer. Perhaps thou couldst find a drop of honey to sweeten it with?"

Morokai shuddered, knowing that he’d stirred two tablespoons of honey into the mug the Paladin held like a toy in his huge hands now, but he quickly mixed up another serving, dropping near to four spoons of honey into this one, and leaving the mixing spoon in the cup as he brought it over.

"For thee, kind sir. Mayhap thou whilst require the spoon for stirring, as the honey may clump at the bottom."

The Paladin accepted the new glass without a word, and Morokai took his chance to scoot away, quickly serving the regular customers. The new bar maid was waiting with several orders for the tables, and Morokai filled them quickly, barely having time to note the odd drink request for table number sixteen. He peered into the wing of the tavern, but the torch back there was guttering, and that table was deep in shadow. Another night Morokai would have shown a bit more curiosity about an order for three raw eggs and an unopened bottle of whiskey, but he had to keep a close eye on the Paladin. More problems were sure to follow.

Twas odd, as Morokai had served every sort of ruffian, brigand, and highwayman in this tavern, and very seldom had any problems with any of that scum. Yet this noble and holy Paladin caused every sort of unrest with his monthly visits. Morokai knew it wouldn't be long before the Paladin got to boasting about his many victories over the forces of darkness, telling how he’d dispatched hordes of zombies and ghouls with his mighty sword, and crushed the rotting skulls of the undead beneath his steel shod feet.

War stories were always popular tavern entertainment, but somehow when the Paladin told them they became droning lectures. Not that Morokai doubted the man was capable of wreaking the destruction he boasted of. The Paladin was enormous. The biggest man Morokai had ever laid eyes on. Even sitting on the bar stool the Paladin was a head taller than any other man in the tavern, and Morokai had to look up to meet his eyes, and he was behind the bar, on a platform half a foot higher than the tavern floor.

The Paladin wore gleaming plate mail, chest, legs, arms, and gloves, with a chain mail coif and a heavy plate mail helm over it, and even a snow white cape with a red cross on the back. His weaponry was no less impressive, with a huge bastard sword in a scabbard down the middle of his back, a long sword in a jeweled scabbard from his belt, and a war hammer hanging from his other hip. Leaning against the bar next to him was a metal shield with a white background and a red cross painted over it, matching his cape. The cross covered the entire shield, and was nearly large enough to actually crucify a man on. The shield featured a serrated edge for slashing an opponent or snagging their sword, and looked to be over an inch thick.

Of course many of the men in the tavern had chain or plate mail of their own, and fine swords, and stout shields, but no one else felt the need to ostentatiously wear them around, while safely within the city walls. Everyone carried a dagger or short sword, but obvious displays of weaponry and armor were officially prohibited, though enforcement was always lax, especially here on the outskirts of town, near the less-civilized badlands to the north and west. The city guards were a feared force, but they were slow to respond to complaints not in the heart of the city, which was how various outlaws and brigands had so frequently come to drink in the Yellow Boar under Morokai’s watch.

Tonight the Paladin seemed to be in an especially jovial mood, and even allowed a few other men to tell some stories at the bar before he began to dominate the discourse with his bellowed tales of innate superiority.

Morokai was keeping close at the Paladin’s elbow, and when a grilled chicken sandwich was ordered by the giant in the plate mail, he hurried to make it. While he was breading the chicken breast, Salleth came over with a truly bizarre order.

"Marie" Morokai finally remembered that this was the new barmaid’s name, "made me switch tables with her so I’d have to cover number sixteen. There’s a very... unusual customer there. He looks like a vampyre, but he’s very polite. But after the way he ate those raw eggs, she couldn’t wait on him any more."

Morokai threw the chicken breast into the frying pan and poked the coals under the stove to generate some more heat. "What did he do with the eggs?"

"Huh? Oh, he bit tiny holes in them and sucked them dry, and he drank an entire bottle of whiskey like it was water. He now wants another bottle of the best whiskey we have, and a live chicken."

"You mean a whole chicken? Raw maybe?"

"No, he was very specific. He wants a live one. Said he’d pay double the price of a whole roasted chicken, and that there would be no disturbance to any of the other customers."

Salleth sounded disgusted, but Morokai could hear the greed in her voice, as she calculated the size of the bill the mystery man was racking up, and thought of what the tip might be.

"Does he look like he’s good for it?"

"Aye, most certainly. He’s got magical rings on both hands, and several jeweled ones also, and there looks to be some fine armor under his black cloak. Also his purse is bulging with coin, and he already gave me a three gold coins just for the special request!"

Morokai turned over the chicken breast and pinched a bit of seasoning over it. Bending to stoke the coals again, he muttered, "Probably opals and semi-precious stones, and a purse full of copper." Then louder, so Salleth could hear him, "All right, go out into the back and pick him a hen. Get that scrawny brindled one that’s lucky to lay two eggs a fortnight, and take it over to him in some sort of basket or something. We can’t have the customers thinking we’re running a petting zoo here. Thank the Angels he’s in that dark corner booth... What the hell, maybe he just wants to hold it in his lap and stroke its pretty feathers?"

Salleth was already turning to go out the back when she said, "I don’t think the hen will be alive long enough to be much of a petting zoo."

Morokai grunted and gave the chicken breast a final press to dry it a bit, then flipped it out of the skillet and placed in on a thick slab of black bread. There was a leaf of fresh lettuce, a thick slice of onion, and some mustard too. Chicken sandwiches were one of the Yellow Boar’s specialties, and there would have been a slice of tomato also, in the proper season.

The Paladin was getting especially boastful, and Morokai hurried over with the sandwich and set it down, taking the Paladin’s empty glass and quickly refilling it with the concoction. The honey pot was almost out, which was no surprise, as he’d used more tonight for just this Paladin than he usually did in a week.

The sandwich kept the Paladin quiet for a few minutes, but once he’d gobbled it down the man seemed louder than ever. And his tales grew ever lengthier.

Morokai was kept busy filling other drink orders, and after about half an hour he realized that he’d never heard a squawk or any other sounds from that back booth that the hen had been destined for. The mysterious man in sixteen had spoken truth about not disturbing the other customers. Still, Morokai had to wonder, what could a man want with a raw chicken? Sustenance? He had eaten those eggs raw, Salleth had said, but he had turned down a raw chicken, insisting on a live one. What, did he like to pluck them himself?

Morokai bemoaned the presence of the Paladin, as it kept him chained to the bar and unable to take a quick stroll around the tavern, where he might drop in on table sixteen for a quick peek at what had become of that old hen. He dared not though; twice already he'd had to move quickly to soothe bitter feelings when the Paladin had interrupted another man’s tale to ridicule it and tell one of his own.

Now the Paladin had a full head of steam, and was shaking the rafters with his deep voice. Why did everything about that man have to be so large? Morokai wondered to himself.

"Why those soulless devils were no match for my steel! I saw half a dozen of the zombies dragging themselves out of that cursed graveyard at the sound of my approach, and it was nothing to chop them down. Horrid things they are, I’ll admit. The way they keep moving and crawling around even after you’ve chopped them to bits is quite repellent. But soulless devils like they never stand a chance against one such as I!"

As the Paladin paused briefly to draw breath, a deep and cracked voice could be heard by all floating from the back corner of the tavern.

"Mayhap thou art mighty indeed. But how fare thee when pitted against a devil with a soul?"

The Paladin whirled around, along with everyone else in the tavern, but the source of the voice was not to be seen, buried deep in the shadows of table sixteen.

Not seeing his verbal adversary slowed the Paladin only a second, and he quickly followed up with, "Why, devils of every stripe are but meat for my blade, have they souls or none."

"A blade?" The dark voice rejoined, softly mocking in tone. "What sort of fool thinks a blade is the best way to defeat every enemy?"

The Paladin was on his feet at this, his war hammer instantly in his grip. He smashed it down on the bar, denting the polished wood deeply. "I did not mean just my blade, as this hammer has sent more than a few undead crumbling back into the earth!"

"Has it now?" The voice questioned.

"Aye, and many more it will send there, perhaps starting this very night!" The Paladin was visibly angry at this point, unaccustomed to having anyone dare to challenge him.

The dark voice returned quickly, seeming to have grown more powerful. "I think I could teach thee a lesson or two, noble Paladin." The mocking tone he said "noble" was truly something to hear.

Most of the men in the bar hissed in breath at this. "A lesson taught" was a very powerful challenge, akin to swearing an oath. Not to be offered lightly, and not to be taken lightly.

"I will accept no lesson from a man who fears to face me in the light. As long as ye speaketh from the darkness, thy words have no substance!"

A sound retort, Morokai thought, and was surprised to hear the the Paladin doing so well in this battle of wits.

"Well then, let me step into the light." said the voice from the darkness, and every eye strained toward the corner of the tavern. ]]> Fan Fiction Flux http://diablo.incgamers.com/forums/showthread.php?t=749498 The Fiery Zod - Fan Creations Community Group http://diablo.incgamers.com/forums/showthread.php?t=746682&goto=newpost Fri, 30 Oct 2009 14:40:59 GMT Greetings fan writers! HK here; I had created the Fiery Zod over a year ago for fan artists and now I can add all things fan creation based. If you want an invite to the user group please send me a user group invite from the user group page. The Fiery Zod - Fan Creations Community Group... Greetings fan writers! HK here; I had created the Fiery Zod over a year ago for fan artists and now I can add all things fan creation based. If you want an invite to the user group please send me a user group invite from the user group page.

The Fiery Zod - Fan Creations Community Group

Thanks all!

HK ]]> Fan Fiction Holyknight3000 http://diablo.incgamers.com/forums/showthread.php?t=746682 Does anyone know of some good novelizations of Diablo or Diablo II? http://diablo.incgamers.com/forums/showthread.php?t=744975&goto=newpost Fri, 16 Oct 2009 03:23:22 GMT I'm really in the mood for some! ]]> Fan Fiction FionordeQuester http://diablo.incgamers.com/forums/showthread.php?t=744975