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It had been years since I last spoke to the majestic archangel Tyrael.
I remember the moment well. My armor was etched with the vile ichor of the lord of destruction and my scepter, the Armageddon Mallet, felt loose and in dire need of repair. The crimson glow of the Worldstone was chased away as angelic light filled the chamber. I barely heard the words of praise spoken to me and could no offer any of my own. A gentle push directed me towards the portal that had opened before me.
The brisk air of Harrogath made my blood race and my head clear. Malah had come from her shop to see Mount Arreat shudder from the growing corruption of the Worldstone. Larzuk made as if to approach me, his mouth forming the beginning of a question I would have had to answer many times since that day.
From the moment Tyrael's sword sundered the Worldstone the world as we knew it splintered into millions of fragments. Each daggerlike sliver became a worldstone of its own, a near copy of the massive gem that bound our reality and kept us from being flooded away by the tides of conflict between Heaven and Hell.
It is these thoughts that keep me from accepting the edicts of the Reformed Order of the Light. To them the world is as it always was, without exception. I knew the truth.
If only I could draw the veil of ignorance over my mind once more. If only I could turn back the clock and acted as I knew was right that day at the old monastery in that little village.
“Archbishop Lazarus had disappeared into the catacombs and many of the villagers of Tristram opted to leave as the hordes of Hell surfaced. Only a half dozen remained and to those I give a prayer to the Light to hold them safe until my return. I left with the families, most of them farmers and wishing to leave for safer lands. I could not allow harm to befall so many innocents. The blacksmith seems a sturdy sort. Perhaps he will provide some measure of protection.
The news of the betrayal was scarcely two weeks old when I found Akara and her encampment. I was returning to Tristram to beseech Lazarus to seal the catacombs and found the Sisters of the Sightless Eye and their fortified camp. A bridge offered a good defensive position and the palisade wall seemed sturdy enough to resist all but the most determined of attackers. I supped with them as they explained the events that occurred after my departure.
Akara took me aside afterwards, while the remaining rogues set about their evening duties. She told me of two individuals that arrived a day earlier and pledged their support in ridding Kanduras of this new threat. I offered my own, as I felt that it was my moment of weakness, my failing in the face of duty, that allowed Lazarus to unleash this new evil.”
Valor hooked his thumbs into the arm holes of his breastplate and exhaled deeply. The heat from his body rolled off of him in waves. Propped against his left thigh, his shield was adorned with six inch bone spikes. The boar size creatures didn’t take lightly to his intrusion and he was forced to bludgeon the beasts to death. Their bodies had fallen about him, broken and bleeding. The remnants of their meal lay not far from where the paladin stood. The rogue’s pole-arm had lodged in the stonework of the low wall that ran along many of the grassy meadows that dotted the Kanduran countryside.
“Akara had mentioned that many of the rogues had fallen prey to beasts and demons. It would seem that this one fell prey to the misfortune of a missed strike.” Valor mused.
As he knelt to offer a final prayer to the Light for the fallen rogue a shadow slipped away.
It had been years since I last spoke to the majestic archangel Tyrael.
I remember the moment well. My armor was etched with the vile ichor of the lord of destruction and my scepter, the Armageddon Mallet, felt loose and in dire need of repair. The crimson glow of the Worldstone was chased away as angelic light filled the chamber. I barely heard the words of praise spoken to me and could no offer any of my own. A gentle push directed me towards the portal that had opened before me.
The brisk air of Harrogath made my blood race and my head clear. Malah had come from her shop to see Mount Arreat shudder from the growing corruption of the Worldstone. Larzuk made as if to approach me, his mouth forming the beginning of a question I would have had to answer many times since that day.
From the moment Tyrael's sword sundered the Worldstone the world as we knew it splintered into millions of fragments. Each daggerlike sliver became a worldstone of its own, a near copy of the massive gem that bound our reality and kept us from being flooded away by the tides of conflict between Heaven and Hell.
It is these thoughts that keep me from accepting the edicts of the Reformed Order of the Light. To them the world is as it always was, without exception. I knew the truth.
If only I could draw the veil of ignorance over my mind once more. If only I could turn back the clock and acted as I knew was right that day at the old monastery in that little village.
- a passage from a faded journal
I really liked it, very well written. Sounds like its going to be a sad tale however
I really liked it, very well written. Sounds like its going to be a sad tale however
Thanks. You'll find that I'll begin each chapter entry with passages from Valor's journal. I really love good character development, and this was something I've been sorting out in my head for a few months.
The early chapters will be taking place during the game plot. Less emphasis on the game and more on the characters themselves will make it a worthwhile read.
As he knelt to offer a final prayer to the Light for the fallen rogue a shadow slipped away. The motion was not completely missed by the paladin, but was dismissed as an errant breeze causing a bush’s shadow to shift. Valor stood after placing the yari next to the rogue’s prone form and strapped his shield to his forearm. The nagging thought in the back of his mind prompted him to scan the area once more, refusing to be quelled by reason and lack of evidence. Shrugging his shoulders and accepting the paranoia he hefted his scepter and picked his way back to the path.
Hours later he found himself passing the ruined walls of a tower. A light rain began to fall, washing the dirt of his journey from his tabard. Valor removed his helm and tilted his head back in thanks for the refreshing spray. In the midst of his reverie he spied a human form slip into back into the gaping doorway of the tower. Having seen that the roof was long gone from the top of a nearby rise the paladin suspected that the person was using the tower for a different form of cover.
“Stand firm vagabond. No harm will come if you stay your hand.”
No response was heard. Valor sighed heavily and placed his helm upon his head.
“I think it’s fair to warn you that I am skilled in the art of warfare. The last group of thieves found themselves a few men short after encountering me.”
The only response was the sound of raindrops striking metal. Saddened he lifted his scepter and strode into the tower. The rain paused briefly as he stepped across the threshold.
The interior of the tower was empty, save the remnants of a wooden ladder and other debris. Suspicious he remained at the doorway with his shield set square in front of him and weapon at the ready. The head of his scepter steamed and sputtered as pinpoints of colored light swam about his body. His eyes panned across the area within the crumbling stone walls. Nothing could be seen that would indicate that anything more than an overactive imagination took refuge. He relaxed his stance and the pyrotechnic display of flame and electricity faded from the scepter.
So intent was Valor on his visual search of the tower that he failed to notice the shadow above him. Taking the opportunity provided by his inattention his ambusher sprang to action. With claws held wide she dropped from her perch.
Valor saw the attacker at the last moment and turned to bring his shield to bear. A lighting fast strike drew blood along his side. Another swiping claw strike forced him to duck his head behind the rim of his shield and to take a couple steps in retreat. A booted foot swept the space that only moments before were occupied by the stunned paladin. Thoughts of aggression were lost as he tried to focus on the dark blur that was his foe. It took all that he had to keep his shield between the flurry of strikes and himself. Taking a chance he dropped his shield a few inches in time to see a small female leap into the air and deliver a spinning kick to his head.
The moment her foot connected with his helm the world around him exploded in a maelstrom of flame and heat. The female landed lightly and spun to face the paladin, fully expecting to see him frantically beating the fire from his clothing. Her eyes widened as she discovered that results of her fiery attack were minimal in the wake of a spiral of colored lights falling to the floor.
another great well written chapter i like the idea of the faded book at the start of each chapter, kinda reminds me of the dune series by frank herbert (started each chapter off with info/quotes/etc from the universe).
cant wait to see the rest well done
Valor breathed a quick prayer of thanks and charged forward with his shield, catching her square in the center and throwing her back against the far wall. The dark clad woman’s claws clumsily parried the paladin’s powerful overhand strike. In a single smooth transition practiced numerous times the paladin let fly a series of strikes. Desperately parrying she deflected all but two. He slammed his shield into her body once more and dropped her to a knee. Sensing the fight all but over Valor stepped back with his shield in a guard position and his weapon held ready.
With a smoldering glare the lithe attacker stood and wove her claws in a short kata before holding an aggressive stance. Valor shook his head
“I would caution you against another attack.”
With a powerful shout she leaped at him. The paladin fixed her with a patient gaze and dropped his guard. The woman smirked and struck hard with both claws, rending both flesh and armor in a single strike. Both combatants staggered back from the attack. Clutching his shoulder to stem the flow of blood he watched her as she touched the spreading crimson stain on her dark leather breastplate and looked back at him with a curious expression moments before she slumped to slick stone floor.
Hours later the assassin woke with a start. Valor sat calmly at a small fire wit his back against the wall with both her and the doorway in sight. She scrambled to a crouch, her eyes darting to and fro, searching for danger. After a few tense moments passed Valor cleared his throat. “Relax. No harm will come to pass. That is, if you allow it.”
Touching the area of her wound and finding newly mended skin and muscle the tension fell from her body. Standing tall she walked to the paladin and took a seat outside of arm’s reach.
“How?” The question was clarified by a gesture to the gash in her armor.
“All servants of the Light have some skill in healing.” came Valor’s reply.
They sat in silence for several minutes, watching the flames dance against the shadows of the night.
“They call me Seraphina.” ventured the woman.
Hearing a name familiar to his native lands Valor smiled.
“Apt name. It means ‘Burning One’.”
She allowed a small smile to creep forth.
“I’m as a loss as to why a nameless paladin would find himself so far from home.”
Valor took a deep breath and thought of his choice of responses. Assassins have been known to seek out and eliminate rogue elements of society deemed to be a threat. He weighed the telling of an outright lie and merely omitting his desire to alleviate his guilt. Doctrine and belief won out and he found himself recounting the events that brought him to Westmarch and Khanduras. Seraphina listened intently as she studied the flux of emotions that passed over the paladin’s features.
After his words faded away they sat for what seemed to be an eternity. The noises of the night kept them company with its enduring tale of the natural order of things.
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