狂风摆渡 2008-11-3 12:36
Continuing an annual, sporadic tradition, I’ve written a piece ofHalloween-themed, Diablo fan fiction. This story takes place nearTristram, at the time of Diablo III, and incorporates what (little) weknow about the background of the characters, the state of the world,and a bit about one particularly nasty type of monster. It’s about5000 words, and like all of my Halloween stories, it’s got a lot ofgame-style violence, so some parental discretion might be advised. Youmight even enjoy reading it with the new, [url=http://www.blizzard.com/diablo3/world/environments/tristram.xml]creepy Tristram music[/url] playing in the background.
Click through to read the tale, and scroll to the bottom for links to the Diablo Halloween stories I posted, back in the D2 days
[b]Halloween in New Tristram[/b]
Trudging back from Tristram, a bulging sack slung over one shoulder,Edward kept his head down and his eyes on the dusty road. To the westthe sun was sliding below the horizon, and the gray clouds were paintedwith red and orange. In years past Edward had gloried in such beauty,but on this day it reminded him of spilt blood and torn flesh, sightshe had seen too often of late. Pausing to take a drink from his waterskin, he coughed, spat into the dirt, took a tighter grip on the sack,and started walking again, thoughts of his wife and children giving newstrength to his tired body.
“I should ‘na have taken that ale.” Edward muttered as darkness creptover the land. He’d needed supplies for his farm and his family, andwith no ox to pull the wagon he’d had to walk. It was near eight milesfrom his farm to Tristram, but he’d still have been home before dark ifhe’d not tarried over a barley ale in The Rising Son. It had been aweak brew, but a man grew thirsty for more than creek water after amonth harvesting crops and tending sheep. Still, he knew it had beenfoolish to delay, on this of all nights.
All Hallow’s Eve was not celebrated as it had been in his youth,when a man was wise to lock away his children and stand guard over hisflock, but it wasn’t rowdy youth that Edward was worried about, on thisnight. Strangers had been seen in Tristram in recent months, since thefire had fallen from the sky. Travelers, and worse. The elders in thetavern had spoken of dark creatures creeping into town in the night,and mysterious bands of Cultists roaming the countryside by day.Judging from the dread in their voices, Edward was left to wonder whichthey feared more.
Shaking his head to clear the worries, Edward hitched the pack upone last time as he crested a rise. Below him spread the valley hecalled home, and the distant light shining through his own front windowcheered him. He paused outside, quickly assembling a few special itemshe’d had to hunt down and barter for in town, and when his son swungopen the door a moment later, his eyes grew wide when he saw his fatherholding forth two bright red demon masks.
“You remembered Hallow’s Time, Papa!” cried Donald, his excitedshout bringing his little sister running from the kitchen. She’d beenstanding on a chair, stirring the stew pot Edward’s wife had grown tooweak to tend, but at the sight of the masks, and the small bag ofsugary treats Edward was holding up with a smile, her adultresponsibilities were forgotten at once.
Edward entered the house, and while the children pulled on theirmasks he closed and barred the front door and the window. The childrenwere transported by their presents and were oblivious to hisprecautions. Roaring at each other and capering like monkeys, Donaldand Salana chased each other around the table, their delighted laughterenough to bring a smile to the weary face of Edward’s wife.
Marra was sitting up in bed, wrapped in a thick quilt. She’d beenbedridden for more than a month, and just as Edward bent down to kissher cheek, another coughing fit took her. Recoiling, Edward watched indismay as her frail shoulders shook from the force of her coughs, thewet hacking sounds painful to his ears. Turning away as Marracollapsed, wheezing, he placed another log on the fire and scowled intothe flames. The children hadn’t even paused in their play, so often hadthey heard their mother wracked by her lingering illness.
Still, this was not a night for such dark thoughts. Demons werestrong on All Hallow’s Eve, strong and bold, and that was why humanshad taken to mocking them with masks, costumes, and revelry. In abetter year there would have been a great harvest festival in Tristram,with all of the citizens out in the streets around huge bonfires. Hotcider and sweet cakes would have fueled the children in their devilishcostumes, and the cheerful citizens and their sacred blazes would havebeen enough to frighten away any lurking demons.
This night, Edward knew Tristram would be dark and silent, the fewremaining residents locked away in their own homes or shivering behindthe shuttered windows and barred door of the tavern. The demons werenot far away, not with the Cathedral once more haunted by dark forces,and there were no men left in Tristram with the bravery to call outtheir fellow citizens and to build fires so bright they banished thedarkness. There would be fires tonight, but they would burn atop theancient hills, where the mysterious Cultists erected rough altars totheir dark, unknown gods. No demon would be frightened by those flames.Demons were welcomed by the Cultists—were even worshipped by them, somesaid.
Edward could hardly credit such rumors. Foul though their cult mightbe, he could not imagine men giving fealty to the dark forces of hell.He had not always been a farmer; he knew how wretched were the enemiesof man. They could not be bargained with, or appeased. They were to befeared, or defied with steel and flame. Never bargained with, oraccommodated.
His daughter’s laughter and her tiny hand on his back roused Edwardfrom his reverie, and he stood up, almost surprised to find himselfstill in his own warm home. How had he sunk so deeply into that mood?This was not a night for such thoughts. Forcing a smile to his face,Edward joined the children in their game, watching with half an eye ashis wife made her slow way from the bed to the stove. She wore herthickest night gown over fur-lined boots, had a quilt wrapped aroundher shoulders, and still she shivered with the cold, even as shestirred the stew pot near the hot oven. Pork was roasting within, thelast of a hog Edward had butchered a few days past, and the aromastirred his appetite. He meant to enjoy this meal; too many dark monthsof goat’s milk, stale bread, and dried meat awaited him, before springbrought new life to this cursed land.
Hours later, Edward lay wakeful. His wife was sleeping beside him,the children were lost in slumber on the smaller bed beside the hearth,but Edward could not relax. Long forgotten senses were awake in him,and the feeling of being watched, of being sized up like a hog in apen, would not leave him. He wanted to arm himself and go out into thenight, to seek out the watcher, but that was not an option. Not withtwo children and a dying wife to protect.
So he remained awake, fully dressed save for his boots on the floorbeside the bed, his short sword on a table, and his axe and a pitchforkbeside the barred front door. When faint sounds came to his ears, likeshuffling footsteps on the dry earth outside, Edward was not surprised.He eased his feet into his boots, took his sword in one hand, and creptto the front door.
The only light in the large room came from the embers in the fire,and it was actually brighter outside, now that the nearly full moon wasrearing high overhead. Peering through a peep hole in the door, Edwardscanned the front yard. He saw nothing, just trees swaying in thebreeze, but the second he pulled his head back, a blade stabbed throughthe hole his eye had just vacated, the cold steel passing close enoughto part the bushy hair on his right temple.
Edward grunted in surprise, but did not cry out or give himselfaway. He simply moved another step to the left and picked up thepitchfork. He’d built the house himself, and knew the front door wassolid. No man could break through it in one blow, and the hinges andthick bar across the middle would hold up against a mighty assault. Ifthe door was broken, it would break along one of the planks, andthrough such a narrow opening his pitchfork would prove a deadlystabbing weapon.
Waiting for the inevitable assault, Edward gripped the weaponloosely, using the strength of his fingers rather than clenching it ina clumsy fist. His hands were cold, but dry, and as he held the tool hewould use as a spear, he savored the trembling in his stomach. Oncehe’d loved this sensation, this feeling of terrified, eagerexpectation. He’d never felt more alive than before a battle.
The moment stretched out, then passed. Muffled sounds came fromoutside, but none were immediately on the other side of the door. Nonewere recognizable, either. Edward might have thought there were wilddogs out there, or some other animal, but for the blade that had nearlytaken his eye. That and the fact that his goats were quiet. They wouldhave been bleating and kicking if wolves or dogs had been outside.Humans they could abide.
As if his thought had given direction, there came a cry, and acrashing noise as of a great mallet smashing into wood. The front doordid not bear the impact though, nor did any other part of the house.The crash had come from the barn, and when it was repeated his daughtercame awake with a cry, just as the goats began bleating in the night.
A third crash was rewarded with the sound of breaking wood, and Edwarddared press his eye to the hole again. He saw nothing in front of thehouse, but when he dashed to the east wall and peered through a narrowcrack at waist height, he saw dark figures in the barnyard. They werehumans, robed and cowled. There were at least eight men, and Edward wassure there were more he could not see. One huge man was wielding somesort of mighty sledgehammer, using both hands to swing the weapon downinto the side of the barn. Not even into the door, which was on theright side of the building. The brute was bashing a hole straightthrough the wall, and with his fifth strike a whole section of wallcaved in. Shrieks went up from the hooded figures, and they rushed intothe barn, torches suddenly flaring to life in their hands. The goatswere soon screaming, joining their cries to the excited clucking ofEdward’s fourteen chickens and one rooster.
His stomach roiling, Edward continued gripping his pitchfork, andforced himself to abide. There were plenty of dried supplies in acellar below the house, and no raiders could enter it without breakinginto the house. The goats and chickens his family could live without.The children and Marra would not survive the winter without him. Mostlikely, they would most likely not survive the night, if he charged outto battle the raiders, and did not succeed in killing or driving themall away. Once, Edward knew he would have rushed out, swinging his woodaxe. At twenty, or perhaps even thirty. But then he had not borne thechains of responsibility he did now, as a husband and father.
“What’s happening, Papa?” asked a tiny voice beside him, and as heturned to look down at his daughter, again came the blade, stabbingthrough the opening he’d been looking out just an instant before. Thistime Edward’s old reflexes were ready, and before he’d even thoughtabout it his arms had moved, swinging the handle of his pitchfork atthe stabbing weapon. He struck it powerfully from the side, bending thethin blade sideways so it stuck where it was, impossible for the manoutside to remove.
The blade jiggled several times, as its owner struggled to pull itfree, and again moving before he knew his intent, Edward drew his shortsword and thrust it through the gap in the timber wall, in inch belowthe fouled blade. The sword was short, a one-handed weapon, but it wasfar longer than the dagger. Edward’s thrust was rewarded with a shriekof agony from without, and the dagger jerked one last time, then wasreleased as its wielder staggered back, his stumbling footsteps, thenthe thud as he fell to the ground audible over his cries of pain andthe screams of slaughtered animals.
“Get back into bed, Salana. You too Donald.” Edward heard himselfsay, as he looked at the blood that glistened on the tip of his blade.He’d gotten the man through the thigh, he thought. Perhaps the stomach,if the bastard had been bending down. Likely not a fatal wound. Atleast not immediately.
“No!” he hissed, the light shining from behind pulling Edward out ofhis thoughts. He turned just in time to see Marra sitting up in bed, aglowing lantern in her hand. “Put it out!” he added, just as somethingstruck the front door hard enough to shake the entire house. Fear inhis belly, Edward, motioned to his son, pointing to the back door,beside the hearth. It was narrow and dark, concealed outside by anoverhanging tree and ivy that had grown up the rear wall of the house,and before the second hammer blow could land, Edward had slid backthree bolts and forced the door open.
“Shut it behind me. Lock it.” he whispered to Donald. Handing theboy his pitchfork, he added, “Stab through the front door with this.Keep them back. I will take them from behind.”
Donald’s eyes were wide with fear, Edward could see that much in thedim light, but he had no time for speeches or farewells. Withoutanother word he slipped through the back door, his wood axe in hishands, his sword in his belt.
The house was not large, and by the time Edward heard bolts beingthrown on the back door, he’d run halfway around it. He went to theright, away from the barn, and as he’d hoped, he came out of thedarkness and took the group by the front door entirely by surprise.There were at least a dozen of them, most holding torches and longdaggers; krises, with wavy blades. Others leaned on long staves, whileone huge man, naked from the waist up while the others were garbed inheavy cloaks with peaked hoods, wielded a huge maul, the head of whichglowed with an eerie red flame. The men were not warriors, at least notwell-equipped ones. They wore cloth and leather, but no armor thatEdward could see, and that made his chore easier.
Edward wondered who these men were, but only idly. He cared littlefor their origin, or the nature of their cult. He cared only to seethem dead, and he quickly used his axe to send two on that path. Theirmagical torches gave him plenty of light to aim, and with deadlyefficiency he drove his blade down into the side of one man’s neck,then wrenched the weapon free and struck another man in the samemotion.
Edward swung only as hard as he needed to, letting the heavy axehead do the work. It was not necessary to chop a man’s head off to killhim. Simply cutting the arteries along the side of his neck would dothe job just as well, without risk of the weapon getting stuck in ashoulder blade or collar bone. Striking a third man a glancing blowwith the handle of the axe, Edward took half a second to swing hard ata fourth, but missed a clean kill when the man started to turn, andtook the axe to his shoulder, instead of the back of his neck.
Wrenching the weapon free, Edward swung wildly, sending another manleaping back with a cry of alarm and a ripped vestment, but no wound.They’d all seen him by now, but before they could turn to bring theirattack on him, Edward was off, sprinting away from the house and into astand of trees. He’d never intended to kill them all, not when therewere a dozen or more. He hoped only to draw them away from his home,and as he dashed into the trees and turned quickly to the right,heading for a large boulder he knew lay in that direction, he wasgratified to hear their frantic cries and running sounds of pursuit.
The first flaming projectile that streaked through the night andsmashed into the trees behind him was less pleasing, but he’dconsidered the possibility that they might have a mage or two amongsttheir ranks. Most cultists knew some magic; thanks to powers granted bytheir dark gods.
[url=http://www.diii.net/gallery/showphoto.php?photo=697&cat=564][img]http://www.diii.net/gallery/data/564/medium/ss31-hires.jpg[/img][/url]Asecond, third, and fourth fireball followed the first, and Edwardgrimaced as he hooked around the huge stone and ran back towards theedge of the woods, some twenty yards to the south of the flames thatnow marked his entry point. A cultist was suddenly in front of him, theman’s glowing staff illuminating his face, even hidden as it was by hisdeep hood. His visage was a living nightmare; the skin scarred andlined, his expression blank, his eyes glowing with a soulless greenlight.
More disgusted than horrified, Edward paused not at all, and lungedforward, swinging his axe over his shoulder and straight into thecultist’s lifeless face. His aim was true, and the weapon struck withdevastating force, the blade nearly cleaving the dark priest in two.Nearly, but not quite, and as the weapon stuck in his split skull,Edward abandoned it and dashed back into the woods, even as the darkpriest jerked and thrashed on the ground, his staff glowing with greenfire.
More fireballs screamed through the night, and as he crouched downbehind a tree trunk, his sword at the ready, Edward saw that they werenot flame. They were some ethereal substance, glowing with greens andyellows, like the staff of the mage he’d just cut down. They did notburn the trees they struck, instead breaking into a thousand sparklesthat scattered into the night like tiny fireflies.
Pulling his eyes away before he became distracted, Edward hurrieddeeper into the woods, ducking down to let two of the huge, half-nakedbrutes charge past, the fluted ends of their massive clubs glowing withreddish hellfire. He didn’t know where the second one had come from,but the night was now alive with men in dark robes, shouting to eachother and waving torches. There must have been more of them, in thebarn or perhaps hanging back from the house? Another cultist ran pasta second later, panting harshly, his long kris glowing with yellowlight. Clumsy in his haste, or madness, he tripped over a tree root,and at once Edward was upon him, driving his short sword through theman’s side, under his ribs and up into his lungs. Twisting the bladewith a practice flick of the wrist, Edward jerked it free and ranagain, ducking through the leafless trees and trying to circle aroundto the north.
There seemed to be more cultists every moment, their lights glowingin all directions, and as Edward hid again in the underbrush and triedto control his harsh breathing, he heard the crashing of metal on woodagain. At least one of them had gone back to the house, and at thatmoment Edward knew despair. There were too many, and he was too farfrom the house. He’d never get back in time.
An instant later he wondered if he’d get back at all, when two robedfigures shouted from directly behind him. His instincts save him onemore, as he dove forwards, straight through the underbrush, just as amassive hammer crashed down into the earth. It grazed his right knee,and even that blow was enough to hobble Edward, as the enchanted maulslammed into the earth, knocking small rocks and bits of tree root inevery direction.
Rolling over, Edward came up in a crouch, just in time to parry astabbing dagger. Flicking the tip of his blade, he slashed it acrossthe acolyte’s neck, then stabbed hard into his stomach when the mangasped and fell forwards, his blood spurting across Edward’s face. Spitting and wiping his eyes, Edward staggered to his feet, amazed tosee the mighty hammer wielder still struggling to pull his mace fromthe ground. He’d swung so hard the weapon embedded in the earth, and herefused to leave it, or fight with another weapon.
“Mad. Mad and holy.” Edward muttered, as leaped forward on one leg,stabbing his sword straight through the neck of the heavily-muscledbrute. The man never even looked up, his attention fully on his pluggedweapon, and even after taking the fatal cut to his neck he continuedpulling at the handle for a few more seconds, before the reddish glowfaded from the weapon and he slumped to the earth.
Panting and favoring his bruised leg, Edward started to hop into thetrees, then froze when he saw four cultists walking directly towardshim. More of them were behind him, Edward knew, just as he knew thathis fight had ended. He could not run, he could hardly stand, and evenif he could have, what was the use? The crashing of wood had ended; theenemy had breached his home, and though he’d taught Donald a few trickswith a spear or sword, the lad was just twelve, and not large for hisage.
Still, resigned though he was to his failure, Edward still felt thepain when his daughter’s screams pierced the night. “Bastards!” hecried, spinning to his right and lunging at two dagger-wieldingacolytes. One fell back, the other tried to parry, and in a blinkEdward cut the lad’s wrist open, then slashed across his face. This onewas less drugged, or devout, than the others, and moved quickly enoughto keep his nose. Edward wasn’t able to rectify that, since a hammerblow and several hard cracks from the butts of staves struck his backand sides before he could move.
Grunting in pain, he lost his sword and fell, taking another hardshot on the way down. Stunned, Edward spent a second groping for hisweapon until a mace crashed down into his shoulder, breaking severalribs and smashing his face into the ground. Grunting in agony, Edwardcould do nothing but curl up and moan. Sitting out dirt, he gagged onthe taste of his own and another’s blood, then gasped again when astaff cracked down into his right leg. Praying for a sword to end thisslow bludgeoning, he was shocked by a howl that echoed through thenight, the shouting voice so deep that it shook the ground. More groundshaking came a second later, and with the earth jumping beneath him,Edward felt suddenly disorientated. Unable to tell up from down, hecould only stare with wide and watering eyes as a glowing giantappeared, a huge helm over his head, a sword long enough to spit a bullclenched in his hands. The giant howled again, throwing back his headand screaming in a voice that shook the forest, before bursting intomotion, swinging the great sword like a scythe.
The cultists were the wheat, and they must have been as disorientedby the shouting as Edward, for he saw half a dozen kneeling down orhanging onto trees like drunkards. The giant cared not, and cleavedthem like firewood, sending sprays of blood in all directions. A treecrashed down, then a second, chopped in half as neatly as the darkpriests who’d been clinging to them. Sure he must be dead and dreaming,Edward closed his eyes, trying to pull his wits together. Secondspassed, perhaps even minutes, but when he finally felt able to open hiseyes and move he did so, rising painfully to his knees. His right legwould not bear him, some blow had numbed it below the knee, and hecould hardly breath, his chest and ribs were so bruised. He could crawlthough, and with his sword once again clenched in his fist, Edwardpulled himself through the gore and over the bodies that covered theforest floor, heading for his home. A fire was burning in thatdirection, perhaps the barn, perhaps the house as well, and the lighthelped him stay on course as he made his torturous way towards what heassumed would be the bodies of his children and wife. He’d join them,soon enough. His wounds were crippling, if not immediately fatal, buthe had no desire to live on without his family. This world had turnedto darkness, and there was naught an honest farmer could do to standagainst such evil.
Time passed, and by the time Edward could see that the barn was wellengulfed in flame, he felt strong enough to get to his feet. One legwas still useless, and he could not raise his right arm, but he couldhop along, using a staff he’d found for a crutch.
Bodies were everywhere, dead cultists in every state of disrepair.The giant had moved through them like a harvester, cutting them tobits, even seeming to have detonated their bodies in some instances.Edward was no stranger to carnage, but on no battlefield had he everseen such destruction. Fist-sized chunks of flesh, severed heads andarms and legs, and even slicks of blood as though bodies had beenground into soup. There were also puddles of thick green slime here andthere, and some of the dead Cultists who remained whole seemed to bescorched, or swollen and discolored, as if by some horrible toxin. Thescene was beyond his imagination, so Edward didn’t try to understand.He just kept moving, determined to live long enough to see their bodieswith his own eyes. Perhaps the giant would spare him that long?
Finally, finally he reached his home, and without pausing toconsider his next move, Edward staggered through the shattered remainsof the front door, into the well-lit room. His eyes saw first his wife,standing erect near the table. She was all but naked, with only a thinsleeping gown on. Beside her was a dark figure, a woman of such exoticbeauty that Edward thought he must be delirious. She was hardly moredressed than Marra, with a loin cloth around her waist and little morethan necklaces and rags over her shoulders. Her arms and legs wereringed by countless bracelets, the gold of them shining in the firelight, and a sword was slung across her back.
The strangeness of those sights hardly compared to the third womanin the room, though. She was enormous, easily a head taller thanEdward, and as broad as an ox. This was the giant, but now with herhelm removed he could see that she too was female. She was not just thelargest woman Edward had ever seen, she was the largest person, andwhen she reached for him with hands the size of baskets, he made noeffort to fight them away. Her grip was gentle, but she might have beena statue, she felt so solid in her strength. Force seemed to flow fromher into his broken body, and Edward felt his consciousness fade as hiseyes rolled back into his head.
When next Edward opened his eyes, it was to see his wife’s facesmiling down at him. It was a pained smile, a bittersweet one, and whena tear tracked from her eye and dripped to his check, Edward didn’tflinch.
“They took the children.” she said, as her smile broke and tears filled her eyes.
“The giant?” asked Edward. He felt drunk and dazed, and his body ached all over.
“The Cultists. The Dark Cultists. They took our children to sacrifice, with iron and flame. To the Lord of Terror.”
This was far beyond Edward’s addled wits, and he tried to sit upwhile he thought. Agony shot through his back at the effort, and hegroaned at the sharp, mind-clearing pain.
“You’re not to move. Your ribs were broken. Sztangze healed thebruises, but bones take longer to knit.” Edward frowned at this, themeaning of Marra’s surprising words hard to grasp. What was Sztangze?“I have a poultice she left for you,” Marra continued. “It looks likemud. With tiny red worms in it. I’m to wash off the old and smear on afresh layer each day, one hour after moon rise. That’s when medicine istraditionally dispensed in the Clouded Valley.”
Still too dazed to take stock of this, Edward felt his mind driftingand winced as he twisted to the side. The expected bolt of pain shotthrough him, helping him to think. “Marra. Where is Donald? Salana?”
His words brought a sob from his wife, but she quickly mastered hergrief. “I told you. They took them. The Cultists. Sztangze healed me,and then she healed you, and then she and Lanaa went after them. TheBarbarian said she would bring back the children, if… if...” The lastfew words were lost in sobs, and at last Edward understood. Helpless tocontrol his emotions, he joined his wife in her grief, struggling toraise one arm high enough to put over her shoulders, when she loweredher head to his chest to sob against his shoulder.
There they remained, lying on the bed. Edward felt himself driftingin and out of consciousness, the strain of the night’s events, the heatof the blankets and the roaring blaze in the hearth, and the coldbreeze coming through the broken front door combining to keep him in arestless but exhausted state. Looking past his sleeping wife’s head, hecould see his sword lying on the table. Someone had cleaned it, wipedthe blood and dirt from the blade, and left it resting on the table,beside a number of pots and bowls from which strange aromas floated.Edward guessed that the dark-skinned woman with the impossible name hadmixed her healing magic in those dishes.
Hours passed, and every time Edward woke from a painful doze, heexpected to see a Cultist standing over the bed, his face dead, hiseyes shining green in the light of a glowing kris. Edward dreamed itseveral times, but never dreamed strongly enough to make it real, andwhen he opened his eyes to see the faint blue light of dawn through thegaping door, the dark woman had returned. She stood silently in thecenter of the room, her eyes on the flames licking up a fresh log inthe fire, and before Edward could think of anything to say, Marra hadawakened and leapt out of bed.
“We bringing you children...” intoned the woman, her voice a huskywhisper, the words tinged with an accent like nothing Edward had everbefore heard. He wanted to hear more, but before he could think how tospeak, his daughter walked through the door. Salana looked calm andcomposed, but when she approached the fire Edward could see that hereyes were empty. She’d seen too much, and had retreated into herself tosurvive. He’d seen it before in soldiers, or women who had been takenas spoils when their side lost a war. It had sickened him then. In hisown daughter, it was a hook in his heart.
Before that grief could take hold, it was replaced by wonder at thesight of the giantess. She ducked and twisted her way through the frontdoor, a tiny bundle in her hands. One stride took her across the room,and when she laid her burden down on the table and unwrapped theblanket she’d tied around it, Edward saw that the burden was not sosmall, except when compared to the giantess. It was Donald, his son.The boy was naked and covered in blood. His own, by the looks of themarks on him. They were symbols, hieroglyphics carved into his flesh.Worse than those were the long iron spikes that had been driven intohis back, like a second spine. There were perhaps a dozen such nails,each one longer than Edward’s hand, and as thick as a dagger blade.
“He fought. He died bravely. His ascent is assured.” said thegiantess. Edward could only stare at her, his throat locked as thoughhe’d swallowed a hot, hard ball of iron. “He was avenged.” she added,then raised her hands in a military salute, turned, and stepped backthrough the door, vanishing more quickly than would have seemedpossible for someone of her size.
“This one saw much. Too much. I have done for her what I can. Timemay heal her wounds.” The lilting voice of the dark woman drew Edward’shot, dry eyes from his son’s corpse. She was not looking at him, hefound, but at Marra who stood beside the bed, her fists clenched, herface was as white as the gown she wore. “Bury boy ‘fore dark. Point himhead to north. Tie this round neck. He stay down then.”
Her words finished, she gently laid a chain of beads and bits ofbone over Donald’s neck, then turned to bow towards Edward and hiswife. That duty completed, she knelt down and looked into Salana’sface, then shook her head, the beads and bells in her hair chimingfaintly. Rising in a fluid motion, she turned and was gone without alook back. The child looked at her, looked after her, but Edward couldtell that Salana saw nothing. Her eyes were open, but they wereunfocused, and her face was as blank those of the dark priests Edwardsaw every time he closed his eyes.
Sources of inspiration and background information for this one: [url=http://www.blizzard.com/diablo3/world/bestiary/darkcultists.xml]Dark Cultists[/url]. [url=http://www.blizzard.com/diablo3/characters/witchdoctor.xml]Witch Doctor[/url].
Earlier Halloween Diablo stories by Flux:
[list][*]1998: [url=http://www.blackchampagne.com/writing/paladins-lesson.shtml]A Paladin’s Lesson[/url][*]1999: [url=http://www.blackchampagne.com/writing/magistrate-suit.shtml]The Magistrate Suit[/url][*]2000: [url=http://www.blackchampagne.com/writing/haunted-castle.shtml]Haunted Castles Beat Treats[/url][*]2001: [url=http://www.blackchampagne.com/writing/dark-lady.shtml]The Dark Lady[/url][*]2004: [url=http://www.blackchampagne.com/writing/d2-halloween-2004.shtml]All Hallow’s Even in Gal Darrack[/url].[/list]Also note that since our old TDL subsite is gone and probably not coming back, we’re going to breath new life into our moribund [url=http://forums.diii.net/forumdisplay.php?f=8]Fan Fiction Forum[/url].We’d like to start posting a new piece of featured fan fiction eachweek, as we do with the Wallpapers. Stories will be selected from thoseposted in the FFF, and will be presented on the site front page. Forthat to happen, you guys need to start turning out D1/D2/D3 shortstories again, and posting them in the FFF. Have fun!