Snippet #2467006

He had arrived in Tristram without as much as a glance from the villagers. As silent as pestilent death, he had made his way in to the Cathedral, his tattered robe fluttering like a crimson shadow in his wake and the shambling of rising bones sounding like a sweet symphony to those who could truly appreciate such power.

The smell of fresh dirt mingled with rotting corpses and the old stones of the Cathedral but it did not bother the looming figure who called to the dead that marched in to the old building. Rather it reminded him of where he truly belonged, below the dirt rather than walking on top of it but Zander could never return to that cold embrace he so longed for.

The arrival of the barbarian and the hunter was signaled by the rising of the Necromancer’s minions outside of the Cathedral. Zander could not hear them, even the barbarian’s howling threats but there was no mistaking the smell of living flesh. One of them had attacked one of the minions but that was hardly a problem when compared to the looming threat that awaited them all in the Catacombs. Besides, in the world of Sanctuary where angels and demons battled for the souls of Man, there was always more dead to be had.

A deep, guttural growl echoed from the shadows behind Zander when the hunter loosed her bolt within the Cathedral. Zander did not hold out a hand or even speak a command to hold the hound at bay for it was compelled by a greater power. Instead, Zander continued to wait near the entrance of the Catacombs for Cain’s heroes to arrive.