Syous's Story

The last of the wagons had arrived last night during the rain. It blew in from the east and fell just before the sun rose over Tristram. The travelers had all been given room and board at The Inn, and Deckard Cain was expecting to brief them first thing in the morning. It is just after sunrise, and already Tristram is alive with merchants beckoning, farmers plowing, and roosters singing to the sun.

During their slumber, the travelers had all experienced a most unusual dream. They had been walking, transfixed, down a corridor lined with melting candles. In spite of their desire to look left or right, or to stop going, their bodies worked against them until one by one, the candles faded out. The floor beneath them began to crumble and give way to a fiery Hell. Even in the dream world, the hot breath of the hellfire could be felt on their skin, melting away their armor and weapons until they stood, naked, before Diablo. He towered above them, his red flesh brilliant in the light, his eyes giving off a glow more vibrant than the fire itself. His long, spiked tail whipped behind him, and he clutched the traveler in his claws.

SOON, NEPHALEM, YOU WILL KNOW TRUE SUFFERING. THE WORLD WILL BURN TO ASHES, AND ITS PEOPLE WILL FORSAKE YOU. EVERYTHING YOU ARE, EVERYTHING YOU DESIRE, WILL COME TO RUIN.

Diablo's jaws unhinged, and from his mouth poured a dark smoke with burning embers. With a final squeeze - one that left the travelers gasping even in their sleep - he thrust them into his mouth.

This is where our travelers, our heroes, begin their search for The Artifacts.

(I am waiting for everyone to respond to Cain's briefing before I post again, just FYI)

Arkas had arrived late last night, the barbarian could hardly keep his eyes open, a little bit of shut eye before visiting the cathedral was a good idea. The barbarian had sunken into a deep sleep at one of the tables and had slept an entire day away, paying the innkeeper when he came to hassle him out.

His sleep was visited with nightmares. The maws of demons, the last stands of his brothers at mount Arreat and the hand of the prime evils curling around his arm and forcing it towards his brethren.

SOON, NEPHALEM, YOU WILL KNOW FURTHER SUFFERING. THE WORLD WILL BURN TO ASHES, AND ITS PEOPLE WILL FORSAKE YOU. EVERYTHING YOU ARE, EVERYTHING YOU DESIRE, WILL COME TO RUIN. BE MY PUPPET. BE MY PAWN.

Arkas awoke to the sounds of talking, the old man with his niece was back to chortle and be weak. Every inch of his body wanted to sheath his claymore in the old man's bowels. The barbarian stood up, hand on his sword, ready to drag it free of it's sheath. The mark he had long since burned off his right shoulder tingled.

Arkas shoved himself off the table, wiping the drool of his mouth and stomped up to the old man, gazing over the other warriors, they looked weak. They would be bloody stains on the floor if they continued to talk rather than act.

"Where is the cult, old man. I will take those artifacts, but I make no promise to taking them to you. What could an old man and his..." Arkas looked the old man up and down, clutching his sword hilt so tightly that he could hear his knuckles popping.

Arkas stopped himself. "Where are the artifacts?"