IN A DUSTY BAR IN NEW TRISTRAM, THE VILLAGERS GATHER FOR DRINKS, NOT BECAUSE THEY ARE CELEBRATING BUT RATHER TO FORGET THAT THEY HAVE NO REASON TO. AS IS OFTEN FOR THE BELEAGUERED PEOPLE OF KHANDURAS, THE TONE OF THE PATRONS' CONVERSATION IS DARK WITH RISING STRIFE AND COMING OMENS. WORD HAS SPREAD THAT THE REVERED DECKARD CAIN HAS ONCE AGAIN SUMMONED THE NEPHALEM IN ORDER TO COMBAT A RISING EVIL.
AS IS OFTEN THE CASE WITH COMMON FOLK, THE STORIES TOLD ARE SPICED WITH A TOUCH OF EXAGGERATION AND HERESY BUT THAT DOES NOT STOP THE RUMOR MILL FROM TURNING.

Bron the Barkeep: “What do any of you fools know of the words of Cain or the actions of the Nephalem?”

Villager 1: “But I saw him! As dark as the night that surrounded him with a cloak of living shadows!”

Arghus the Collector: “Sounds more like the Dark Wanderer.”

Villager 2: “The Mayor saw him, too so my brother could not be seeing things!”

Arghus the Collector: “Ha! Holus? That fat coward? He’s no mayor.”

Bron the Barkeep: “You’re both fools talking nonsense. Everybody knows that the Dark Wanderer was the first hero after the Horadrics to defeat Di-“

Villager 1: “Do not say his name!” Villager 2: “Do not say his name!”

Bron the Barkeep: “Bah! It does not matter. The Dark Wanderer is dead. Besides, I know this stranger you speak of. I overheard Cain speaking to his daughter.”

A SILENCE THAT CAN ONLY BE DESCRIBED AS DEATHLY CAME OVER THE OCCUPANTS JUST THEN. EVEN THE CLEVER ARGHUS HAD NO WORDS FOR BRON'S SUDDEN PROCLAMATION AND THE BARKEEP SUDDENLY SEEMED UNCOMFORTABLE.

Villager 1: “Well out with it!”

Bron the Barkeep: “I’ve already said too much. It is not my place to speak of the business of Deckard Cain.”

Arghus the Collector: “Yeah! More like he has nothing else to say. Why don’t you go get us a round of drinks, barkeep and leave the talking to those of us who have actually seen this stranger.”

Villager 2: “Hahaha! Arghus is right, brother. Our beloved barkeep is just upset that he is not at the top of the rumor wheel.”

Bron the Barkeep: “A wheel has no top, you idiot. And fine! I’ll tell you what I heard but it cannot leave this place.”

AGAIN AN EERIE SILENCE FELL OVER THE ROOM AS THE THREE MEN LEANED AGAINST THE BAR TO HEAR BRON'S WHISPERING.

Bron the Barkeep: “I only caught bits and pieces of the conversation but from what I could hear, it was about the Nephalem and… Well, the one word I heard more distinctly than any other was Necromancer!”

Villager 1: “Why would Cain summon such a merchant of death?”

Villager 2: “Why are you smiling, Arghus? You look like you know something.”

Arghus the Collector: “Because I’ve met this Necromancer, my friends.”

Bron the Barkeep: “You what? Tell us what you know, merchant!”

Arghus the Collector: “I don’t know, Bron. It would be much easier to tell my story if my mouth were not so dry.”

BRON GRUMBLED SOMETHING ABOUT TALL TALES BUT UNLESS THE TOWN WAS BEING ATTACKED BY DEMONS OR THE UNDEAD, TRISTRAM WAS A DULL PLACE TO LIVE AND THE ENDLESS TURNING OF THE RUMOR MILL WAS THE BEST FORM OF ENTERTAINMENT. SO HE RETURNED WITH ARGHUS' DRINK AND EVEN A COUPLE FOR THE BROTHERS. THEN, IN TYPICAL FASHION, MAKING SURE HIS LIPS WERE WET WITH ALE AND HE HAD THE FULL ATTENTION OF HIS AUDIENCE, THE CLEVER COLLECTOR BEGAN HIS STORY.

Arghus the Collector: “Before it burned to the ground, I was passing through the fishing town, Wortham. The people were practically up in arms and talking about a stranger who smelled of death and rot. They were saying that he resided in the Festering Woods but occasionally came in to town to inquire about Tristram and, of course Deckard Cain.

I was curious so I decided to go to the woods myself and investigate…”

Villager 2: “Cow shit! You went in to the Festering Woods?”

Villager 1: “Hush, brother! Let him tell his story.”

Arghus the Collector: “Yes, let me finish. As I was saying, I decided to go to the woods myself to see if I could catch a glimpse of this stranger but I did not dare cross the threshold. I did not stay long but when I returned to Wortham, the stranger had apparently returned. It must have been through some sort of magic because I never passed him.

He was in the tavern, sitting in the corner furthest from the fire. I did not immediately approach him, though and as it would turn out, I wouldn’t have to.
From what I was told by the villagers, he smelled like an old grave and his hands were horribly scarred, as if by a fire. That would explain why he preferred the cold embrace of the shadows. The people said he was a Necromancer but none of them had ever seen his face because he kept it, and his body covered by a cloak and hood of deep crimson. Fine material for one whom so reeks.

But those weren’t even the juiciest rumors. They spoke of his strange powers and how he strangled his enemies with cords of flesh from his own arm. They said that he could even command dead trees to reach out and entangle his foes and that he communicated with carrion birds.”

Bron the Barkeep: “But what did you mean when you said that you did not have to approach him?”

Arghus the Collector: “That’s the thing. Apparently, he recognized that I was not from the village and so he approached me with questions about Tristram’s new location. His voice was guttural as if his throat was full of blood. I could see his hands clearly, now and they did look burned but I also saw his jawline. It was… it was as if he had no skin and his muscle was plain to see.”

THIS DREW GASPS FROM THE MERCHANT'S GROWING AUDIENCE AND HE JUST BARELY HID HIS SMILE BY TIPPING UP HIS MUG AND FINISHING HIS DRINK. THEN HE SHOOK THE EMPTY GLASS BRON'S WAY AND THE BARKEEP DID NOT HESITATE TO GET HIM ANOTHER. THE TWO BROTHERS WERE SO ABSORBED IN THE COLLECTOR'S WORDS THAT THEY HAD NOT EVEN TOUCHED THEIR OWN DRINKS.

Villager 1: “Did you say anything to him? Did you get any answers out of him?”

Arghus the Collector: “I’m not going to lie, my friends. I was scared shitless. But I did manage to get one question in. I asked him who he served. I always heard of the pride of Necromancers and I was hoping that his answer would confirm my suspicion.”

Villager 2: “And? What did he say?”

Arghus the Collector: “ “My name is Zander and I serve the same master we all serve; the mistress who calls herself death.” “