Tristram

Zech awoke just as he had been thrown into Diablo's gruesome mouth. He was sweating and panting frantically as he looked around his room. A state Zech would never allow anyone to see him in. Zech's thin pale hand rubbed the back of his sweaty neck then made it's way to pushing his now wet fair hair out of his face. Zech swung his feet out of the bed and let them hit the refreshingly cold hardwood floor. He looked at his feet while he placed his hands on his knee to let out a sigh.

Zech stood up and walked towards his dark armor and black cloak he had neatly set in the corner the night before. He put them on and adjusted some making sure it was perfect. Then before he opened the door to the hallway, he carefully pulled the hood of the cloak over his eyes so they could not see his piercing iced blue eyes but he could still see perfectly.

The hallway had the same wood flooring as his room. Zech looked around for a moment to find where he would be given a briefing from Deckard Cain. Zech walked in quietly to the bar. Almost unnoticed as He took a seat near a man with a beret that looked much older than him and a woman across from the man that looked about Zech's age. Zech kept quiet as he was given breakfast. He had no desire to talk to them and began to eat.

The food wasn't to bad. Zech had eaten much worse before. Besides it was food and that was all that mattered to him. While he was quietly eating Zech thought about his dream. He knew exactly what it meant but couldn't seem to shake the doubt that was lingering in the back of his mind.

The most pleasant of nightmares had visited him in his sleep.

It wasn’t a mere frightening experience, one of those wonderful things that had him twisting and turning in his meagre bedroll at the side of the less-travelled road, awakening in a cool sweat and clammy palms that had soaked his clothes, his unkempt beard, the cloth of his gloves. No, this nightmare posessed, even when he was being devoured by the most fearsome of nemeses that he could imagine, a potent sense of purpose that drove him onward. Not only did he wake up with the sweat drenching him and the delightful fear clutching at his chest, but he had woken with a direction, an invigoration of the soul.

Archibald had even had to change his pants, something that he hadn’t had to do since he had just taken his vows and sworn himself to the light. Chuckling darkly to himself, he walked into the bar of Tristram - the evil radiating and soaking the place from ground to the tips of the trees, making him breathe deeply and exhale through his teeth - a purposeful man.

He wore nothing but tattered robes and a hood that was pulled over a smooth face and head, a red semi-circle dotting the place just underneath his clear, blue left eye met his hallowed and pale cheeks.

Underneath the tattered cloth was rusted, heavy plate that was oddly soundless as it moved, a blurry effect surrounding the metal. When the eye rested upon it, it was like it couldn’t focus properly.

He approached the slum of a bar with a sheer fascination, stooping to take in the rotting wood dotting the place and the wobbly nature of a stool as he passed. Archibald’s eyes searched the faces for the most well-armed individuals, and-

Aha. His footsteps took him forward, towards Marius and Orianna’s table, a slight limp to his steps. Standing beside the two, he bared yellow teeth as Orianna finished her question.

“Am too,” he grunted, his voice sounding strained, broken, “sounds like we’re to be traveling mates.”

He raised an eyebrow at Marius, giving him a long, searching look, the difference in the two men’s statures palpable.

“Archibald,” he said, offering his hand - tattered gloves attempting to cover a rusty, gnarled gauntlet - towards Orianna, shifting his shoulder to turn his back on the other veteran.

An ominous knock came to the Monastery doors in Tristram. It was Syous, the newcomer. He was of the Grey Hand. . . His Order had demanded he be there, but he was ambushed by a large contingent of bandits. In fact, Syous made sure to defend a merchant caravan on their way to Tristram. Syous managed to make short work of the bandit group. . . unfortunately the caravan had been either slaughtered or forced to run from their assailants. Syous wiped the murderers out during the massacre, however. Bandits were both ruthless, and also either stupid or at least desperate to risk Syous'es ire after witnessing his rage. Syous continued to knock. "Open, it is I, on Order of the Grey Hand."

(reposted to the correct place)

When the barbarian and the hunter arrived, Zander stepped forward as did the hound. When it stepped out of the shadows, the dim candlelight unveiled the beast for what it was. Rather than some demonic hound from the depths of Hell, it appeared to be an ordinary hunting dog. It was filthy and caked in dirt but even beneath that its yellow-gold fur could be seen plainly enough.

“Welcome, Cain’s heroes,” the stranger greeted them from beneath his crimson hood, his face still unseen. His voice was guttural, bubbling even like the last gasp of a drowning man whose lungs would only ever know water again. “My name is Zander. I have been waiting for you. I hope my comrades did not give you cause for worry.”

By now, the shambling skeletons and walking dead lined the walls of the small room, causing their shadows to dance eerily in the flickering candlelight. The dog stepped out from behind Zander and went about sniffing the ground between the three of them. At first there would seem nothing strange about that but though the dog’s nose moved, there was no sound other than its paws shuffling against the cold, stone floor.

In better light, the dog appeared wounded and most of the dirt that covered its fur was actually dried blood. One of its eyes was permanently open, missing its lid and the obviously undead dog was also missing half of an ear. It made no noise as it sniffed because it drew no breath but much like human corpses raised from the grave, it was simply going through the motions.

Arkas would've growled, but the stink of all these undead would crawl in his throat and make him hurl. The barbarian couldn't even sniff, at least the mountain's constant fresh air had blown away the smell of death, here it had time to stew and congeal into a righteous stink and it made his flesh crawl.

"Are you here to help, Zander?" Arkas spat, tapping the side of his leg in impatience. The adrenaline was flowing and as a warrior, he hated when it went to waste.

The answer to Arkas' question would have to go unanswered for some time longer. At that moment, there came a loud clanging and a thunderous boom. The earth began to shake, and the Cathedral doors came slamming together. From the crevices there shone an intense green light, whose disappearance left a strange run burning on the door.

It was undoubtedly sealed, and there was nothing the three adventurers could summon that would open it. The seal would have to be broken elsewhere.

Already on edge, Oriana nearly jumped out of her skin at the din around them. She glared defiantly into the light, recognizing it as some trickery or arcane device. It was quite obvious now that their meeting was not by coincidence, and as the rune stared back at them all, the demon hunter whirled on Zander. There was no evidence that he'd done this, and though her gut told her that he hadn't, she knew the Cathedral had a way of twisting even the most sound of minds.

Oriana tried to relax. She needed to, if she were going to come through this alive or remotely sane. It wasn't that she was afraid; on the contrary, sending a volley of bolts into some hellspawn's skull would certainly take the edge off. It was that she knew now that there were eyes upon them that none of them could see, that every step they took would be anticipated. The element of surprise was a demon hunter's cup of tea, and without it, she was at an extreme disadvantage.

"Someone else has been expecting us, it seems," she said coldly, her eyes caged on Zander. "I suppose it was someone's plan to have us descend into the lower levels of the Cathedral. The door topside has been sealed, and I'm quite confident of my ineptitude in arcane magics."