Hey guys. I got a little bored and decided to post up what I have so far of my little D2 series. I haven't even finished chapter one, but I have this nice little epilogue that I think you guys might like.
Basically this is a backstory and the fictional adventures of my main D2 char - Jetrall. It describes his life back in Harrogath before traveling to the Rogue camp and so on and so forth. Anyways, without further adieu, here it is...
His scar burned as a salt tear touched the corner. It followed the contours of the wound down his forehead and across his cheek before sliding off his chin and hitting the floor with a discernable sizzling noise. The warrior of stone had cracked. His years of discipline seemed now as distant and insignificant as the scar across his face. Just one more scratch on a face that had seen many and far worse. He watched as another tear struck the stone, boiling, the vapour curling up into the air and vanishing. The clawed foot abreast of him pivoted, crushing the bones and pebbles beneath. A deep laugh filled the Sanctuary.
"You are a fool for trying to stop me. You may have defeated my brother, but against me, you have no hope."
The Lord of Terror was a sight to behold. Towering above the warrior, smoke circled around his shoulders and up along his great horns. His yellowed teeth reflected the lights of the surrounding torches.
"You should not have brought her here. Now her death shall be as agonizing as yours. Look at yourself weeping. You are indeed a pitiful foe."
The warrior turned his gaze up into the glaring eye of his enemy. His decisions and the mistakes were so clear now. He stared into the eye and with his last ounce of strength, spat his hatred, his fear, and his blood - blood that he had paid so much of - across the Lord of Terror's scaly face. Then he rose, using the hilt of his axe for support.
"I go now to die, and in my dying breath you shall feel the crushing blow of my axe in your skull,” he said at last.
"Fool," responded the Lord. "Not even death can save you from me!"
***
"Today, you are no longer the young men who have trained hour upon hour to defeat the powers of darkness! Today you cease to exist as just a Barbarian of Harrogath... Your are the Arreat Warriors! - Born to protect this city and the mountain. And I have no doubt in my mind that you will make us all proud..."
Qual-Kehk was a large man, a full head taller than most of his warriors, his muscles straining against his armour. The same armour he had owned since he was initiated. The slashes and dents it bore revealed a violent history, but you would not know it to see the man. Not a single mark on his body that could be seen, hinting at the old man's prowess. He had to shout to be heard over the rhythmic smashing of armour and chanting crowds. Today was not like any other day. This day the men of the Warrior's Guild and enlisted into military service. To serve for Harrogath was the greatest honour a Barbarian lad could aspire to.
"Warriors! Recite the Code so that all may hear what wisdom protects us!"
"Sir!" responded all 113 soldiers in unison. "A Warrior is brave in the face of death! A Warrior fears not for himself, but for his family! A Warrior's place is beside his comrade! A Warrior's duty is to honour his father's name on the field!"
In the distance a great horn was blown, and the flags fluttered in the wind.
"We are Warriors!"
The old man walked the line of soldiers, shaking their hands quickly, but with resolve. Jetrall's chest swelled with pride against his polished breastplate. He scanned the crowd and saw his mother, grinning back at him. His young sister stood on a fence, trying to see over the shoulders of the men in front. He smiled, large canines protruding over his bottom lip. But his smile subsided quickly. His father had not come.
"Congratulations." The old man had reached him sooner than Jetrall had expected.
"Why, err..." he stumbled on his words, "thank you... Sir."
"It's been a pleasure working with you Jet. I hope you know that you are one of my finest warriors."
"It is the same from me to you, old man."
"Perhaps so". He chuckled. Distinct lines formed beside his eyes as he laughed, and Jetrall noticed how much older Qual-Kehk looked. His white hair blew in the wind with the flags. The second horn blew. The crowd cheered and applauded as the ceremony ended. The soldiers roared and shook their weapons in the air.
***
Jetrall and two of his classmates, Tauron and Kolneitshik sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor of the small room. The walls around them were adorned with strange relics, talismans, and exotic weaponry. Amazonian spears, still tipped with their deadly poisons, hung horizontally below a painted mask. A Druid's Wolf Helm which legend described as possessing a secret magic, capable of transforming its wearer into a ferocious beast with a lethal bite. Some, Jetrall could not recognize. A grotesque purple head filled a large jar on a low shelf and beside it lay several scrolls of conjurings.
Nihlathak entered through the far door, moving quickly despite his age. He sat in the only chair in the room, an intricate wooden fan-back design off-set the simple nature of the man who sat in it.
"Well then. I suppose it falls upon me to assign your ranks and assignments. Let's try to get it finished as swiftly as possible."
The warriors, unsure how to respond chuckled nervously. Tauron coughed.
"Thank you for volunteering master Pok. We shall begin with you."
Tauron swallowed audibly.
"You have been awarded the rank of Cohort Leader and will be serving in the Arreat Guard. Your duties, as you know them, will be to lead a Cohort of eighty men against enemy forces threatening our homeland. You will also be reporting to Legate Commander Jarek."
Kolneitshik failed to hold in a smile. He would be working above four Cohort Leaders, including his friend. Tauron looked at him and mimed vomiting.
"Very tasteful of you. Tribunal Consul Yaretz, you have been given a special off-mountain assignment."
Tauron and Kolneitshik tried not to stare at their comrade. Tribunal Consul was the second highest rank ever awarded to a new graduate - Qual Kehk retained the first.
"Thank you sir," he replied, still in shock, "But what crisis requires an Arreat Warrior to abandon his people?"
" You are not abandoning us!" Nihlathak strained to stand. "You are going to save us all, if you can. There is, in the Blood Highlands, a re-emergence of evil. Perhaps the first signs of Diablo's second coming. Demons slaughter the innocent peasants and the living dead prowl outside the camps by night. Let us pray the Lord of Destruction does not return as well, for that could spell the end of our great city."
The seriousness of what had been said struck Jetrall dumb. A strange cold ran through his spine like frost across a field. Nihlathak had relaxed back into his chair, leaning his tired face against his hand. He was thin, almost skeletal, Jetrall realized.
"If it is best for my family," he began, "and for yours, then I will do anything."
***
He carried with him his bare essentials. A Warrior need not carry rations - he can provide for himself. A small, metal buckler was strapped tightly around his left forearm where it would sit until it could no longer serve him. His father had given him the shield as soon as he was strong enough to carry it. His right hand sported an axe with a curved black handle, the blade sharp and smooth. His breastplate was adorned with red paint in the symbol he had designed for himself in the Warriors School; a red dragon's skull. His rabbit-skin boots crunched on the natural gravel of the path as he made his way down the mountain. The path was bordered by tall evergreen trees, the first hints of snow sprinkled on their branches.
The Lord of Destruction... That was what Nihlathak had said. Surely he could not mean Baal. If Baal were to return to the mortal realm, he would surely bring with him his brothers Diablo and Mephisto. Jetrall shuddered.
Out of nowhere a hail of spikes rained down on the warrior. He instinctively raised his shield, but not before a spine buried its tip into his left bicep. He roared and pulled the shaft from his body, blood flowed freely from the wound but it had not hit an artery. Jetrall sprung into action as a second set of spines came at him, deflecting them with his shield. He leapt across the path and brought his axe down across the head of one of the creatures. The second growled menacingly at him, raising its spines for another volley. He kicked it over and buried his axe in its gut. The Quill Rats lay in small pools of their own blood at his feet. Jetrall reached his finer down into the blue-silver blood of the animals and spread a thin line of it across his eye and down his cheek. The mild poison burned for a moment, but left a discernable blue scar. His first kill.
He resumed walking, applying a bandage to his arm. He roared once more. "Beware you foul demons and beasts!"
END.
Woo hoo! End of part one. Anyways, I'll get working on a first chapter soon enough. Tell me what you think / give suggestions / etc. :cool:
I actually liked it. No fussy or needless descriptions that take up 3 million pages.
As for remarks, only two. Some of it doesn't exacly make sense lore-wise, but it's minor and not too bad.
Second I wonder about the conversations. For me it seems that it is out of place for the times, but that's just my opinion.
PlugY for Diablo II allows you to reset skills and stats, transfer items between characters in singleplayer, obtain all ladder runewords and do all Uberquests while offline. It is the only way to do all of the above. Please use it.
Supporting big shoulderpads and flashy armor since 2004.
I actually liked it. No fussy or needless descriptions that take up 3 million pages.
As for remarks, only two. Some of it doesn't exacly make sense lore-wise, but it's minor and not too bad.
Second I wonder about the conversations. For me it seems that it is out of place for the times, but that's just my opinion.
It's nice to hear that it isn't too wordy. I have a tendency to be long-winded.
The conversations are written in a semi-appropriate fashion for the "times". Since Diablo is not historical there can be no time period attributed to it, and therefore the language and culture of the peoples in the Diablo realm are up for interpretation. That's just the way I wanted them to talk.
Lastly, with the lore problem. I've never been much of Diablo Lore buff. I'd rather make up stories that fit roughly into the existing plotline. If I'm wrong on a couple of points, I wouldn't be surprised. I've made no real effort to be 100% accurate. I just hope it'll be entertaining enough.
Yes very entertaining indeed. Nice foreshadow in the first paragraph. I think in order to make the story as good as possible you should brush up on the lore a bit. It'd be cool if you related it to other things (like how you're doing, but just more with subtle things too). Your word choice is phenomenal and explantions arent too drawn out yet they describe vivdly.
-Humankind cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. That is alchemy's First Law of Equivalent Exchange. In those days, we really believed that to be the world's one, and only, truth.
Basically this is a backstory and the fictional adventures of my main D2 char - Jetrall. It describes his life back in Harrogath before traveling to the Rogue camp and so on and so forth. Anyways, without further adieu, here it is...
His scar burned as a salt tear touched the corner. It followed the contours of the wound down his forehead and across his cheek before sliding off his chin and hitting the floor with a discernable sizzling noise. The warrior of stone had cracked. His years of discipline seemed now as distant and insignificant as the scar across his face. Just one more scratch on a face that had seen many and far worse. He watched as another tear struck the stone, boiling, the vapour curling up into the air and vanishing. The clawed foot abreast of him pivoted, crushing the bones and pebbles beneath. A deep laugh filled the Sanctuary.
"You are a fool for trying to stop me. You may have defeated my brother, but against me, you have no hope."
The Lord of Terror was a sight to behold. Towering above the warrior, smoke circled around his shoulders and up along his great horns. His yellowed teeth reflected the lights of the surrounding torches.
"You should not have brought her here. Now her death shall be as agonizing as yours. Look at yourself weeping. You are indeed a pitiful foe."
The warrior turned his gaze up into the glaring eye of his enemy. His decisions and the mistakes were so clear now. He stared into the eye and with his last ounce of strength, spat his hatred, his fear, and his blood - blood that he had paid so much of - across the Lord of Terror's scaly face. Then he rose, using the hilt of his axe for support.
"I go now to die, and in my dying breath you shall feel the crushing blow of my axe in your skull,” he said at last.
"Fool," responded the Lord. "Not even death can save you from me!"
"Today, you are no longer the young men who have trained hour upon hour to defeat the powers of darkness! Today you cease to exist as just a Barbarian of Harrogath... Your are the Arreat Warriors! - Born to protect this city and the mountain. And I have no doubt in my mind that you will make us all proud..."
Qual-Kehk was a large man, a full head taller than most of his warriors, his muscles straining against his armour. The same armour he had owned since he was initiated. The slashes and dents it bore revealed a violent history, but you would not know it to see the man. Not a single mark on his body that could be seen, hinting at the old man's prowess. He had to shout to be heard over the rhythmic smashing of armour and chanting crowds. Today was not like any other day. This day the men of the Warrior's Guild and enlisted into military service. To serve for Harrogath was the greatest honour a Barbarian lad could aspire to.
"Warriors! Recite the Code so that all may hear what wisdom protects us!"
"Sir!" responded all 113 soldiers in unison. "A Warrior is brave in the face of death! A Warrior fears not for himself, but for his family! A Warrior's place is beside his comrade! A Warrior's duty is to honour his father's name on the field!"
In the distance a great horn was blown, and the flags fluttered in the wind.
"We are Warriors!"
The old man walked the line of soldiers, shaking their hands quickly, but with resolve. Jetrall's chest swelled with pride against his polished breastplate. He scanned the crowd and saw his mother, grinning back at him. His young sister stood on a fence, trying to see over the shoulders of the men in front. He smiled, large canines protruding over his bottom lip. But his smile subsided quickly. His father had not come.
"Congratulations." The old man had reached him sooner than Jetrall had expected.
"Why, err..." he stumbled on his words, "thank you... Sir."
"It's been a pleasure working with you Jet. I hope you know that you are one of my finest warriors."
"It is the same from me to you, old man."
"Perhaps so". He chuckled. Distinct lines formed beside his eyes as he laughed, and Jetrall noticed how much older Qual-Kehk looked. His white hair blew in the wind with the flags. The second horn blew. The crowd cheered and applauded as the ceremony ended. The soldiers roared and shook their weapons in the air.
Jetrall and two of his classmates, Tauron and Kolneitshik sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor of the small room. The walls around them were adorned with strange relics, talismans, and exotic weaponry. Amazonian spears, still tipped with their deadly poisons, hung horizontally below a painted mask. A Druid's Wolf Helm which legend described as possessing a secret magic, capable of transforming its wearer into a ferocious beast with a lethal bite. Some, Jetrall could not recognize. A grotesque purple head filled a large jar on a low shelf and beside it lay several scrolls of conjurings.
Nihlathak entered through the far door, moving quickly despite his age. He sat in the only chair in the room, an intricate wooden fan-back design off-set the simple nature of the man who sat in it.
"Well then. I suppose it falls upon me to assign your ranks and assignments. Let's try to get it finished as swiftly as possible."
The warriors, unsure how to respond chuckled nervously. Tauron coughed.
"Thank you for volunteering master Pok. We shall begin with you."
Tauron swallowed audibly.
"You have been awarded the rank of Cohort Leader and will be serving in the Arreat Guard. Your duties, as you know them, will be to lead a Cohort of eighty men against enemy forces threatening our homeland. You will also be reporting to Legate Commander Jarek."
Kolneitshik failed to hold in a smile. He would be working above four Cohort Leaders, including his friend. Tauron looked at him and mimed vomiting.
"Very tasteful of you. Tribunal Consul Yaretz, you have been given a special off-mountain assignment."
Tauron and Kolneitshik tried not to stare at their comrade. Tribunal Consul was the second highest rank ever awarded to a new graduate - Qual Kehk retained the first.
"Thank you sir," he replied, still in shock, "But what crisis requires an Arreat Warrior to abandon his people?"
" You are not abandoning us!" Nihlathak strained to stand. "You are going to save us all, if you can. There is, in the Blood Highlands, a re-emergence of evil. Perhaps the first signs of Diablo's second coming. Demons slaughter the innocent peasants and the living dead prowl outside the camps by night. Let us pray the Lord of Destruction does not return as well, for that could spell the end of our great city."
The seriousness of what had been said struck Jetrall dumb. A strange cold ran through his spine like frost across a field. Nihlathak had relaxed back into his chair, leaning his tired face against his hand. He was thin, almost skeletal, Jetrall realized.
"If it is best for my family," he began, "and for yours, then I will do anything."
He carried with him his bare essentials. A Warrior need not carry rations - he can provide for himself. A small, metal buckler was strapped tightly around his left forearm where it would sit until it could no longer serve him. His father had given him the shield as soon as he was strong enough to carry it. His right hand sported an axe with a curved black handle, the blade sharp and smooth. His breastplate was adorned with red paint in the symbol he had designed for himself in the Warriors School; a red dragon's skull. His rabbit-skin boots crunched on the natural gravel of the path as he made his way down the mountain. The path was bordered by tall evergreen trees, the first hints of snow sprinkled on their branches.
The Lord of Destruction... That was what Nihlathak had said. Surely he could not mean Baal. If Baal were to return to the mortal realm, he would surely bring with him his brothers Diablo and Mephisto. Jetrall shuddered.
Out of nowhere a hail of spikes rained down on the warrior. He instinctively raised his shield, but not before a spine buried its tip into his left bicep. He roared and pulled the shaft from his body, blood flowed freely from the wound but it had not hit an artery. Jetrall sprung into action as a second set of spines came at him, deflecting them with his shield. He leapt across the path and brought his axe down across the head of one of the creatures. The second growled menacingly at him, raising its spines for another volley. He kicked it over and buried his axe in its gut. The Quill Rats lay in small pools of their own blood at his feet. Jetrall reached his finer down into the blue-silver blood of the animals and spread a thin line of it across his eye and down his cheek. The mild poison burned for a moment, but left a discernable blue scar. His first kill.
He resumed walking, applying a bandage to his arm. He roared once more. "Beware you foul demons and beasts!"
Woo hoo! End of part one. Anyways, I'll get working on a first chapter soon enough. Tell me what you think / give suggestions / etc. :cool:
As for remarks, only two. Some of it doesn't exacly make sense lore-wise, but it's minor and not too bad.
Second I wonder about the conversations. For me it seems that it is out of place for the times, but that's just my opinion.
It's nice to hear that it isn't too wordy. I have a tendency to be long-winded.
The conversations are written in a semi-appropriate fashion for the "times". Since Diablo is not historical there can be no time period attributed to it, and therefore the language and culture of the peoples in the Diablo realm are up for interpretation. That's just the way I wanted them to talk.
Lastly, with the lore problem. I've never been much of Diablo Lore buff. I'd rather make up stories that fit roughly into the existing plotline. If I'm wrong on a couple of points, I wouldn't be surprised. I've made no real effort to be 100% accurate. I just hope it'll be entertaining enough.
I look forward to reading more.
Keep in mind that this is just an introduction. Chapter one will be a fair bit longer.
unzip, strip, touch, finger, grep, mount, fsck, more, yes, fsck, fsck, fsck, umount, sleep
http://www.diablo3.com/forums/showthread.php?t=1910
Very well written.
:thumbsup: