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The Phrenologikal Cat
Author of 8 Stories |
Disclaimer Monkey: Diablo, eh? Well, this serves a nice change. Attention readers! Phreno does not possess nearly enough awesomeness to own any rights to any of the Diablo games!
Phreno: That was awfully mean. True, but mean.
In the Rogue Encampment, rogues exchanged shifts, the night watch retreating thankfully into the sleeping tent, the day watch positioning themselves at scattered locations throughout the encampment, with a noticeably heavier number of rogues positioned by the bridge that linked the Rogue Encampment to the Blood Moor. Cows stirred from their slumber, lowing loudly, wishing to be milked. Chickens pecked at the grass and dirt of the camp, investigating things they had already investigated, too stupid to realise their repetition.
A figure sat hunched by the dying fire, a woollen cloaked wrapped tightly about him. He ran a whetstone along the blade of his scimitar, slowly and deliberately, the grating noise causing a stir in the rogues. By his side lounged a large wolf, his coat a faded dun and his body sporting a number of scars, including a fresh pink wound upon his muzzle. Curled up beside him was his bitch, a purer-toned creature that, although lacked the heavier build of her mate, was quite ferocious in her own right. At the moment, neither of them looked particularly nasty, however.
A particularly plump raven was sitting upon a scarred wooden chest, her head twitching with the slightest of movement. Although scavenger by nature, ravens would eagerly switch to predator, if presented with the right prey. Although it would take a sharp eye to spot it, there was an entire unkindness of the carrion birds scattered throughout the camp, all of them carefully watching the rogues and the moor.
“It seems your sharpening the blade is upsetting our hosts.” Warriv said casually, though the strain in his voice and the glance around the camp showed a hidden suggestion in his words. The stranger was only here by the grace of Akara, but the woman had no final say in the matter if all the rogues sided against him. It was also by Warriv’s caravan that the stranger was in the camp at all, and so they could share an upset with him as well. The stranger paused, but did not glance around. The raven did so for him, shifting her perch to get a full 360 degree view. Indeed, most of the rogues were glaring at them, and a few had inconspicuously cocked their bows so that with a small twitch, it would aim straight at his head or chest.
“So I noticed.” The stranger answered in a deep, somewhat hoarse voice. He placed the whetstone beside the chest carefully, saying, “I think the blade is quite sharp enough.”
“I concur.” Warriv said, relaxing slightly. The stranger, like Gheed, had travelled from the east with Warriv’s caravan, and was now stranded here because the pass had become too dangerous. Although it was clear Gheed had no intention of returning – he was making a fine profit in the Rogue Encampment – both Warriv and the stranger were itching to be travelling again.
It was at this point that the male wolf let out a gentle growl, not an expression of discomfort or a warning, but a lazy sound to draw attention. The stranger turned, looking up at an armoured redhead. Although Akara may have been the spiritual leader of the camp, it was Kashya who ran the real backbone. She was commander of the rogues, and a fierce warrior herself.
“Stranger, it seems I am cursed to play messenger now for Akara. She wishes to speak to you immediately. Under normal circumstances I would find myself outraged at being reduced to petty envoy, but I felt that it would be best to deliver Akara’s message, because there is something of my own that I wished to add. Although Akara did not tell me why she wished to speak to you, you can bet that she has finally decided to make you work for you keep, rather then allowing you to laze around this camp all day.” The woman almost spat. She held no high views of strangers, and she was not afraid to hide this. The stranger did not respond to her hostile manner of addressing him, but simply stood and bowed to her. The wolves stood to follow, but the stranger rested a hand upon the skull of the male.
“Stay here ‘Crest. I am certain this will not last long.” He said, and the male wolf yawned, lying down once more. The bitch rested as well, copying her mate in all he did.
The stranger left the scimitar with his chest of meagre belongings, and allowed the raven to perch upon his shoulder as he made his way over to a tent surrounded by urns, a smaller fireplace situated off the side of it. Through the flaps one was able to glimpse a concoction of both mana and health potions, as well as other suggestively coloured liquids of mysterious purpose. A woman stood in the small clearing outside the tent, stroking one of the ginger cows that had wandered over. She was garbed in a black robe, with a violet cloak resting gently on her shoulders, the hood shadowing her face.
She turned as the stranger approached, a grim smile creasing her lips. Although it was difficult to tell with her hood up, the woman appeared to be relatively young, perhaps in her mid to late thirties. She said to him dryly, “I would offer you a seat, but I’m afraid that there are none. As you know, I am Akara, High Priestess of the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye. I would wish that your stay in our crude camp so far was a pleasant one, but I know that Kashya and her rogues have taken a deep disliking to you as a stranger.”
“I am quite sure you have not summoned me to apologise about the quite justified hostility I have received, your, uh, honour?” The stranger said, hazarding the honorary. The woman smiled slightly.
“Priestess will do, traveller. On such a matter of names, I believe Warriv called you Raven, for the bird you carried. You have not yet made an attempt to correct him, so I assume that is what you wish to be called?” She queried coolly. Although it was not visible, he could feel her lift a brow with utter perfection.
“It is a name I took a strong liking to, yes, Priestess.” The stranger confirmed, stroking the raven at her mention. She puffed her chest, her croaking loudly.
“Well then, Raven, there is a task that I ask of you. It is a matter that has concerned Kashya and me for some time now. Although it is a situation that we would normally let a squad of rogues deal with, we have had to increase shifts and there are still those of us who feel that there are loyalties that need to be proven…” She said, carefully selecting her words.
“In other words, you don’t have the rogues to spare and you want to know if you can trust me anyway?” Raven asked, a slight amusement tickling his voice. Akara smiled softly.
“I could not have put it better myself. South of here, in the Blood Moor, there is a den of evil, where demons and the ungodly undead thrive. We – that is, me and Kashya – fear that they are preparing an army to attack and overcome the camp. We wish for you to venture into the den and eradicate the evil that lies within it, totally and completely. There must be nothing left alive in that sinful place. Or in the more grim situations, nothing left undead. Do you understand these terms?” She said, her voice becoming sombre, her smile gone.
“Yes, Priestess, you may rest assured that I will destroy all that thrives in this Den of Evil.” The stranger said, bowing to the woman. This caused the raven some discomfort, but as he straightened she settled herself once again.
He turned and made his way back to the main campfire and was greeted by a curious Warriv.
“And what was all that about?” He queried, watching the stranger push open the lid of the chest. Rummaging through it, he pulled out a suit of hard leather armour and studded leather bracers, a buckler with hardened leather stretched over it and sporting metal studs, as well as a helm that appeared to be a wolf’s head.
“Akara wishes me to prove my loyalty to the camp by carrying out pest extermination.” Raven told the other traveller, throwing off his cloak in order to equip the armour. Warriv helped him with the straps around his back as the stranger busily tightened the bracers. Beneath the cloak he was revealed to have quite a tall frame, sharing the tightly muscled build of a warrior. His skin was exotically tanned; more proof of his foreignism, his hair was fiery, though it was a warmer orange than Kashya’s intense red hues. It was worn long and tide back in a ponytail, and an orange grizzle was growing through on his jaw. Beneath the tanned tones his skin was pale and his dark eyes were shadowed by heavy bags. He had a bone-tired look about him, and something in the way he set his jaw cause one to think that he was physically pained.
The wolves dragged themselves reluctantly to their feet. Although the fire was little more than a few glowing ember by now, it offered more warmth then the Blood Moor. Even as they were ushered across the bridge with an arrow in Raven’s back it had begun to drizzle. The wolves whined, as drizzles quickly turned into a full onslaught out here, and their thick fur would drag them down when soaked with water.
“Then we shall have to find this den quickly.” Raven told them, although such a task was easier said then done. The path was hard to see in the heavy rain that was beginning to beat at them, and to wander off it meant being bogged down in the squelching terrain. It was called the Blood Moor for a reason. It was earlier called simply the Moor, but the Blood had been added on with the extra danger that had arrived recently, as if trying to keep to the safe and sturdy path was not a great enough challenge with the constant rain. Whenever the party stopped to rest they were usually attacked by a Quill Rat. These despicable creatures had sprung up all over the ‘Moor, shooting quills from their own back, or simply tearing at any revealed flesh with their teeth if they were close enough. Although easy enough to dispose of, they travelled in groups of around three or four, and it was often difficult to deal with one while another was shooting quills at you.
They finally found it after they had once again strayed from the path. Raven had almost given up and was about to turn around and head back to camp until the rain lightened or stopped completely, or at least got a guide or proper directions, when he almost broke his neck literally stumbling over it. It was built into a rise, and the grey stones that were tightly packed around it should have easily signalled the location of the den to the stranger. However, he had been distracted by his own frustrations and that of his party, causing him to become careless.
“What a lucky turn of events.” He sighed, getting to his feet. He ushered his wolves into the dark cave, and they did so at first happily, though as the smell hit them, they found themselves preferring the cold and wet outside. However, there was work to be done, and so the two canines trotted carefully down the treacherous rocky hole, deeper and deeper until it opened up into a natural labyrinth beneath the earth. Raven was next, and his entrance was almost comical. The entire unkindness of ravens had taken to huddling close to him, and was perched all about him as though he were some sort of walking tree. Raven himself was as soaked as his wolves, and was quite glad he had not brought his cloak, but had tucked it safely away in his chest before leaving. The soaked wool would have been a pain to carry about with him, and would be a bugger to try and dry.
He sneezed violently at the retched smell that overwhelmed him in the cave. It stank of rotting and burnt flesh, as well as a fetid stench that could only be described as the reek of evil. He tightly gripped the loose flesh around the neck of the wolves, the hard hold a reassurance to the panicking animals. They huddled close to him, growling at the darkness. The cave opened up two ways with a tunnel directly to his left and one that ran straight ahead and then curved to the left as well. It seemed that they ran parallel to each other, but he couldn’t be sure that they would meet up. In the end he chose the first tunnel, and would backtrack if it proved necessary. After all, he was going to have to sweep through the entire dungeon anyway.
The eradication in the Den of Evil proved to be a wearying task. His first run in with a zombie was shocking, though he quickly discovered that the main weapon the creature employed was fear, although to he and his companions' stronger sense of smell the reek of rotting flesh was a lethal weapon as well. The zombie moved slow, both walking and attacking, and although it packed a punch, the blow was one that could easily be dodged or blocked. It was hard not to retch at the stink of the thing, but it was quickly cut down. Like the Quill Rats, zombies never travelled alone, usually in pairs but sometimes found in a group of three.
His second discovery was a group of small red demons appropriately named the Fallen. They travelled in monstrous groups, but held little bravery. Quick to fall, and fleeing shamelessly as they witness their comrade die, the real frustration lay in finding those that ran and killing them as well. However, he quickly found out that killing them wasn’t enough. Skulking around just out of sight of any tribe of Fallen was a Fallen Shaman. Far more extravagantly dressed and sporting a bannered staff, they would resurrect killed Fallen, and when they got a clear shot they would hurl fireballs at the party. It was with the help of these fireballs, however, that Raven and his wolves were always able to find the Fallen Shaman and kill them, and then quickly deal with the other Fallen.
The final creature type that spawned itself in the Den of Evil was the Gargantuan Beast. A hairy behemoth with a misshapen head that could only be described as bulging from the rest of the body. These were fast despite their size, and had a real bastard of a punch. They were the greatest obstacle Raven had to overcome, but they were solitary creatures and there were few of them within the Den.
He travelled carefully through the Den of Evil, scouring every darkened corner for life. His wolves and ravens had proven their worth time and time again as they nosed out hidden Fallen and warned him as a Gargantuan Beast would rush up from his rear. In this manner he slowly took care of the infestation, and it was not at all particularly interesting. However, he found that as he emerged into an enormous cavern that it was simply overflowing with Fallen. There were at least three Fallen Shaman that he could see, and already he found himself overwhelmed by the demonic minions. But there continued a pattern that he had noticed throughout his tramp through the Den of Evil. Although the creatures viciously attacked his wolves, and even flailed maliciously at the ravens that swooped over their heads, pecking and scratching at their deformed faces, they ignored him. They brushed him aside, treating him not as an enemy, but as… scenery?
He gritted his teeth, swinging his blade around and cleaving the head off the demon closest to him, and kicking another away. It lashed out at him, but suddenly recoiled, leaping at the bitch wolf that had bit into its ankle. She howled in pain as blood poured from her muzzle, the male tearing the creature apart in rage. Raven pulled the she-wolf back from the fight, tending to her wounds as quickly and carefully as he could manage, and then allowing her to leap back into the fight. He could already see the Fallen Shamans working their magic, bloodied, mangled corpses standing up, twitching as bones popped back into place and their innards poured backwards into their bodies, wounds healing so quickly they smoked. He squeezed around the brawl between his animal companions and the Fallen, and flourished his blade, cutting down the Shamans. They only defended themselves when he attacked them, but made no initial attack of their own.
It took a lot of time, cornering run away Fallen and finding hidden Shamans, but finally the party managed to completely exterminate all the Fallen in the camp. Raven collapsed, tired and panting. He was soaked in crimson blood of Fallen, and it was burning at him. Beside him a woman had been chained to a stake, her legs burnt to the bone, but her upper body was still whole. She was a rogue. She had been stripped of her clothes and her bow probably lay broken in some dark corner, but he could still tell. And he couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t stop the shuddering sickness that rocked his body as he suddenly threw himself away from the body, vomit splattering all over the bloodstained rocky earth of the cave.
“Corvus, I’m starting to understand why Akara wished for me to cleanse this place.” He told the raven balanced on his knee. She croaked in agreement, turning her sharp eyes into the tunnel, where a soft growling moan echoed from its depths. Raven sighed heavily, dragging himself to his feet. They were not done yet, it seemed.
Dragging himself through the cave, he discovered that the only thing standing between him and total eradication of the infested cave was a shambling pack of zombies. It wasn’t the number of zombies that posed a problem; it was the creature at the heart of the group. Unlike the other zombies, its flesh was tinged blue, and its body was stiff. The creature looked to have died of cold, and as it shambled shakily around, leaving a trail of frost behind it, it seemed that it cursed others with the same fate.
Raven tightened his grip upon the scimitar, tightening the straps on his armour and bracers, and straightened up. First he picked off the regular zombies, his wolves tearing them down, whilst the ravens swooped about, tripping them over and tearing at flesh and eyes. Finally there was only the strange cold zombie left, shambling slowly towards Raven and his party. The stranger growled, pushing his feet apart in a steadier stance. The wolves lowered themselves, readying a pounce, and the ravens were frozen, perched upon the human, tensed for flight. They just needed a signal.
And it came as the zombie swung his arm around, punching Raven hard in the gut. The movement was quick and sharp, nothing that the shambling mess suggested it was capable of earlier. The wolves leapt, biting into the torso and neck, dragging it down. Raven stumbled backwards, wheezing and gasping for breath. The ravens literally exploded from his figure, flying like darts into the rotting flesh of the creature. The birds dropped, their dark feathers heavy with ice. The wolves mouths were frozen, encrusted with frost, and they couldn’t move. Whimpering, they struggled to free themselves from the icy effects of the zombie.
Raven snarled as ferociously as his wolf companions, swinging his blade downwards into the shoulder, cleaving halfway through the ribs before he ran out of strength and momentum. Fuelled by anger, he ripped the blade from the body of the zombie, hacking again and again at the body until there was nothing but a bloody mess of bones and half-rotted flesh. Standing panting over the second-time corpse, he stared at the mess that soaked him. He stank, stank like this fetid cave, and stank of piss and blood and fear. He collapsed, lying back on the ground. He thought he was going to retch again, but there was nothing left. He took deep breaths, feeling the affectionate tongues of the wolves. Even the ravens comforted him, hopping over unsteadily and spreading their stiff wings over him. He shivered, and found he was covered in frost. In his blind fury he had not seen the nova of frost that had burst out from the corpse at its demise.
There was only one thing left to do.
--x--
The rogue whipped her bow around, an arrow notched and the string already pulled back. She closed one eye, squinting into the gloom of the night. A dark figure was shambling slowly towards the bridge and the rogue was prepared to shoot it down where it was. However, a raven suddenly swooped down, landing on the edge of the bridge. Her dark, gleaming eye was locked on the girl, and she croaked warningly. A gleam of silver beside the stranger on the Blood Moor caught the eye of the rogue, and she lowered her bow. The stranger had returned from his quest.
“Hail, traveller, I see you return at last. You left at dawn and it is almost midnight.” She said, smirking slightly. The figure continued to stumble towards her, and finally stopped at the edge of the stonework bridge to rest, leaning against the rail. The rogue could not help but scrunch her nose in revulsion at the smell of the traveller, and noted that he was awash in red.
“The rain made it quite difficult to find the Den of Evil, and it took quite some time to destroy all that lived in that cave. However, the task is done.” He looked at her, his eyes more tired then ever. He looked up, staring at the moon. It was almost perfectly full, and he remarked on this.
“The moon does as she pleases.” The rogue replied. She nodded to the satchel Raven carried with him, asking him, “What do you carry?”
“It is nothing that you would find interesting, rogue.” He replied coolly, and stood up, groaning slightly. His wolves were as tired as he, and she noted that a number of ravens had perched upon him. She stood aside, motioning that he should enter the camp, and turned her bow once more to the Blood Moor. He trudged slowly past, gripping the satchel tightly, and his wolves padding silently behind him.
When he entered the Rogue Encampment, the two canines headed straight for where the fire was already roaring heartily. Even Corvus, his loyal raven, abandoned him for the warmth of the flames, her unkindness following. Raven, however, turned to Akara’s camp, where she was waiting for him despite the late hour.
“I have cleansed the Den of Evil.” He told her tiredly, his body rocking where he stood. She merely nodded, and motioned for him to sit down upon a mat that had been prepared for him. He collapsed upon it tiredly, closing his eyes.
“You have fulfilled the task, traveller, and I thank you deeply. You did not just cleanse that hell hole, but you obeyed a request I put to you and completed it without complaint. Although I’m afraid the same cannot be said be said about Kashya, I feel that I am able to trust you… even place my hope for a better world in you. In the meantime, let me tend to your wounds.” She said, gently unbuckling his armour. He did not struggle against her actions, merely began loosening the straps for his bracers. It took half an hour as she cleaned his wounds and rubbed salve into the cuts, bandaging him up tightly. Shallow wounds could easily be dealt with through magic, but he had suffered more serious injuries that that in the Den.
When she was done Akara took the tunic, promising to wash and mend it, as it was the least she could do, and he carried the rest of his things tiredly over to camp. It was as he was placing the last of the loot he had taken from the Den that Kashya approached him.
“Stranger, perhaps Akara will accept you so easily, but it will take some much more then tramping about in the wilderness for a day and a night to prove your worth to me.” She told him coolly, resting her hands on her hips. He turned to her, shutting the lid to the chest gently.
“You do no believe I have truly fulfilled the task set to me?” He asked her, his voice weary but light.
“It is no concern of mine, but I will be sending scouts out to check this so called cleansing you performed.” She told him coolly.
He simply smiled at her, saying carefully, “I anticipated this, and I came prepared. I trust strangers as readily as you to Kashya; it is how one can survive in this world. That is why I brought a little gift for you.”
He threw her the satchel, and she cocked a brow, but opened it slowly, peering carefully inside. He watched her face carefully, and was impressed to see not a twitch in her features. She simply closed the bag and gave him a humourless smile, telling him, “Rest for the rest of the night, and report to me in the morning. I have my own Test of Loyalty for you.”
She turned on her heel and marched away, still holding the satchel. He chuckled, scratching the male wolf behind the ears. He rolled over, wriggling around begging for a scratch on his stomach. He obliged the canine his fancies, giving him a wild rub on the bared stomach. It was then that Warriv approached him curiously.
“And what sort of proof did you present to her?” He asked, and Raven looked up, smiling slightly.
“What else but the head of the most cursed hellspawn in that cave?” He said, and Warriv nodded thoughtfully, and left the stranger to his own devices. Raven had been given a small tent, and he retired into it. Usually he preferred to sleep out under the stars, but the surprise bouts of rain made sleeping under a roof seem far more sensible and attractive. He was going to appreciate the privacy of the cramped dwelling anyway. He peeled off his boots and breeches, dropping the latter into a bucket of water to soak. Warriv had kindly lent him a spare tunic and breeches in case of just such a situation, although they were itchier than Raven would prefer. However, if the blood dried into the clothes, it would be too stiff to move, and it would take a while to dry them out after soaking them, so there was no choice really.
He lay down on the mat, pulling the thick blankets over himself. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. Now that he had the chance, Raven found it an impossible task to get to sleep. The horrors of the Den of Evil burned in his vision whenever he closed his eyes, but he knew that there were worse sights awaiting him. As soon as he had accepted that task from Akara, he had set off a chain of events, and it would lead him down dark roads. He squeezed his eyes shut, blotting out bloody scenes and depressing thoughts. He felt something warm and feathery settle beside his head, and he smiled slightly.
At least he wasn’t alone.
Yeah, so there are a number of differences between this and the game. Dialogue especially, but who listens to all that blather in the game anyway? And then why would you want to read it again on the internet in a game-to-story adaptation fanfiction?
So, here it is. The first instalment in what will hopefully by a real running story one day. Act 1, the first quest, “Den of Evil”, and a lot of foreshadowing. Well, a little bit. Okay, not much, just a few curiosities that may one day turn into a completely superfluous plot twist that I, in a grand delusion, think makes my character seem somewhat original but not stupid.
If you read this, please review. Even if it’s something generic like “Great job, keep it up!” Or “You can’t write for beans, burn the story!” If you write a fanfiction as well, then you know how much reviews can mean to the author.
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