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The Hunter and the Templar	By : BurneHazard Category: +A through F > Diablo III Views: 6471 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Diablo III (3) and all content therein is the property of Blizzard Entertainment. This story is for entertainment purposes only and I make no money from writing it.

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            I have been in New Tristram for a few days. I must admit that somehow it was not what I expected. And sadly, it seems that it has already been too much for those I journeyed with. We were ambushed on the road by a horde of undead. As a child I'd once dreamt of such creatures but it was nothing like seeing them before me or inhaling the putrid stench of rot and decay that left a sickening-sweet, rancid taste in my mouth and the back of my throat.
            Still, my companions did show their skills. It is because of their aid that I survived. Perhaps I am lucky. It is a pity they were not. But they died in the way that they wished. My initial reaction was far less than I'd hoped. I was clumsy and inept. Yet I am here. And now my hatred is even stronger. The only thing staying it is my conditioning. My hatred has a target. It will be focused and I will use it as the weapon it is. A weapon against demons.
            My temper is very short so I chose to keep my distance from the people who have managed to survive and turn the village into a shoddy if serviceable fortification. It will not withstand an all-out attack by the creatures were they to attack en masse. But as that has not yet happened, the peasants and villagers had best count themselves as lucky to have Captain Rumford. And for their sake, I hope that the girl, Leah, is correct about what she has been telling me.
            It is she who told me to begin writing things down. A journal. Given there is little I feel like wasting on the foolish sorts around here when it would accomplish nothing, perhaps she has a point. My temper is burning as hot as my blood as I seek this fallen star. If writing thoughts down aids me in honing my focus, then I shall use this as another tool.
            The star.
            No one can tell me anything of any use. They are as clueless as I--more really. While they see it as an omen of the end and the cause of this "bad luck" with the undead, I at least seem to sense something else. Even now I cannot explain this thing...but it has ignited my curiosity. Even in this darkness, the star's blue light is a smudge on the horizon as if it were some false sunrise. It mocks me at times I think. But I still journey toward that light in the dark.
            Something is in the air and it is not the stench of the abominations around me nor those I left in my wake. It is like...something I should know, should be able to name. Power perhaps. But not demonic. There is the acrid stench of sulfur in the air and molten rock. Not even the decay smell can blot it out entirely.
            Regardless, I know for certain that the star struck the Old Tristram Cathedral. I even happened to see part of the crater it made within the top-most chambers of the ruin's body. The stone burned with a strange blue fire that clung to it like moss to a stone. It even reduced the head of the crude spear I used to test it to a bit of slag without clinging to the metal. This fire is not fire at all, of that I am certain.
            Deckard Cain--a man I've heard tale of before and apparently Leah's uncle--sent me after a key to summon the elusive Skeleton King. I remember my parents speaking of King Leoric at one time but I was too young to remember much. The tale Deckard gave was tragic but nothing that I have not experienced myself. The only real difference is that I will not permit any demon to control or to twist my mind. That and I still live for the moment.
            Tonight I will be returning to the Cathedral. This crown-key better work. I am growing impatient to reach the star as more and more dead rise to taint this land with each hour. And it seems that every passing day, the abominations become more powerful and far more twisted and grotesque than ever.
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The Hunter and the Templar