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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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            What is wrong with me? This cannot be the fall into madness that my mentors warned me about. They never once indicated or said that the hunter would gain such power when they began their self-destructive path. In fact, those I know who did meet such an end became raving, maddened things that no amount of reason could reach. They dove head-first into danger and death without any care about innocents that might be close to their prey.
            So if I am not beginning to fall, what is happening to me?
            I am plagued by the things the sorcerer, Zoltun Kulle, showed me in his mad attempt to sway me into joining with him. Whenever I close my eyes they are before me again and I want...so much. I was tempted. For a moment as he showed me what he could and would give me...gods help me but I am still so tempted by the debauchery. I had thought my lust was controlled after my tryst with Lyndon.
            Every time I try to sleep I see him again though. Deep inside, I know that he would never be so content as Kulle wanted to believe. What man of such passion and easy nature would enjoy being collared and leashed to a woman that frightened him? And I have seen it in his eyes. He is frightened of me. I wish it were not so. No matter my lust or darker desires, true fear is the last thing I ever wanted to see in his eyes. He is too good a man. Not even the riches he desired would entice him to such a fate.
            And the enchantress...what did that damned sorcerer think I wanted? To see her hurt? To see her humiliated? To see her raped? No matter how much I dislike a person, never have I wanted to see them...treated in such a manner. Every time I see what he had in store for her--not knowing if he desired it or if he was just using it to sway me--I am almost sick. And I realize I have been unfairly cruel to her. I have been treating her poorly. Guilt is not something I've had to deal with for a long time...not since I was a child.
            But...once more I return to the question of...if that were true, why can I not absolve his vision of Kormac? Why is that the one that is so difficult to deal with? He is a templar. In fact, from what Tyrael has shared with me, he is one of the very paragons of his order. And after he came to me to ask my help when he finally began definite effort to retrieve his memories...I know that nothing will sway him. And nothing should.
            He would never give into the sinful things eating me and fueling my rage. Nor should he. To be a templar is to be without sin. Even if his order's methods are deplorable, he was correct. They did mold him into a living weapon of the light. Could that be why I feel this way? Why I want him? My weapons are of the dark, of demonic creation. Never have I used or been able to handle a weapon of the light. But if so...why do I want him as a man?
            I would seek Lyndon out once more, but...to do so without him offering any invitation would be no better than simply using him. I like him too much for that. And...I don't know if it would work the way it did last time. He's afraid of me now. Before it was just the thrill he enjoyed, just as I did. To ask again now that it has changed...would be a greater crime. If only there were still cultists or demons to kill, perhaps I could work my frustrations out on them to regain the balance the scoundrel helped me grasp before.
            With my growing powers though...there's never any challenge. They are weak, pathetic things. None of them have gotten close enough to lay a hand on me and whatever spells they cast or weapons they throw are clumsy, slow, easily evaded. Killing demons once fueled my hatred and gave me a rush of pleasure. With this increasing power...my hunt grows bitter and stagnant. Still, killing something is better than nothing. At least, something harmful to humans.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`
            Lyndon was...uneasy. And he had good reason to be. Staring down at the leather-bound journal he had again "borrowed" from its owner, he found his mouth and throat dry and his heart racing. He was not entirely certain what to make of the entries he had just read save that their demon hunter had a very serious problem. And she knew him better than he had realized. That or he had lost his touch with acting.
            For all that he had been wondering what was eating at Killashandra, he had never imagined it was so complicated. Of course women were masters of keeping secrets. Even he had never managed to be so good. But in the end it always affected their behavior. And he had seen the tension that had not lessened between Killa and Kormac. Now he had further evidence to support his suspicions.
            Opening the journal again, he scanned the last page before turning it on a whim. His eyes widened at the large lettered writing that spread across the next page. The words were ones he did not understand, but her handwriting was jagged and bold, as if she had made them more of a drawing than writing. Some phrases repeated and he knew a chant when he saw one. But as he had no translation, he could not know just what it meant.
            Closing the book again after the remainder of the pages proved blank, he just held it and stared. He had seen how her thoughts were circling in the last few pages. Her latest entry was the worst. And what he had read, that was a bad sign. If this falling cycle was true, she was on the brink of it. And dammed if that woman had not read him too easily to see right through him. Now what was he to do?
            Putting the journal back into the pack exactly as he had found it with clothing and items arranged just as they had been before, he turned back around and rested his chin on his folded hands, thinking. The wagon lurched over some object, making him rock. It also meant he should leave the warmth and shelter soon to spell one of the others. Journeying from a desert into a frigid winter land was not easy on anyone.
            They had started out with three wagons--one being Haedrig's smithy, another belonging to a strange old jeweler they had rescued and who had decided to tag along, the third being a wagon for their belongings and shelter--but were down to just the two trade wagons. When Leah's vision had pegged Arreat Crater as the place that Azmodan was going to launch his assault from. Such information could only be a trap. But they went.
            Lyndon briefly wondered why he was still with them. He knew the answer had nothing to do with gold and treasure. He also would not admit to the real reason. It was also why he had again borrowed Killa's journal since she never spoke much to any of them. And Kormac had been showing almost similar signs. He had been so preoccupied that he had wound up being almost rude to Eirena a few times and had lost a lot of his stumbling and bumbling around her.
            It almost seemed that no one else had noticed the trouble. Eirena was still too new to their group to have any clue how things had been and how the others had been behaving. Leah was almost always with either Adria or Tyrael--the latter of which was distracted by the coming battle. A true military commander, focused on fighting demons on the front lines again. Kormac was preoccupied--apparently with regaining his memories. Haedrig was...well, Haedrig. And that just left him, Lyndon, the scoundrel.
            What was a scoundrel to do?
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The Hunter and the Templar