Adult-FanFiction.org : Games

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.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
            I don't quite know how but it seems I have picked up a stray. Would that it were a simple matter of throwing some stones and shouting to drive him away. Sadly, stones would do very little against metal armor aside from give me a blasted headache from the racket. The man whose life I happened to save in Old Tristram's Cathedral is a templar. Kormac is his name. I'm constantly calling him Trouble in my head.
            Well, okay, I call him a lot of things in my head that I don't say aloud. Although some I do. Yelling at him has not driven the arrogant lout away. Once the Skeleton King was slain he should have went on his damned way. Instead he followed me to the star--which turned out to be a man of some sort. I agree with Deckard that he is not human. But aside from the obvious, there is a presence about him that is somewhat familiar.
            Still, it hardly altered my quest. No, what set me back is a broken arm. My bow arm in fact. It's all his fault too. That damned templar. Why is he insisting on dogging me? He killed the traitor to his Order before we destroyed the Skeleton King. Why in the hells is he still hanging around? At least I have the excuse of a broken bone. He has but a few scratches since he finished healing his broken ribs two days ago.
            Because of his clumsy thoughtlessness, I can do little beyond sit and endure Leah's presence, Deckard's mumbling stories as he hunts for anything to aid me in healing faster, and that cursed templar. The stranger--the man that fell to ground--is... Well, whatever he is, he lost his memory so there is little for him to bother me with. And if it were not for this damned injury, I'd be on my way to finding the pieces of his sword.
            Yet another thing that Deckard is so certain of. If the stranger's sword--one of the few things he can remember as well as its breaking--can restore his memory, then it must be collected. Not to mention we have already seen what this stranger's arrival has wrought. If the sword has any hint of power as well, it is dangerous. Danger draws demons and those who serve them. My hunt will not wait, and neither do I.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`
            Pain shot up her arm to strike her shoulder. Teeth sinking into her lower lip, Killa froze and ceased to breathe so she would not make a sound. After a moment, the pain faded to leave a throbbing protest in its place. She released her breath in a rushed sigh and relaxed very carefully. Looking down, she fixed a glare of irritation at the tightly-bound arm held at her side by several torn rags. The sling was utterly crude but it was serviceable.
            Once again, she used her free hand to gently cup her bent elbow and push upward. Little by little she raised the splinted arm as she forced herself to keep breathing regularly. Again the pain flared. This time she took further caution not to use the bad arm at all. Leaning to the left, she eased her elbow down onto the mantle and relaxed as nothing further raised protest. It gave her full use of her free hand at last.
            Getting dressed with a broken arm was no easy feat. Killa was doubly pressed because if she made any noise or hint that she was up and getting ready to leave, Leah would stop her. While sneaking off to go fight with a broken arm was childish, stupid, and utterly suicidal, it was driving the hunter insane to be stuck inside the fortifications while her prey was just outside the shoddy walls.
            There had been another attack of the undead the night before. Five more souls were dead. But the creatures had been destroyed and burned to ensure they stayed that way. And all the while Killa had been made to stay in her room in the inn under the guard of the simple village folk that barred her way every time she started for the door.
            A few tugs on her shirt removed the uncomfortable folds of cloth beneath the plain leather armor she had been struggling to pull on for at least thirty minutes. Her leggings, socks, boots and belt were far easier. They also took half the time to get on. She was in the process of gingerly guiding her arm off the mantle and lowering it back to her side when a knock came on the door.
            Giving the thing an irritated glance, she sighed and turned to move to where her pack was at. One hand was all she needed to finish putting her things back into it. And even though the knock meant she could not make good on a clean escape, they also could not stop her very easily given she was fully dressed.
            "Go away," she called out, knowing it would be ignored.
            Sure enough, the door opened a moment after she had spoken. But it was not Leah who peeked around the corner. A dark head without hair to be seen upon it was first. That was clue enough for her to figure out who had come to visit her this time.
            "I'm...sorry. I know you prefer to remain in solitude. I...I'm not sure why I came, but I...I felt that I should," the stranger said.
            Her temper flared then faded as she snorted and turned her attention back to her packing. "It's all right. You may enter, just close the door behind you."
            Killa heard the crude hinges groan slightly before the latch clicked. The last of her things was neatly tucked into place, making the pack pretty solid. But she had to readjust it because her journal had yet to be shoved in with the rest.
            "Why are you packing? And how...did you do it with your arm?"
            "I should think that the answer was rather obvious. And a broken arm doesn't make me helpless. It's just a nuisance that slows me down," she said without looking up.
            "Leah said it will take weeks for the bones to set properly enough for you to use it again," the man said almost more to himself than to Killa.
            "Yes. She and her uncle both. But I've wasted enough time sitting down or in bed. There are demons to kill, dead creatures to put back to rest, and pieces of a sword to retrieve."
            Straightening, the hunter turned to scan the room before stepping over to the bed to pick the book up. When she turned back to the table where the pack rested however, the stranger was standing in her way with a very worried expression.
            "Surely you're not going out to try and fight like that? You'll die."
            Killa just studied him. "I have fought one-handed before. I was actually going to stop at the smith's on my way to see if he can repair my crossbow. That only requires one hand."
            "But..." the stranger began then hesitated. His eyes were on the book in her hand. For just a moment, she saw something change in his eyes. It made their color change. However, it was a color she had no name for and no other color to hope to compare it to.
            "Have you remembered something?" she asked.
            Blinking, the stranger came back to the moment and looked back up toward the hunter's face. Loss showed clearly before he shrank back a little and shook his head.
            "No, no I...I don't think so..."
            Nodding, she moved around him as he drew out of her way. It was tricky getting the book into the pack but she managed. Buckling the straps tightly, she tested the weight and looked at the bound arm thoughtfully. There was no way she could pull the strap over that arm. So, she shifted to sling it over her right shoulder instead.
            "Huntress, please, surely you realize this decision is suicide?" he tried again.
            Looking back to him, she tilted her head rather than shrug. Crossing the two steps to the bed, she picked up the crossbow she had been studying before she made her decision. It still fit perfectly in her grasp and the weight resumed being familiar after a few moments of adjusting to the balance. She lowered it to hook it in place on her belt.
            "I will not, and cannot sit by idle like the rest of these folk. They cannot fight these things. And I will never stand by and let another family be butchered by demons, or any of their ilk, so long as I still draw breath."
            When she turned around, she froze. The stranger was typically a little hunched and stooped as if in pain or afraid. He was standing tall now. That strange something was again in his eyes as if he were seeing something other than Killa before him. It was a brief moment but it struck her as...very important. Something about this stranger was extremely important. The thought tickled at the very edges of her mind and evaded her attempts at pinning it down.
            "You will fight for them, even if it means your death?" he asked in a voice that was as strange as the expression on his face.
            "Yes," she answered with the oddest sensation that her response was somehow a great weight toward...that damned something that she could not define. "If those who can fight will not, then what hope is there for those who would fight but lack the means?"
            Silence fell. That was the weight she sensed. Then, the stranger stepped forward almost slowly as his eyes remained locked on her own. Killa knew she should have felt her guard rise and alarm make her move, but she held still. Power. It was the same sort of power she had felt the closer she came to Tristram, the same that was beneath the corruption smothering the cathedral, the same that even now held her more mesmerized than captive.
            "Hope..."
            His voice was stronger, but still strange. Then a hand fell to her splint-bound arm. Agony lanced upward so suddenly it made her gasp and make a pained sound as her eyes watered. Then heat. Something rich and full. It was sunlight and warmth, comfort and strength. Just as she almost made the connection and caught that thought that still evaded her--it was gone as tears spilled down her cheeks.
            "I--I'm sorry!" the stranger stammered.
            Even as her free hand rose to scrub the liquid out of her eyes so her vision was clear, she saw the brownish blob of his garments as he fled. By the time she could see again, the door was standing open. Only it was not empty. The templar stood there, frowning in utter confusion as he looked down the hall. Likely he was watching the stranger flee.
            Killa briskly wiped the remaining tears off her cheeks and dried her hand against the leather vest she wore as her mood returned to its darker presence. Turning away, she picked up the final item from the table. It was the armored guard she typically wore on her left arm that could serve as minimal shield and protect it from most blows. The crumpled and broken metal attested to the power behind the blow that had also broken her arm.
            "Now what was that about? And what are you doing, hunter?" Kormac asked as he entered without her permission.
            "That is a question to ask him, not me. And by all means, do enter," she said in a flat tone.
            "It looks to me like you're going to get yourself killed. Where's your armor?"
            Glaring over her shoulder at the templar, Killa lifted the arm-guard to where he could see it. His dark frown faded as he had the decency to appear sheepish about it.
            "I'm on my way to the blacksmith to see if he can do anything with this. And, if not, I'm going to see if he can craft me something better. Perhaps armor that has less chance of being ruined by an egotistical, lumbering ox too intent on trying to prove himself to something to realize he is getting in the way of another's attacks. Oh, and perhaps a new weapon that I can fire one-handed and will magically alter the course of each arrow so it can fly around an arrogant asshole intent on ignoring the fact that friendly fire can destroy him as easily as it can his enemies."
            Kormac actually backed up when faced by the hunter. In fact, Killa was stalking toward him through the last of her rant with eyes blazing and head down in a position even he understood was that of a predator ready to attack. Unfortunately, the rooms in the inn were only so large. So his back hit the wall before he could get a safe enough distance away. Not that he really had anything to fear. Killa was already on her way out of the door.
            Standing there stupidly, it took a total of three heartbeats for the gob-smacked expression to vanish and anger to replace it. Jaw clenching, Kormac turned and quickly followed the hunter. Even those few seconds were more than she needed though. She was nowhere in sight when he reached the common room and he growled to himself. Turning around, he went back to his own room for his armor and pack. After all, he knew precisely where she was going.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~`
Author's Note:
            Not entirely pleased with this chapter. I'm posting it currently due to maintenance on Blizzard's servers. When I can pop back into Diablo, I'll go back over this and probably edit some things. Playing the game while I write helps, and when I can't, I get stuck.
            Oh, please--if you're reading, REVIEW?! I'd really like opinions on this so far. Suggestions, feedback, creative and helpful criticism desired. Let me know if you like the story so far, if I am making the characters at all believable, what I could improve, etc. My muse needs fed to connect point A to point C!
- 3
- 4
- 5
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Hunter and the Templar