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A Diablo fan fiction story
by Lone Wolf

Disclaimer: What you are about to read is based off of Diablo, a game owned by Blizzard. It is not licensed or authorized by Blizzard.

Chapter 1: Arrival


"Zalabar, step forward." A man cloaked in the robes of deep azure steps forward, onto the steps of the Highest order in the wizards conclave, the Triumvirate.

Double the normal number of people stand there today, all looking down upon him with the grave looks. Zalabar shakes slightly.

"Zalabar, you came to us seven years ago. You have studied our magic, and have tried to learn as much as possible, yet seem to be learning nothing." comes a grave voice from within a heavy black cowl.

"The only spell you have learned is firebolt, and even that you have trouble with." this from a red caped wizard.

"My masters, if I may…" Zalabar says, his voice only shaking slightly.

"You may not, Zalabar. No more excuses. This is your last chance. There have been many magical disturbances in the area of Tristram, in the domain of King Leoric." a purple wrapped Sorceress, Marjail of the Triumvirate, glares down at him.

"You will go there and discover what is occurring. If you do well, we will attempt to teach you further. If you fail, you will be removed from our conclave forever." A Green robed mage says this.

"Furthermore, if you fail, you will be hunted down and killed." An ancient Sorcerer, holding a gnarled old staff, says this offhandedly.

Zalabar gulps.

"Travel will be provided for, and you will be given a staff of Charged Bolts, and two Mana potions." says a huge one, covered in animal furs.

"Do not fail this time Zalabar. The price would be far too high for your liking." Marjail says, looking deep into his eyes, searching for something.

"I will not, my Masters. When do I leave?" Zalabar asks, looking around for the exit.

"Now." All 6 wizards say this at once. All of them gesture, and suddenly, Zalabar is in the outskirts of Tristram.

"I've got to learn that spell…" he says, picking up the staff and two flasks filled with a bluish liquid. He then marches into town, and sees a crowd gathered around the fountain, listening to a man in battered robes speak.


A woman in faded blue robes is walking down one of the hallways in the massive cathedral. She stops at one door, knocks three times, then opens the door. Inside, another woman, slightly smaller, is shadow-boxing.

"Yarah Shadow Seer, you have been summoned." The woman tosses a scroll to the boxer, then turns and leaves. Yarah catches the scroll and reads it.

'Yarah Shadow Seer, report to high sister's Misha chamber immediately.' She tosses the scroll on her messy bed and bolts out the door, running full tilt. She almost immediately bowls over a woman.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Kariln!" Yarah gets up.

"You know Yarah, after you wanted us to 'just be friends' I didn't think I'd ever be under you." Kariln grins at Yarah. "Reconsidered?"

Yarah bolts. Kariln's laughter follows her all the way to Misha's chambers.

Yarah knocks three times. A voice from within bids her to enter. Yarah opens the door and greets her teacher. "Hello, Misha."

"Glad you could come so quickly, Yarah." the elderly woman, Misha smiles at her pupil.

"I cannot disobey a direct order from a High Sister," says Yarah with a smile.

"As much as I would enjoy listening to you ladies make small talk…" says a male voice from behind a chair, "…there is business that I need you to take care of for me." The man gets up… after two tries. He is a fat slug of a man, who would be easily killed by anyone who could get past his putrid body odor.

Yarah scowls. "What is this dog doing here?"

"He has a mission for you, Yarah." says Misha as she steps between the two.

"And what makes anyone think I would work for a mongrel like this one?" Yarah spits the words like venom.

"The fact that you really have no choice." the fat man crosses his arms, or tries to. "As you said yourself," he grins, revealing yellowed teeth, and intensifying the odor, "no Sister of the Sightless Eye can refuse a command from a High Sister." His grin gets bigger.

Yarah snaps her gaze at Misha, a look of utter shock on her face. "You- you- you would order me to work for…THIS?" she gestures at the fat man, flabbergasted.

"I have a name, you know." he says, grin growing ever wider, "It's Jomisu. Try not to forget it."

She growls at him. He laughs.

"ENOUGH!" Misha shouts this. She faces Jomisu. "Don't give me reason to LET her kill you, Jomisu. After all, I HAVEN'T forbade her to kill you yet." The fat man quickly goes pale, while Yarah gets a sinister grin.

"And you, Yarah! You are a Sightless Sister! A member of one of the most proud and noble orders in the known world! ACT LIKE IT!" Yarah's grin vanishes in an instant, replaced with a controlled mask.

"Yes, High Sister." though Yarah tried, she could not keep some of the bitterness she felt out of her voice.

Misha visibly slumps.

"Yarah, you are hereby ordered to the village of Tristram, where you are two investigate the strange reports we have received from there. You will escort Jomisu to the town, and speak with the village elder, Cain. You will NOT kill Jomisu, or harm him in any way." Misha's hands gesture quickly, running through the secret language of the Sightless Eye.

~Jomisu is a witness to what is going on in that village. He refuses to talk to anyone but you. You can hurt him, but only if he steps too far out of line. I will be watching you. Do not disappoint me. As for Cain, you can trust him. He is an old friend of mine, and will treat you accordingly.~

In a few seconds time, Misha's hands complete her message.

"Both of you will be provided means of travel, and lodgings for the trip. I suggest you both get your things. It will be some time before you come to another town." Misha waves them out.


Two men are sitting at a table, each trying to out-drink the other. A crowd has formed, and some of the people are placing bets on which the winner will be. Ogden, the tavern's owner, is busy trying to keep the ale supply steady.

"Ya ain't gin bat meh thus tim, Fahnum!" says one, while swaying slightly, "I've buhn practiking!" He grabs the flagon, and tries to dump it in his mouth. He misses. He grabs another one and tries again. He misses. He grabs a third flagon of ale, and finally succeeds, to the cheers of the crowd.

"Hee, hee, hee! Youse alredy druk, ain't 'cha? Huh, Sano, Zani, Xard, Loni? Whad ya sae ya nam was?" Says Farhnam while grabbing for, and missing repeatedly, a bottle.

"Weel, I'm uh… I'm? Huh…oh yeah! I'm Xanas? Xanis? Wait…Xanos?…! Yeah! I'm Xanos! And yu'r… what's yu'r nam agin?"

Farhnam drops the bottle and scratches his head, "Me? I'm Farniham! No… wait… I'm Farenght? Farix? Fartknocker? Um…Farhnam! That's my nam!"

The battle of the beer bellies continues for a while longer, until Xanos finally falls over. Farhnam is pronounced the winner, celebrates with a flagon of ale, and promptly joins Xanos in sleepy land.


The whole of those still living in Tristram stand near the fountain. All trying to see the lone survivor of the perils from within the desecrated cathedral. This figure, haggard and worn, whose clothes were dusty and ripped, is none other than Lazarus, Arch-Bishop of the Order of Light, and the last true royalty in Tristram.

No one notices that while his clothes were torn, and his appearance haggard, that he is not cut. That there is no blood, or discernable damage done to him. He stands on the edge of the fountain, shuddering as he begins a speech that would be reviled though the ages.

"My friends, I will not lie to those whom I have come to hold most dear. For you are as blessed to me as the Sun, the Air, the very Light itself. But a terrible darkness has taken hold of our beloved land. An evil, a darkness, a force that corrupted our good King Leoric into the madman who was killed by his own men, by his best friend Lachadan! Yes my friends, my children, you are afraid, and were we but normal humans, your fear would be justified. If Leoric had not been amongst the most holy before his battles with that darkness, we would be rightfully afraid. If not for warriors like Lachadan, and mages like Zhar, and solders like Farhnam, we would be doomed. If we weren't blessed! For my existence here amongst you, my very being, is a sign! This evil can be beaten! Must be beaten! For surely you remember that Prince Albrecht is still missing! Many of you have lost your own children to that dark maze. But it can be beaten! For Leoric's sacrifice was not in vain! His battle with the darkness has weakened it, has nearly slain it! Now is the time! Now is the time for all of us, all the people of Tristram, all those who believe in the LIGHT to stand and FIGHT! TOGETHER, WE WILL DRIVE IT BACK! TOGETHER, WE WILL MAKE THINGS RIGHT AGAIN!"

The crowd was his before he even finished.


The first floor was simple. There was no real opposition. A few goblin-like creatures had set up a small base there, but they ran at the slightest noise. It never occurred to anyone that they could be scouts. It never occurred to anyone that this was far too easy. The second floor was where the fun ended. Skeletal hordes, Zombie armies, those goblin-things, and one massive demon turned the tide easily. Soon half the 'crusaders' were cut down. It was at this point that Lazarus vanished. Things quickly turned for the worse.

Wirt, a young boy with an eye for adventure, Xanos, Zalabar, Farhnam Grizwald, and a few others are all that remains of the army that went within the church.

There may be other survivors, groups that were cut off from the rest, but no one knew where they had gone, or even if any of them still breathed. Lachadan and his knights had been separated by a huge wave of skeletons, and Zahr had vanished with Lazarus.

They are avoiding the goblins, dodging the zombies, and running from the skeletons, as they try to find the staircase back to the light. There is an unearthly roar from off in the distance, like a being from the depths of hell expressing absolute anger, or unholy joy.

"What was that?" says one of the townspeople, a farmer, armed with a pitchfork.

"Remember that big, fat, horned monster? The one with the cleaver? I think it was him," says Wirt with a grin. All his life he wanted to do something like this. Something fun, something heroic, something… dangerous.

"Just one demon? We can take him." says another townsman, this one armed with a frying pan.

"No, you can't." Farhnam looks off in the direction of the roar. He then faces Xanos. "Listen. When you hear my voice, take these people, and run for the exit. Don't stop for anything. ANYTHING! I'll be fine. But don't forget your orders. Save these people. Got it?"

Xanos nods numbly. His mind was working feverishly on what Farhnam had just said. No, he decided, not what he said, how he said it…

Farhnam runs off after the voice. A few people in the small party start to go after him, but a quick word from Xanos ends that. Then comes Farhnam's scream: "NOW!!!"

"GO!" cries Xanos as they all bolt. In their mad dash for the exit, they are spotted. The goblins ring out with their shrill cry, "KraA! KraA!" the zombies turn to follow their former friends, the skeletons emerge from their tombs, and the whole sprint becomes a mad nightmare, a horrid running battle with everyone running from the darkness.

They finally arrive at the staircase. The monsters have vanished. There are no skeletons, zombies, goblins or anything else that isn't human in sight.

Wirt looks around. "Where's Farhnam?"

Xanos finally puts it together. He sacrificed himself! he was a diversion! He looks at Wirt. "He's…"


A scream, one born of pure agony flies throughout the maze. Wirt turns in the scream's direction. "Farhnam!" he runs toward it.

"Wirt, NO!" Xanos goes tearing into the night after the boy, both being guided be the sound of Farhnam's torture. The second run through the labyrinth is much quicker. The demons seem lured away, as though this is an exhibition fight.

"AHH, FRESH MEAT!" A young boy's screams join Farhnam's.

"WIRT!" Xanos runs even faster. He soon finds the source of the screams. Farhnam lies on the ground, battered, broken. His limbs twisted akimbo, his armor
scattered piece-meal, his sword shattered. Wirt is a little better. His right leg is missing, and he is being held up by his hair by the demon.

"NO!" Xanos screams his futile denial of his friend's death, of a young boy's doom, of a demon's existence. He slashes madly at the demon, enraged and devastated by what he has seen. All conscious thought has left him. He is little more than a berserk animal.

The demon swats him aside as though he were a fly. "YOU'LL HAVE YOUR TURN SOON ENOUGH."

Xanos lands on the ground with a crash. His body refuses his attempts to rise. That one swat, that single casual swing of the demon's hand, broke most of the bones in his body.


The demon's grip on Wirt's head tightens.

"Fete!" a blast of fire slams into the demon, knocking it down into the darkness, down a flight of stairs, and causes him to drop his baggage as he fell.

Just as Xanos' vision begins to fade into darkness, he sees Grizwald pick up Wirt's small form, and a mage in blue head towards him. Then all is dark.


To be continued.

Author's Notes: Not a bad piece, if I do say so myself. I may just have to start up this one again…

Lone Wolf

Chapter 2
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