Yesterday during my 3rd block Physics class, I started writing a story based on Diablo 2, and just now I've started refining it and adding to it (yesterday, I had one short paragraph; now I have 3, and they're fairly good sized
). I just need some opinions on how it's turning out.
Character Color Code index
Sorceress
Barbarian
Paladin
Amazon
Necromancer
Druid
Assassin
A lightning bolt erupts out of the viridian staff and charges towards its target: a skeleton, armed with a bow and a seemingly infinite quiver of arrows. The bolt hits with a zap and continues on to another skeleton archer nearby, leaving the first in a heap of bones. One by one, the remaining archers fall to the sound of bones breaking and clattering to the cement brick floor, dusty and dirty from years of neglect. Metal boots and armor stand tall over the pile, as the figure, its face obscured by the full helm, surveys the situation. Now the figure kneels down and rummages through the pile for anything of worth; gold, jewels and jewelry, or magical items that bring about large bounties from the town from where the staff-wielding attacker came.
The walls are lined with torches lit by the people who had previously fought and died in this tomb and covered with the telltale cobwebs of time. The floor plays home to skeletons, decaying bodies of those long dead, the rats and scorpions which make a home here, and caskets from long ago. The piles of bones, once belonging to the haunted archers that just met our hero’s wrath, intertwine with the belongings of those others who lay here. The figure stands up, and removes its helmet to inspect the long sword found in the pile. This sword is different from the ones normally found; its jewel-incrusted handle and blade with strange markings – probably belonging to a family of royal descent and enchanted by a wizard – is truly a rare find.
“Excalibur you may not be, but certainly you are one sword which will be a prize for any merchant,” the Sorceress tells the sword. Ravaged by the rigors of running, being dirtied by the blood of minions, zombies, and other beasts, the young Sorceress’ hair, black as the night sky and long as one, too, drapes down along her back to near the lower of her back. Her skirt, which is essentially two pieces of green silk held by a gold belt resting comfortably (thankfully) on her hips, has also met the rigors of combat; dust, blood, and tears make the once flawless cloth ragged. The only part of her clothing that has stayed relatively untouched is her long sleeved shirt, which couples as a support for her breasts; not the most comfortable attire when running away from the demons of Hell, but it works. For this Sorceress, this little clan of skeleton archers is old hat by now, for she has been fighting them and other haunted beings for a few days now. Even a few days ago she had been trained since she was seven for days like this and the last three, just as many others like her had in generations past. Now, she has been garnered with boots, gauntlets, armor, helms, weapons, and jewelry, all which magically enhanced, to aid her quest, which began some days before.
A few weeks before, a dark cloud had descended upon the land, and a small settlement became embattled and trapped along the river. The settlement, which had consisted of more people but now about only 20 remain, played home to a faction of Rogues, a group of proficient archer females which had previously been employed by the people at the town of Tristram. Years ago, that town’s monastery opened up near the gates of Hell, and the town lost one of it’s more familiar figures. The town feared that Diablo would have taken over and destroyed the town, maybe even the planet, had it not been for one warrior who risked his life to save the town. Days after Diablo was defeated, the townspeople noticed the warrior acting strangely, muttering in his sleep in languages not heard for centuries. Then, the warrior left.
The heroine of our story arrived about a week after Warriv, a traveler trying to go west to the desert port-city of Lut Gholein, learned that he couldn’t due to the new evil creeping across the land. Then, she met Akara. Akara is an older Sorceress who now deals in staves, potions, and scrolls. Akara told the Sorceress of a cave where a group of Rogues had gone earlier, but hadn’t returned. Now knowing her purpose, she decided to take matters into her own hands and investigate the cave. Akara marked the location of the cave on her map, and gave her some healing potions and two scrolls. One would identify items that were magical; the other would provide a portal to the Encampment. The Sorceress took her leave, hoping that she would be able to come back to the Encampment with good news and a bit more skill.
<end part 1>
As she stepped outside of the protective walls of the Encampment, the cold wind of death fell on the Sorceress' shoulders. She was suddenly aware of her lack of protection, and the fear of being dead rushed upon her. How is it possible that a group of highly skilled Rogues could be defeated? Even worse, how is she, a young Sorceress, 8 years displaced from her studies, going to defeat the demons that defeated the Rogues? Will she find anyone to help her? These questions raced through her head as she slowly walked through the wilderness.
The dirt path which lay before her cut through the grassy plain came to the Sorceress as a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it was comforting to know that someone decided that if others were going to come, they might as well leave a trail for them to walk, instead of guessing which way to go. But the path was also disconcerting. There must have been a lot of people coming this way, the Sorceress thought. Trees that told time stood menacingly over the path. The Sorceress felt only slightly more at ease as the warm breeze rushed through her hair and over her bare skin. Then the Sorceress stopped with a gasp.
The pack of Minions, no more than 25 feet away, hadn’t heard or seen her; apparently they were more concerned with raiding the corpse of a recently-deceased Rouge. This is it, she said to herself, and she planned her first move. She grabbed her staff, aimed it at the leader of the pack – the larger, banner-carrying shaman – and muttered a phrase that she was taught as a young girl. The warm breeze began to collect on her staff, and exploded into a ball of fire. The Sorceress made a flinging motion towards the shaman. Hearing the sound of impending doom, the shaman turned towards the Sorceress, and was met with a faceful of fire. The Minions, seeing their leader fall, growled in evil, hateful tongues and made haste to our heroine. She muttered the ancient phrase again, taking out the lead Minion. 10 feet and 4 left, she thought to herself, wondering what she should do next. Hand-to-hand combat isn’t something she was taught as a child, but it really should be as easy as whacking them on the head, right? She flings her third fireball, taking out another Minion, and then a fifth Minion meets its fate of fire. Two down, and coming in close; might as well go for hand-to-hand. Getting herself into a steady attacking stance, she prepared her staff and herself for something she’d not done before.
That night, the Sorceress made camp, but couldn’t sleep. Any chance she took to doze off was halted by recurring images of Rogues being slaughtered by Minions, Zombies, Skeletons…things that she would have to face soon herself. She prayed for the opportunity to go back to the calm and peace of the Rouge Encampment. Though her trial came with reward (she managed to get 300 pieces of gold in 10 hours), she was also praying for her safety overnight. She had set up camp in a Minion campground, which she had cleared of danger before heading to bed. All the growls and moans of the dead surrounded her, and they still echo in her mind as she tries to go to sleep. “I need to make it back alive,” she whispers as she tries closing her eyes again. She tried to think of her clan as a girl; growing up with her "sisters", as she called them, was the best part of her life. I need to grow up, she thinks to herself, and she finally falls asleep.
Day broke in the Blood Moor to the sound of cutting flesh, the dead falling to the ground, growls of pain and cries of anger. The Sorceress decided that if she were to progress as a warrior she would have to learn hand-to-hand combat, so she equipped herself with a short sword and buckler she had picked up the day before. With her staff in tow, she took to the monsters of the Moor with new invigoration, new purpose, and a sense of well being. Still occasionally speaking out the words of her people’s past, she made herself into a force of the Gods, destroying evil without fault. Her slow pace no longer existed; she now was running along the path, stopping only to defeat whatever evil challenged. She raced forth, into the depths of the plains, towards the cave that she had sought to defeat.
The cave was as red as the blood our heroine walked through. Echoes of Minions and Zombies could be heard, and echoes of the Rogues being tortured still lasted throughout the Sorceress’ mind. Undaunted, she slowed her pace to make sure she took out everything she could; she would make them pay for this tragedy. As she rounded the first corner, she found a threesome of Zombies, as slow as the day goes, sauntering about 3 yards away from her, showing no real purpose or place. As she approached them, she saw a clan of Minions around the corner about 15 feet away growl with anger as they made their way towards her. The Zombies turned on their heels and also approached the Sorceress. A trap?, she thought as she quickly decided what to do. Summoning a fireball from the energy of the air, she made quick work of the Minion Shaman, and then took her staff to the three Zombies. The head of the Minions was too fast for the Sorceress and got to her as she dispatched the last Zombie. It started hacking at her leg with her little sword, and the other Minions soon found their way to the Sorceress. She panicked. It wasn’t this hard when she was in the wilderness; she had attacked so quickly that she had gotten them confused. Now they had turned the tables on her; they had gotten the jump on her. She felt the quick, sharp blows to her feet…then her ankles…then her shins and calves. They were cutting her down, much like a tree, and they grabbed her staff from her. She was defenseless. This can’t be it already, she thought to herself. She started thinking of her friends…her sisters…then she thought that she had just hit the floor.
<end part 2>
“They’ll be back; we better get you outside,” a deep, male voice echoed in the Sorceress’ mind, reminding her of her childhood…even before the Zann Esu recruited her.
“Daddy?”, she moaned aloud.
“Not quite,” the voice said,
“but if your daddy ever saved you from something, this would be the best time to remember him.”
The man belonging to the voice laughed, obviously embarrassed from the thought of being likened to this poor, defenseless woman’s father. As the Sorceress came to, she saw that the man had set up camp a few yards from the opening to the cave. Bandages wrapped around her legs like the wrappings of a Zombie.
"I’ve gotta go back and get…”
“Your staff? I got it for you,” the man interrupted. He handed her the staff she was given before she set out into the world; the one that her best friend had traded her at the traditional ceremony that lets the Zann Esu wish farewell the new generation of Sorceresses leaving the Zann Esu. The man, clad in armor, sat down across from the Sorceress, and started eating some beef he had cooked in the fire he made. The man’s large, strong frame further invoked her memories of her father; playing in the front yard with her father was the one thing she can remember best about him.
“So, what’s a Sorceress like you doing in a cave like that?,” the man asked.
“What’s a Barbarian like you doing out in a cave saving me like that?,” the Sorceress countered.
The Barbarian chuckled at the Sorceress’ quick suspicion that he was a Barbarian.
“Touché, my lady. But, since I asked first, it would only be respectable of you to answer first.”
“Inside that cave is something…something that has killed probably 15 Rogues. It almost killed me.” The Sorceress lowered her head at that thought.
“Well, hauling you and your gear out of there wasn’t exactly a piece of cake either,” the Barbarian chortled, pointing to a few places where the Minions had hacked at him.
“Though those Minions do put up a good fight…and they did…I don’t believe they were what you were looking for.”
“Well, that makes me feel a LOT better,” the Sorceress huffed.
“So what AM I looking for?”
“How should I know? I’m not really out here to fight these monsters; I’m really trying to get back home.”
“Don’t you know? Home is where you make it.”
“Well, if that’s true, then home isn’t where I am right now, though it may seem like it. I live in Harrogath, near the Arreat Summit. A neat little town, and it’s where my family lives.”
“What are you doing all the way out here in the Western Kingdoms?,” the Sorceress asked?
“Well, it’s kind of a funny story actually. As a Barbarian, I am sometimes employed by people who need assistance on…eh…mercenary missions. About a month ago, Greiz, the mercenary captain in Lut Gholein, hired me to defend the city from attack. It seems they’re under siege as well.”
"Jeez, looks like everything’s going downhill,” the Sorceress sighed.
“Anyway, Greiz decided I was of no use to him when he found my rates to be going up…hey, I want to go home! It’s only fair that he pays me overtime! But, no! He fires me and now I’ve got no way to get back home!”
"Ouch. So how’d you get out here?”
“Warriv, the guy from the Rouge Encampment, said that he would give me a free ride to Harrogath if I waited a week. Unfortunately, all this came up and I’m stuck here.”
“It would seem that your getting home is based on my success, then.”
“Would you care to elaborate on that?,” the Barbarian replied jokingly.
“Akara, the Sorceress at the Rouge Encampment gave me this job; I have to go to that cave and defeat everything inside.”
“How does that get me home?”
“Well, I’m sure that there’s something else behind all this evil…something greater.”
“And you think that whatever it is, is blocking the western pass?”
“That’s exactly what I think is going on.”
“Well then, I guess it’s in my best interests to keep you protected, Lady Sorceress,” the Barbarian said with a smile.
“And I guess it’s in my best interests to see that you make it back to your home,” the Sorceress replied with a smile.
“Get some rest. They say wounds heal with time, and the best way I know of for you to kill time is with some rest.” The Barbarian got up, and began to walk away. The Sorceress turned her head up.
“Thank you…I mean, for saving me.”
“Hey, protecting people is what we Barbarians are used to.”
As the Barbarian walked away, the Sorceress thought to herself that it was quite comforting that the Barbarian sounded and looked strikingly like her father. Maybe there's more to him than meets the eye, she pondered as she dozed to sleep.
<end part 3>
The Sorceress managed to sleep all until the next morning, due to waking up in the middle of the night. Bad dreams and growls of the evil of the Blood Moor again kept her up, wondering what the next day would bring. Now, though, she had a new friend…someone who had sworn to protect her and get her job finished. She removed the bandages from her legs, and cringed at the sight of her scabs.
“Ugh! So much for being able to shave for a while.”
The Barbarian, sitting across from her, laughed at the Sorceress’ misfortune. “Well, let’s think of it this way: from now on when you do shave, a little nick won’t seem as bad.” The Barbarian continued laughing. The Sorceress was, at first, unimpressed and crossed her arms, but then started laughing too.
The Sorceress stood up, and stretched. The day was cloudy, for the most part, and the grass was wet from the morning dew. It was cool, and the air was humid.
“Well, should we get going?,” the Sorceress said through her yawning.
“You haven’t eaten anything in a day. Have you ever tried pancakes?”
“What are pancakes?”
“Ah, well…as the story goes, once, in a diner in Harrogath, a man no one had ever met before gave the cook a recipe that called for one-and-a-quarter cups of flour, an egg, one-and-a-quarter cups of milk, one-fourth of a cup of sugar, 1 heaping teaspoon of baking powder, 1 teaspoon of baking soda, one-quarter cup of cooking oil, and a pinch of salt, mixed together, poured into a pan preheated to 325 degrees. When they’re cooked to a golden brown color, they can be combined with maple syrup or butter or whatever your heart desires. It’s such a great out-and-about food that Barbarians have been taught the recipe for years and we never go anywhere in the wilderness without pancake mix ready for at least a week of travelling. I’ll make us up a couple!”
Suffice it to say, the Sorceress was less than marveled by the Barbarian’s preparedness. In less than 10 minutes, the Sorceress and the Barbarian sat down at the fire and at the pancakes the Barbarian cooked. Meanwhile, the two regaled each other with stories of their clans.
“The Zann Esu was started by the 14 powerful covens of witches waaaaay back, centuries ago. Once every seven years, they come out of the Eastern jungles seeking seven-year old girls to recruit for training. The families of those chosen enjoy many years of good fortune for their loss of their daughter, so it’s a pretty sweet deal if they get chosen. Now, just a few weeks ago, the oracles of the Zann Esu decreed that the time of the Emergence of Evil is at hand. You see, it is the Zann Esu who are supposed to defeat the Prime Evils, Mephisto, Baal and Diablo, and we’ve come up all over the land of Sanctuary to seek out, find, and destroy them.”
“That’s interesting; the Children of Bul-Kathos must be doing the same thing.”
“Sorry: Children of Bul-Kathos?”
“It’s our true name. Bul-Kathos was a great king that once ruled on the Northern Steppes. He was the first king to ordain that a tribe of the most powerful men of the land would be protectors of Arreat, a source of great power.”
“So, how is it that you guys are called Barbarians?”
“It’s really a misnomer. We are simple folk who commence in proper commerce with anyone who sees fit. We are called Barbarians for our abilities, though. We have a kinship with nature, and we use the energy of the physical world to enhance our own.”
“And, your body painting?”
“It’s an ancient tradition. As I said, we are guards of Arreat, and as such we defend it from outside attack. One time many years ago, hordes of Barbarian tribes appeared out of nowhere to fight an invasion. Their bodies were painted in mysterious designs and they howled like the fierce mountain winds as they charged forth. Half of the invasion army dropped their weapons and ran; the rest stayed to meet their fate.”
“Very impressive!”
“It is. Of course, we’re also supposed to not like magicians and such, but I don’t remember the rules very well, so there might be an exception to pretty Sorceresses.” The Sorceress laughed and blushed.
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Dopefish 
The unmovable stubborn