Erim Lera's Reincarnation

She didn't know who she was. Which was one of the most frightening things in the world. Or she thought so. She wasn't entirely sure. Of anything actually. What she did know, was that she had a pounding headache, and was very tired. Oh, and that she was in the middle of some labyrinth. And it was dark.

The one last memory she had been able to dig up, before coming to her now panicked state, was of a pale lipped woman, who was of blinding faith and devotion, who sliced cleanly through enemies of every kind, and who had saved her.

Which made her wonder, what she looked like. There was no real way for sure to find out, but she did keep an eye out for some reflective surface.

But she kept hearing strange noises from down the hall. Clanging, and growls and yelps, and sometimes grunts. She worried about what she would find if she continued on her designated path, but she had awoken in a dead end, so she felt like she would not be able to go elsewhere.

And then, the sounds came to her. Once again, that panic welled up in her, and she ran in blind terror. Through hallways that were damp against her bare feet, and chilled her naked form, and tunnels that were darker than midnight in the Caverns of Life. The girl stopped then and wondered: 'What were the Caverns of Life? Had she been there? Did they even exist?' But she could not contemplate this for long, as the noises had started catching up with her once more.

Eventually, the dead end where she had awoken loomed closer. And there, the pile of scalding metal and bones that had so frightened her earlier. But, as was bound to happen, the noises closed in on her, and she curled into a fetal position in the corner, hugging herself, and begging, and pleading for whatever nightmare was after her, to leave her alone. Her eyes inexplicably drifted upward towards the source of the noises, and she yelped. For there stood a demon, dark and blackened, his skin taut over twisted and knotted muscles, and red as Starlet's Target. A scream balled up in her lungs, ready to be let loose, when the figure's horned visage changed, and warped, into a no less intimidating warrior in silver chainmail, with a breast plate.

She let loose the scream anyhow.

*

DiStephano covered his ears as well as he could, to fight off the banshee-like wail that the girl let out. He himself would've cowered in fear, if he didn't already know it would probably have driven him insane to do so. This whole town, nay, kingdom, was driving him insane. A King who slaughters his own advisors for delusional treason. An Arch-bishop who apparently worships the Forces of Hell, and who might've kidnapped the very Prince of the land, and then lead the townspeople to their death trying to rescue the boy. A labyrinth filled with the undead, the damned, and creatures right out of nightmares. Back in his homeland, such creatures did exist, but never in such numbers, or even in such power. Even as a boy, he and his elder brothers and father, would hunt down a pack of chargers who had taken over a nearby cave, or more likely, the numerous clans of goatmen who tried to rule the northlands.

But when he had met the Mighty Queen, Shellandra, he had been motivated to make more of his life, and to try and aid the beautiful and young queen in her quest. A quest he had only recently found out the details of.

Apparently the young queen, who then was only fifteen, had set out to find, and destroy the Demonic blade, Shadowfang, which had been crafted in the Hell Forge itself. And so, after nearly a decade of traveling, the two of them found themselves in Tristram, confronting the denizens of Hell.

And now, his queen had apparently gone insane, and was lying naked in front of him, screaming at the top of her lungs. She had her back to him now, and tried to curl deeper into a ball, with each movement sending more waves down her sapphire blue hair. He stepped closer, reaching a hand to her bare shoulder, trying to pull her to him. 'What had happened to her?' He thought aimlessly.

And then the one screaming in the room was him.

His queen had a large, blue horn protruding from her forehead. Her eyes were closed in pain, or terror, or some other unpleasant emotion. But even if they were open, their pale violet centers looking to him, it might've been all that much worse. Then he would truly have to believe it was her. But now, now he could lie to himself, believe otherwise. But no, there, there was the birthmark that had entitled her to her throne as Queen. And those unnatural looking lips, which were the same color as her eyes. Why, for a brief moment, if he did not look to those three features of hers, he could believe she was Erim, if only older.

And then it hit him.

Her fist.

*

Erim Lera was within a convoluted dimension of ethereal chaos. Indescribable objects drifted around her floating form every minute or so. Actually, she couldn't keep track of time anymore. Every time she started counting, something weird would happen. Such as a sun rising and falling around her. Maybe a red moon whizzing by. Whatever it was, it disoriented the mind, and gave an utter despairing ambience to the place. But far, far ahead of her, was a silhouette not unlike her own, which was slowly coming closer. And no matter how far the two things were apart however, the other always seemed shadowed, except for it's hair, which was an unnatural sapphire blue color.

*

Shellandra of the Flame, former Queen of Westmarch, was within a convoluted dimension of ethereal chaos. Indescribable objects drifted around her floating form every minute or so. Actually, she couldn't keep track of time anymore. Every time she started counting, something weird would happen. Such as a sun rising and falling around her. Maybe a red moon whizzing by. Whatever it was, it disoriented the mind, and gave an utter despairing ambience to the place. But far, far ahead of her, was a silhouette not unlike her own, which was slowly coming closer. And no matter how far the two things were apart however, the other always seemed shadowed, except for it's hair, which was an unnatural sapphire blue color.

*

It was then that the two noticed one another. They looked strikingly similar, with the same blue hair, with the Queen's slightly longer than the Amazon's was. Both of their figures were the same; sturdy, but demure enough to give no credence of their fighting prowess. Only, Shellandra's lips, and eyes, had an unnatural violet color to them, that was another trademark of her mother's, along with the birth mark she had on her inner left thigh. Shaped like the standard of Westmarch, it had been the sign that had propelled her ancestor to lead his small kingdom under. His wife had perished at the hands of his enemies, and he had flown that symbol that had been emblazoned in his mind, high above head to avenge her.

But finally, they neared closer to the center, each raising a hand, simultaneously to touch the other.

Erim spoke out first, "Who are you?"

"I am Shellandra, former Queen of Westmarch. And I already know who you are Erim Lera of the Vrin-Latti Tribe."

"Westmarch? But- where are we? Why am I-?" Too many questions flooded the girl's mind, to allow her to get any one out at the same time.

"I know little, as I did not study much of the mind stream or any such nonsense as a child. My mentor must be rolling over in his grave though." The woman smiled a little bit at the thought, before noting the other woman's confused and pleading look. "Well, it would seem we are within the mind stream, like I said. It's the closest thing to a physical existence for our soul and minds that can be. I think it was Aophrates who first theorized it. Interesting man that Aophrates-"

"Could you please tell me what the hell is going on?" Erim snapped out.

"Yes well, aren't we the impatient one. Anyway, right now, we are sharing a body. Our two minds, our very souls, share one shell. So, we have become what is called, autistic. We're kind of, shut ins. Our body doesn't know who to let control. Aophrates said that most of the minds inhabiting one body tend to fight so often, that they never decide to let one or the other lead. It's really an interesting read, I'll have to find you a copy one day when we get out of this mess." The queen's hands worked while she started mumbling about where her last copy was.

"Wait, so we're in the same body? How? Wha- I'm still confused."

The Queen sighed, stopping her conversation about the scholar, and going on. "I am a hunter of sorts, like yourself. Only I, was hunting down the demonblade, Shadowfang, which was reputed to be within the Catacombs of Tristram after the fall of the Horadrim. So I, and my companion DiStephano, came here looking for it. But apparently, you got hold of it before me. Or rather, it got hold of you."

She continued, as the backdrop slowly changed into that of a library with a large window overlooking a grassy field. It was obvious that the Queen was hard pressed to perform such a mental feat. "I chased after you, with DiStephano on my heels as well, before I found you within the Church, nearly to the town, with the sword firmly gripped in both hands. It wouldn't let you go. Nor would you, it. You were foaming at the mouth, and had cut yourself in numerous places already. When I finally killed you, your body was nearly destroyed and hollowed out to begin with."

"You, killed me?" Erim's eyes kept on widening at this news. What was happening to her?

"Let me go on. As I slew you, thinking to bring you to town so Pepin could aid you, your hand flew up, and drove the namesake of Bluehorn the Frost Charger into my forehead. I haven't awoken since. Well, not really. A nether-mind controls us now. Unless it's someone else. Which I cannot see possible." Once more the woman stopped to think heavily, pulling down a leather bound book just then to peruse for something.

"Ok, needless to say, you're confusing me a tad Madam. So, why don't you just take control of your body again, and we can go off and be happy. You can have me resurrected, no huge delay in our quests."

The woman, who was now fully dressed in a scholar's robe and spectacles, turned to Erim, and nodded. "Oh yes, that would work. Until it totally and utterly destroyed you. No, we'll need to find another way out. Wait, what are you? Erim, no!" As the queen had been patronizing the other woman, a large bladed, black sword had slowly come to shape within the girl's hands. She stood then with it held two-handed, and was preparing to strike.

"I want my body back!" Was all she yelled before swinging.

*

She didn't know who she was. It was frightening. Especially since she knew she was supposed to know. And now this big man, was holding her against his sharp body. Trying to stop her from thrashing. But he himself was not too stable. Once he saw her, his scream had rivaled her own, if only in bass, not volume. It was than that she had noticed how she couldn't completely bang her head against his chest, for something attached to her skull stopped her. Her eyes tried to find it, but she just couldn't do it. Why was she here?

*

Shellandra leapt out of the way, immediately dispelling the illusion of the library and the clothing. But so too did it dispel the illusion of Erim having a floor to run on. The girl still held the blade, but was not able to move it.

"Ahh, I see. Why, 'tis not even Shadowfang itself."

The Amazon snarled.

"Erim, drop the sword. Erim. Now!" But no matter how commanding she tried to sound, she just couldn't stop the girl. The sword though, it could not reach her luckily. Until it moved of it's own accord. It lifted itself from Erim's hands, which immediately fell to her side, and flew straight at Shellandra. The woman leaped away, but was constrained by the limbo around her. She couldn't concentrate enough to create a land to move to. And so, she fell with Shadowhawk, a lesser demonblade, impaled deeply through her breast.

*

Whatever foul demon or devil it was that had created Shadowhawk, the lesser brother to Shadowfang, from thin air amidst the mind stream was in pain. Within the sword, it snarled and screamed and begged for the light to stop. Never had it felt such a feeling. It normally enjoyed the pain it conveyed unto it's masters, and even the pain it itself felt when it clanged against other blades. But now, within this she-human, it felt a pain too excruciating for even it to stand it. It was as if, it had suddenly been thrust into the Crystal Arch itself, and been left for eternity. So was the goodness of this woman, that it harmed it so. The devil slid inside itself, more and more, until it finally stopped existing mentally. Shadowhawk was dead.

*

Erim suddenly snapped too attention long enough to notice that Shellandra would be dead soon. They drifted closer together once more, until the Amazon could reach for the woman, and take her into her arms. Already, she was getting cold.

"I- I don't know- what have I done?" The girl asked herself in a terrified wail.

"No, no child, it's not your fault. None can be blamed for not fighting off the effects of a devil. Not even I could if I had to. No, only the Angels could have saved us now. But this does settle it see. I shall not be much longer. But you must take hold of the body before then. Or else we'll all go insane." She grabbed the girl's head in both hands, and held on firmly, "Eirm, Erim, stop crying and listen to me. It's not your fault. But you can help us both."

Erim sniffed once, and stopped to listen.

"Below us, several floors down, lies the entrance to Hell itself. But there is a hole, a hole which gets bigger and bigger. Soon, whoever is down there opening it, will be able to enter it, and bring all of Hell unto us. And then the Angels and the Light shall never win. Erim, you can stop this. And you can find your aunt. And you can find Shadowfang. And you can find our father."

That stopped the tears and the sniffles altogether. "What?"

"Yes. Our father was an interesting man see… went across the world creating many children, but staying around for none of them. I was disowned at an early age by my mother's husband, as he knew me not to be his daughter, since his hair was not like mine. None was like mine. Even the man who was my father was never seen enough to be remembered. My people loved me more so because of my bastard-hood, for I was heralded as a bearer of the Light. I did much good in my life Erim. It's your turn. Take up my mantle, and do what you must to avenge everything. You shall do the Vrin-Latti proud. You shall do me proud, sister. But go!"

With that, Erim Lera was pushed away by her sister, with more force than was possible in any realistic world. A good thing it was not a realistic world. She flew towards the edges of the stream, until finally, she hit the edge, and flew right on through.

*

One other soul inhabiting the mind stream watched the events transpiring, and nodded accordingly. She would let the body go this time. She wouldn't have enough power now. She needed the body fresher, riper, and much more powerful. She could wait.

*

She awoke again, and she knew who she was. She was pressed firmly against DiStephano's breast, as she had been countless times before, and she knew what she had to do. Only, as she pushed him away, and looked up into his eyes, she knew she had never done that before. Shellandra had. Erim Lera though, she was in control of that body now. And all that that entailed.

Tales of Miscellanea Three - A Chronicle of Erim Lera

Life from someone else's body was unnerving. That was all that the girl had decided she knew for fact, everything else, was as limbo as the 'mind stream', or whatever Shellandra had called it.

Erim stood within the halls of the Church, as she had so many months ago, standing down the mighty King Leoric, once more. A feeling of déjà vu overcame Erim, and it was enough to melt the brain. Then again, with everything she had been through, and considering she wasn't in her own body anymore, it might take a lot to truly shock her these days.

The Skeletal King, who would not rest in peace until his son was found, or so Cain speculated, raised his mithril blade above his head, to take a swing at the blue-horned woman, but she was much quicker than he. She slid under the destination of his swing, and shoved her fist into the skeleton-thing's rib cage, and started smashing bones. Before long, she had a clean shot at the thing's spinal cord, where at she swung a maul, with all of her might. The resounding crash sent shivers down her own spine, but it did please her. She would never get over how gratifying it was to slay the once-man, who had done such evil. And then, the other man in the chamber moved.

DiStephano had stood off to the side of all of her battles, telling her she must complete them herself, so she might be a powerful warrioress one-day again. But Erim knew the truth. The man hasn't quite digested the awful truth of what had happened to his Queen. Even with the Witch Adria's, and the Elder Cain's advice and descriptions, it was obvious the barbarian was still a bit confused.

'That's ok,' Erim thought to herself as she hung her maul back on her belt, while pulling out her bow, 'you're still confused too.'

"That's for damned sure," she mumbled to herself.

"Hmm?" The black man asked, as he neared her.

The woman shook her head, sending blue strands of hair down from the ribbon holding them up. She sighed, blew up into her face trying to get them out of her eyes, failed, sighed again and just pulled the stray strands behind her ears. "I wish I had a helmet again."

They went over this daily. "And I'd love to give you one. But as the large puncture hole in your tunic will attest to, you can't quite wear one while so adorned madam."

She grimaced, and snapped at him, "I told you, do not call me that. I may look like your queen, but I am not her, ok? Besides, I would like to be done with this little arrangement as soon as possible."

The man chuckled, and raised a bushy black eyebrow. "Come now, I am beginning to like the new you. Perhaps you are beginning to have the same unvirtuous feelings, eh?" he chuckled once more, while dusting off his great axe.

"I should think not! And watch whom you're talking to. I look like you're queen, remember?" She sniffed derisively and stuck her nose into the air, while crossing her arms beneath her breasts.

The man looked at her, a saddened look covering over his earlier humor, as he nodded, and replied, "Aye, I remember."

*

Erim later went on to clear out the Church single-handedly, while DiStephano spent more time in town, looking for Everett Call, the Apprentice Mage who was also his sometimes companion. The man had not been seen since Erim's 'death', and the barbarian was beginning to worry.

As the man was heading to Adria's hut to see if she had located the mage, he ran smack into Erim herself. Which of course left a sharp pain in his throat where the horn had poked. She looked up to him, and made a startled sound in her throat.. She was holding her stomach in one hand, while bearing her sword in the other.

"DiStephano!? What're- you- have you found Everett yet?"

"No, but- Erim, what is wrong? Were you injured?" The man reached a hand to her stomach, to look for any wounds, but she quickly batted it away with her blade.

"It's nothing. Just some queasiness. Adria says it is a side effect of the mind-stream-thing, you know… so it's nothing to be concerned with. She just told me to quaff a few more of her ridiculous potions, and to just go rest at the Rising Sun." With this, the woman started past the man grabbing at her arms, and tried to head to the Tavern.

But he would not so easily be brushed aside. "You sure you're alright? I mean if I-"

"NO! I'm fine, just a little sick! By Starlet, you treat me as if I were a glass maiden! I am not going to shatter so easily, DiStephano. And if I do, it's my duty to put the pieces together. Not yours. I appreciate the thought, but perhaps you should leave me alone. All I need in my life is a good sword, maybe some fine ale, and a warm bed. And I can live without the latter two under most circumnstances. Now excuse me." This time she did brush by him, and proved that her workouts and forays into the dungeon were helping immensely, when he could not stop her further.

The barbarian watched her go, and began rubbing his throat once again. He still couldn't begin to believe what had happened to his Queen. To hear such words from her lilac scented lips, was like hearing an angel spout naught but despairing messages of lost hope. His queen was a woman of pure goodness, who did nothing but help others. She never expected payment, reward, or even thanks, and when she didn't get it despite how much she deserved it, she never went with hurt pride or feelings. Why, many times she had had to hold him back from attacking the occasional worthless lout. She was too good a woman to lose to such a whiny wench. But then the witch stepped from her abode into the sunlight, and brought DiStephano's mission back to mind.

*

Erim Lera found herself within the deeper levels of the Catacombs, like she had quite a few months ago, and before her, the sweltering heated tunnels leading even deeper, to the Caves. Her last training ground before Hell. She would be ready. She turned her back to the stairwell though, and headed back into the Catacombs. She knew she didn't stand much chance down there in her current state. But with a nice new set of armor, maybe even a helm, and a sword, she'd be fine.

And then, a horned demon loomed over her. It snorted, and started scraping its right leg against the ground, preparing to charge, when she too did the same. If this forehead appendage was to be of any use to her, it'd be by doing this. The two squared off, one nearly fifteen feet tall, the other only slightly more than five. But they were no less powerful than each other. They charged into each other, the real demon reaching Erim first, but she quickly rolled out of the way, and sent a few arrows from her Needler into its back. The creature fell, and she stood once more. Knocked loose by the fall of the creature, was a suit of chain mail, much better than the girl's own adornments. She quickly slipped into the new suit, and appraised herself. Now, now she could stand her own below.

Erim Lera turned to the stairwell, and started down.

*

Everett Call was waiting for DiStephano within the wooden chambers of the Rising Sun tavern. The two men caught up on much, mainly being whatever it had been the mage had been researching, and what had happened to Erim and Shellandra. The two men had a long uncomfortable moment of silence at that news. They would not want to be the ones to report this news to Westmarch. The kingdom was bound to riot. But the news that Call bared with him was no less frightening and disturbing, and also meant that Erim herself may be in danger. The two men quickly gathered their equipment and headed to the Catacombs where she said she'd be.

*

Erim found herself mobbed by enemies. But that didn't stop them from falling beneath her blade. She was confident of her abilities. And no longer did she see her new appendage as a sign of disgust and hate, but rather of superiority, and hope. The frost chargers she found before her, quaked in terror before the new 'Bluehorn'. And she did nothing to prove their terror false. But soon, as the floor's slope started gradually going more and more downward, she also too noticed the gradual increase of monster activity. And how many of them were not afraid of her, no matter how daunting she might appear to be.

And so it came to be that Erim Lera found herself behind one of the numerous wooden gates within the lower levels of the labyrinth, hiding. Succubi scoured the nearby area searching for her. Smelling for her.

'They know where you are. They're just toying with you. They do that.' Said an unnamed and unidentified voice from within. But it was so subtle, that she had already forgotten about it. But not what it had said. It was right too. They were probably searching for her. She quickly reached for her sheathed sword, before noticing its disappearance. She looked around quickly, and saw it sitting in a pile of splintered shards from where she had landed, once closing the gate behind her.

There was no way she could survive getting the blade, and not being flayed alive by the succubi.

Until she saw him.

His name was Zifnab, and he was probably insane. He went around town every once and while, picking up scraps of litter and trash, and usually wearing some animal pelts.

He was huddled in a corner, with dead bodies, and pelts and other rubble scattered all around him. He appeared to be mumbling to himself.

She crab walked over to him, still hunched over and watching for any approaching blood stars. Finally, he noticed her, and started tossing some small projectiles at her.

"Back creature of the night, back I say! May lilacs grow from your mouth!"

The amazon grabbed for one of the projectiles, which splattered in her hand. It was droppings of some kind. Bat maybe. She didn't know. Another bit of the guano smacked her in her face, spreading. She wiped it away quickly, and grabbed for her axe, a grim frown on her face.

"Oh, oh she bears a weapon! Back, back I say! Fear me, Zifnab of the Moth!" He raised a stick high over his head, and started swinging at her.

Her axe went up quickly to meet the stick, as did she, before a blood red star hit her full on from behind, and sent her sprawling to the ground.

"What, a witchie, aye? I should think not! This is mine! I found it!" The man started waving the stick around threateningly, and started moving towards the leering demon. Luckily for him, Erim grabbed his closest leg and tripped him, sending him out of the succubus' line of sight.

She crawled closer to the man, who was trying to stand, and pinned him to the ground. "Are you crazy man? She'll gut you, and eat you alive!"

The man struggled under her grasp, before looking back to the horned woman's visage. "My queen? My queen is that thee? Oh happy day! I have spent so much time trying to find ye and- and here ye are. Here with the stars as always."

Erim scrunched her face up a bit, trying to separate each confusing word into confusing letters to make it easier to understand this lunatic. "Zifnab, what are you doing down here? With a stick none the less? You ARE crazy aren't you?"

"I am sorry my queen. I have left ye and your kingdom. The woods, she is my mistress now. But you, you are ever so beautiful as you were before. A bit more sharp tongued than I recall, but oh my queen, the stars, they are arguing. There is much confusion you see, for I named them. And I named them all the same name. So they fight, bitterly and brutally."

Erim's eyes just kept opening wider in shock and surprise at this man's mumbling.

"They wish to harm you my queen. They wish to hurt you and beat you. But I- why I won't let them. The woods are my queen now, but I won't let them. My queen, you gave me something once, a weapon, a sword, that you said you didn't need any longer. A weapon of power and beauty, much like yourself, that you said you didn't wish to spread blood with." As he kept on with his weird talk, he slowly pulled something out of one of his hides. It was a twisted, torn, and defiled sheath that looked to have once been ornate beyond belief. And then, he pulled forth the weapon from its sheath, and she was stunned. No finer blade had she ever seen. It was no wonder that he felt it deserving of a queen, but why her?

As if sensing her questions, he continued. "My queen, the stars; hurt them before they hurt you. They want your name, because, well, because I named them all the same name. I named them all Shellandra my queen, and now they want you." With this, he thrust the sword in her hands, and leaped up, stick at the ready. Erim instinctively lowered herself defensively over the sword in her lap, thinking he was to hit her, but instead he swung at a nearby succubus. Erim screamed out, thinking the man to be toast, but instead, the succubus burst into flames after being struck, and fell to the ground as ashes.

She looked on in confusion, waiting to find out what would happen, and why the Crazy Man had been able to do such a thing, when he started frolicking off into the cavern's deeper ends, skipping all the while. The amazon just shook her head slightly, and ran off to the nearest place she could cast a town portal spell.

*

She stayed in her room within the Rising Sun for several hours. Paks tried to get her to let her in, but she would not be so cajoled. Erim was not sure what was wrong with her. She was worried.

The sword, entitled the Grandfather, was a family heirloom from Westmarch. That Shellandra would've so easily and quickly given it to that lunatic, seemed beyond Erim's belief. But she would not so quickly let it out of sight. No, no not that. She worried. That nagging voice insured her she could not trust them. They just wanted the sword.

But then DiStephano found her. Call in tow. He just sat in the corner of the room, watching her, never saying anything, never moving, and so said a growing familiar voice, never blinking. Just watching. Her. Her horn. Her sword. But just before she would become so paranoid as to strike him with the blade, which, by the way, never left her lap, DiStephano spoke up.

"We have found out what lays below the Caverns. It's Hell itself."

"I know."

"Well it seems- you know? How do you know?" The barbarian's forehead crinkled as he asked this question, interrupting his own explanation halfway through.

"It does not matter, but that is why I am here. I seek someone within hell, and when I find her, then I shall be leaving."

"Oh, I see. Well that's not the important part. The important thing is, why it's here."

"A portal created after one too many meddling mages no doubt." She answered before he could continue.

"Or, the more likely reason; Diablo. Lord of Terror. He lays beneath this town, even now. Waiting. Why, he probably knows we're talking about him, right… now." DiStephano looked about, obviously spooked, but Call didn't seem concerned in the least.

Erim was at a loss for words. Perhaps the voices had not been so mistaken thus far. They foretold doom and evil beneath this town, but this was too much. "Diablo? Metus himself? Who, how, what would release such a foul being?"

"'One too many meddling mages no doubt'. Erim, this is my quest. This is your sister's quest. Come with us. Let us defeat this monstrosity, once and for all. Will you join us?" DiStephano signaled behind him, to where Call had not moved, pointing out that Call too was part of Shellandra's original quest.

A dark shadow crossed her face as she nodded, and then, deep within, someone laughed. Everything was coming together perfectly.   

The First

Everett Call, the Apprentice Mage of Horshast the Feeble, sat sheepishly within the halls of the Tristram Church, which had once been a famous Horadrim Monastery. But then, it had been converted to the worship of Zakarum, the new Religion of the Light. But now, more informally, to the paganic religions that the denizens of hell so worshipped.   

Along every wall was spattered bloody drawings to devils and demons, or carvings of vast sacrifices. And the most impressive, was a mighty bas relief of a devilish being ripping apart the town of Tristram, and around it, the world. It might've been just any demonic being, if not for the two similar looking devils beside him, doing the same. Those two figures identified the main being as Diablo.

Lord of Terror.

Call had studied the Horadrim a bit, back in his master's study, but never enough to be a reliable source. Luckily, the monks had scattered tomes about the labyrinth dictating their tale. So too did he find journals and notes from the Arch-Bishop Lazarus, once a renowned mage and teacher, who had apparently lead the assault on the town above. And the saddest part was how little any of the town's residents knew of their true plight.

All except for one Deckard Cain.

Horshast had sent Everett here to meet the famed sage, who had gone into seclusion, when rumors came up that he might be related to the even more famed scholar, Jered Cain. Jered, who was a known Horadrim member, had died in this general area some years ago, supposedly with no heirs.

Just as Khallool Saul had done a few generations ago. And yet, fifty or so years back, a Horshast Saul had changed his name to, Horshast the Feeble.

It was amazing how few many people noticed any connections.

Not even DiStephano, Call's companion, knew of his affiliations. Call sought to once again establish the Horadrim, with the Arch-Angel Tyrael's aid, to stop Diablo and his sleeping brothers from rising. He had lost much hope in that ever happening, until he came to this once sleepy village. And then, he had a visage, of the archangel himself, coming to him, and telling him he could lead the way.

But Diablo had to fall first.

He would easily crush any opposition if not.

So Call sought out companions. And what luck it was that he found Shellandra, the Good Queen of Westmarch, and her barbarian lackey, DiStephano. Shellandra was nearly a saint herself, in all the good things she had done for the oppressed and weak around the country, and not just with force. A skilled debater, charmer, general, and monarch, it was no wonder she was beloved the world over.

Until Call's selfish plans got her killed.

'Or rather, that bitch the Amazon did.' The voice was indefinable, but it was correct.

Erim Lera was not someone to be trifled with. Everett had seen her fight off legions of monsters with just her shield and blade, and even an axe, something DiStephano was hard pressed to do. But she had to be punished for what had befallen the Queen for her. And the fact that she knew about Diablo, most certainly proved her guilt in some kind of underhandedness. No, Erim Lera was not one to be trifled with. Not by a weakling apprentice, to a mage surnamed 'the Feeble'. But someday, someday Call would make sure her blue horned skull rested on a pike, comfortably, outside the
Horadrim Headquarters.

Two World's War

Love is a many splendor thing. Someone said that once. It's beyond my limited memory to recall who exactly, but many people have said that since then. And it is, I am sure, but so too is it a bitter, hateful, resentful, vengeful, deadly thing. Alternatively, it is also kind, giving, fair, peaceful, and resolving. But one thing Love cannot be denied to be, is blind. This is one such story to prove a small point, and perhaps explain a bit more, behind our dear Erim's distress.

They stood at opposite ends of an eternal battlefield, but their eyes met and did not let go. It was if all the other combatants had disappeared, and only the two of them remained. Between them, miles and miles of neutral limbo. Space. Utter chaos, and painstaking order. It swirled, breathed, moved, and lived around them.

But all they saw were each other.

She was a succubus, of the higher orders. Two large horns curled up from her shoulder plates, leveling over her fiery, wild hair, which seemed to always be floating above her. She was beautiful, and her body was definitely worthy of a man's notice, but not his notice.

Not of an angel's.

He was handsome beyond mortal capabilities, as most angels were, and had a soft, downy layer of feathers on his wings, which matched his sapphire hair. His intense blue eyes locked with hers, and he could swear he saw the battle going on around them.

But they didn't move. They just watched each other.

Now, before the time of the Mortals, before they were to become part of the Sin War, and the Great Conflict, love was a rarer thing. Angels and Demons alike, existed only to serve their greater lords and ladies, and had no time for such matters. Those that did, died. Taken horribly, into the realms of the damned, or the high heavens, for the ultimate deaths. A conversion type of death. And not many liked that.

So their love would wait. For an eternity as it might be.

It mattered not to angel's or demon's. They lived for aeons at a time.

But then Izual started his charge. The Hellforge would fall. Shadowfang would not be completed.

But it was. And there, someone hefted it, and wielded it with expertise.

But so too there, the mighty blue glow of Azurewrath. The day would end in nothing, if not the deaths of millions of warriors this day.

And so fell Izual, beneath the legions of Chaos and Hell.

And so fell the bearer of Shadowfang.

Fleshdoom, a mighty devil, grasped the blade of it's fallen master, and continued slaying his winged foes, while the Angels tried to recapture their own blade.

And so it came to be, that the distant admirers, who had never spoken a word to each other, or been within the same mile of each other, came face to face. Between them, the now silent and dark runeblade of the fallen angel. Both of their hands reached for it, and each brushed the others. They quickly withdrew their hands, caressing it as if it had been scalded, and looked into each other's eyes once again.

One, burning with the fiery pits of hate and rage. The other, the clear blue of peaceful tranquility.

Andariel faltered. She did not reach for the blade again.

The Angel, did. He grasped it, and surged with the power of the blade, as it started to come back to it's former pseudo-life.

And then Shadowfang erupted through the angel's chest.

Azurewrath, fell to the mortal lands, taking many angel's and demons with it, to their death.

Fleshdoom stood before the Maiden of Anguish, who felt for the first time, some anguish of her own, as he leered in contemplation. She shrieked in a short pang of hurt and loss, before it passed, and she noticed the Conflict once again.
 

Fleshdoom wasn't looking.

Shadowfang was not his any longer.

So too was it sent screaming into the mortal realms, to be kept from the Great Conflict for all time.

Or until someone went after it.

Which Fleshdoom did. The might devil took wing, and shot through the barriers of reality, quickly gaining on the black blade.

Andariel panicked. But then, she knew what she had to do. Never again, would the Maiden of Anguish, a true Prime Succubus, and a Lesser Evil, feel such Anguish, Pain, and Love.

*

And within the Mortal Realms, a pair of farmers, sat within a granger one cold night, as the woman screamed in agony. She was going to miscarry. Both her and her child would die, and her husband, the poor man who had lost his home to the neighboring armies, would not be able to do anything. It would be his fault.

But the child did live. Soc was his name. With brilliant blue eyes, and sapphire spun hair, not unlike his father's. Not the farmer's, whose hair was chestnut, or his dead wife, who's was straw gold.

But when he viewed such things that he lusted for, in whatever form, woman, treasure, or comfort, his eyes took on the raging red of hellfire.

So too did they glow when they grew closer to Shadowfang, the sword he had been sent to recover.

The sword which had killed his 'father'.

Erim Lera's Foray Into Hell, The First

Hell. She had looked so hard for it, and there it was. Before her, in all it's resplendent glory. She had left her homelands well into a year ago, citing her need to find the place, and get the answers she needed. And there it was.

No longer did lava flow cleanly along the floors as in the caves. No longer were the walls crumbling beneath the touch as in the catacombs. No longer was each room designed so specifically as in the church. Chaos was the lady of this labyrinth now, and Chaos was not a lazy mistress.

The walls bulged and writhed with the infernal pulsing, no in closer examination, it appeared to be the beating of a heart, a sound that Erim could luckily not hear. The floor too seemed an organic being in some places, while uncomfortably hard in others. The ceiling which now towered impossibly high, had many thorns ripping through it's own organic substance, and leering down at Erim. More thorns were ripping through the walls and floor with each new beat of the heart. Blood poured down these, and in the distance, a scream could always be heard. On the ivory white thorn in front of her, Erim noticed a writhing figure of what once might've been a human. Blood poured from the things mouth, now located beneath it's left armpit with the rest of the head, and pooled onto the ground. But no sooner did the puddle start to grow, than it did just sink into the ground, and Erim suspected, the impaling thorn with man, to continue it's vicious cycle.

She took her first step into the place, wincing as the ground beneath her squished with the impact.

She lost her nerve.

*

When she was once again back at ground level, within the confines of her room at the Rising Sun, Erim stopped running.

She felt cowardly and hurt for doing such a thing, but this was Hell itself. She could not be so despaired about running from such a place. Why, she bet none of her Sisters had ever even been to such a place.

But she would return. She'd have to. Her mother's life, and honor, depended on it. 'So did mine', she thought to herself.

So she would have to return. 'Or someone would have to return for you', added that ever-present nagging voice. But it did have a point. A mercenary. Someone from town who either didn't know what to expect, or someone who could handle such a thing. They wouldn't even need to know what was truly at stake here. If they did, they might take advantage of such a thing.

"Hmm…"

*

The Amazon in a Queen's body quickly started scanning The Rising Sun's main hall for a suitable candidate. In one corner, a slew of those, 'Beyond Naked Mages', who seemed ill prepared to go into the market, never mind Hell. In another, a few barbarians and warriors, leering and making jests in the Amazon's general direction. Everett sat alone in the corner, glaring at her as per usual. And lastly, there she was.

She stood tall for a woman, and bore the markings of a Sister of the Sightless Eye, though Erim didn't know if she was. Her name was Zanaste, and she was seldom seen around town these days. Apparently she herself had started tackling the Caves, and lower levels of the Labyrinth.

She would be perfect.

She seemed to pass up the bow, in favor of a black-steel capped club, which just seemed to absorb the light around it, that was sitting on the empty table before her. Her armor, a light ring mail that had it's rings molded perfectly into the shape of crescent moons, and a matching helm with another moon on the nose guard, seemed to be made just for her.

The woman turned to notice the spying Erim, and grinned to herself, as if she already suspected such a thing. Her eyes pierced Erim's soul, and thoughts, and caused her to shift uncomfortably while in their gaze. The woman kicked a chair on the other side of the empty table, signaling for the girl to join her.

Erim sat, and the woman lifted her legs up onto the table to rest. "Greeting's 'Bluehorn', how can I-"

"Erim Lera. Of the Vrin-Latti Tribe."

The woman sniffed, and lowered her legs from their upraised position. "Well Erim Lera of the Vrin-Latti tribe, what can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for a mercenary." At this, the Zanaste sat up straight, and looked Erim over. She was an impressive woman considering, and the rogue nodded.

"I see. Well, I would assume this would involve… darker journeys?"

"What? Well yes. No, yes, er… what do you mean darker?"

Waving the issue away as if it did not matter, Zanaste replied, "'Tis no matter. Well, what did you have in mind per se?"

And so the night went on. Erim explained to the other woman, how she wanted someone to enter Hell for her, and find her aunt's soul. When the night was finished, and Erim sought out her bed, money had exchanged hands, and the other woman was fast off towards the cavernous entrance to her destination.

*

Erim dreamed that night. It had been a few months since she had dreamt of anything. In it, she stood once more at the threshold to Hell, with it's living walls and floors, and its impaled human trophies. Only in her dream, she was entering, not stopping and running after one step. She walked of someone else's accord, and before she knew it, she was going even further down into the place. The sword that she wielded, which had beautiful engraved bats along it's length, leapt in her hand, from one beastly nightmare to another, and with each swing, Erim felt stronger, more rejuvenated. But finally, the walking warrioress who was not Erim, came face to face with a pack of succubi, an Amazon's greatest adversary.

But instead of slaying each other, or fighting vehemently like normally, the succubi left Erim alone, for some other hapless traveler. And so too did she toss all of her instincts and upbringing to the wind, to continue her downward travel through the cavern.

But finally that traveling stopped, to bring her before a silver pentagram along the floor. She noted it was of a different material than the ground itself, sort of a dull granite, but could not tell where the new substance ended, and the other began. But, before she could further question its nature, a spiraling oval of a similar gray sprung up before her, which she subsequently entered.

*

Time meant nothing to Erim any longer. She knew now that it had been her mind's eye watching Zanaste's adventure from the woman's own eyes. But when the woman had entered the portal leading even deeper into hell, the connection was abruptly shattered. And now, she could sleep no longer. She knew that the woman was up to something, and she needed to know what.

She quickly gathered her armor, shield, and the sword that the crazy man had given her, before heading downstairs to the silent and dark main room of the Tavern. But it was not so empty as was expected. For standing within the foyer of the softly lit room, looking around perturbed, was a woman. Her hair, a fiery red that was as bright and unnatural as Erim's own, fell down in waves from her scalp, which was adorned by a majestic crown of Amazonian make. Its garnet jewels caught the flame perfectly, and made it seem like the woman's head was on fire. Strapped across her back, was
a hunting bow, which ppeared normal, but was clearly not. And held in her left hand, as casually as one might expect from an Amazon Hero, was a shield of exquisite make, that bore the sign of the Bhagwalli. Stormshield was its proper name, Erim believed.

She was Charisena, of the Bhagwalli Tribe, which was routinely in conflict with Erim's own. The two tribes, which had been formed by feuding sisters to begin with, never really decided on their own homelands, and tended to travel each others, despite how often there were conflicts do to this. She was a heroine of her people, and known the land over for her power and talent with the sword and bow. The woman looked right to the newcomer to the room, and it's only other inhabitant.

Time passed. But it meant nothing to Erim any longer… except that it meant that much less time to prove her mother innocent.

A pang, in her stomach, of the morning sickness that she had started to grow accustomed too. But neither moved. Their eyes were locked in place. Charisena fingered her sheath, and the hilt protruding from it.

She could wait no longer.

Erim ran past the other Amazon, and out into the chilled night. She ran behind the building, and started vomiting uncontrollably. Finally, it ended, and she realized someone was holding back her hair. It was Charisena.

"You are… I know you." Was all the woman-warrior said, and quietly at that, though it somehow sounded commanding in the silent night.

"I- you are Charisena the Conqueror. Of the Bhagwalli." Erim licked her lips, tasting the bile, but unable to keep from doing do. She was nervous.

"Oh, so you do know me. But you- you're face, it's familiar."

"I'm Er-"

"Shellandra, of Westmarch. The Queen. You traveled my lands once, and helped my people with our water problem. Though, that is new…" The ruby haired woman helped Erim stand, whilst nodding to her horn.

"I- yes, it's… a trophy of sorts you could say." She lied.

Charisena saw right through it. Her lips immediately formed into a frown, and she shook her head disapprovingly. "Now, now child of the Vrin-Latti, lie not to me. I am your Sister, in people if not in nature alone. I too have the Mind's Eye, and know who you are, and what's befallen you. Though the vomiting was a bit extreme for being found out if you ask me."

"I- yes, you- but how…"

"I told you, Erim Lera of the Vrin-Latti. I have dreamed, ever night whilst traveling here, of your adventures. And now, I am here to lead you in your greatest."

"My greatest? Greatest what?"

The woman sighed, and started leading the confused girl towards the center of town, "You shall slay the mighty Diablo girl. You will stop him from destroying all of our lands."

Erim Lera started vomiting once again.

*

Within the deeper regions of Hell, Erim Lera was terrified. She had nearly been dragged this far to begin with, but now, now she was truly scared. She stood within a chamber of dead Magistrate's, holding a maul of unimaginable powers. Charisena had loaned it to her, to wield appropriately against the enemies she would face below. And so she had. Several had fallen now, but this was surely the most exasperating and most difficult.

Deadjudge was his name, and he was a slippery foe to say the least. Every time Erim would close on him, he'd send a few charged bolts her way, and disappear across the room. Charisena had, with the help of their other companion Italicus the Thief, tried to corner the thing for Erim, but it had not worked. So the end result, was her running across the room, tripping along the slippery and unstable floor, and its natural, pointed adornments, many times, swinging the maul. The thief started an incantation to stone the unholy thing, for the girl's sake, but the older amazon's hand stopped her.

"No, this is her fight now."

Italicus nodded, and waited for the battle to end.

Down another floor or two, when Italicus departed, going her own way to adventure, they came face to face with the Betrayer himself, Lazarus. And it did not take long for their arrows to pierce the man's robe, and stain it an even darker shade of red. So too did they slay the succubi-spawn, Black Jade, Bloodlust, and Red Vex. It was then, that they came to the gate. It was a mighty red pentagram, glowing with the rhythm of the unnamed heart, and resembled closely the one that Zanaste had entered. Only it's color was more like the shade of Charisena's hair. "He's through there. Take up thy blade good Sister, it's time we take him down." The Bhagwalli Tribeswoman yelled.

"Through- there? Where?"

As if in answer to the girl's question, the pentagram spiraled outward, until it was a mighty hole in the place. She could see no conceivable end to it, and it produced a light that the sun itself would be shamed by. But Charisena walked out into the center of the substantial hole, before disappearing from sight. Erim did the same, only much more cautiously. And then, time, simply stopped mattering once again.

*

She stood within a castle, on a cold night, waiting for the darkness around her to explode. The tension in the air, ensured it would happen. And it did. Only, it exploded silently, and in a concentrated area.

The infernal sound of the heartbeat, not heard back within Hell, was audible now. It did not echo Erim's own, which she responded to with some relief. But soon, soon she realized she heard the beat, because it was from her own body. Just not, her heart.

When the darkness shrank away, it shrank away only from one place in the castle. A throne sat before the girl, which she mechanically walked towards. Seated atop it, was a dozing girl, whose skin was duskier than Erim's own, but lighter than the mages of the distant East. Her hair was a network of interweaving colors. First black, than sapphire blue, than black again. It was a beautiful sight, and truly, truly unique. The heartbeat, it also matched this girl's, Erim knew instinctively. But the strangest thing about the scene, was that there were strings attached to the sleeping girl's wrists. Ethereal, emerald strings. That lead…

Erim. She stood before herself. Above the sleeping girl, was Erim herself, who looked much older, one hand on the side of the throne, as if she had abdicated it. She looked down on the girl in silent pride. The kind of pride that was immeasurable, but never truly expressed. She looked good for how much older she seemed. She wore a suit of armor that would've rivaled a King's.

'Or a queen's.' Said the ever-knowing voice of her subconscious.

It was of the finest make, and definitely designed to be plate mail, only, it was made of pure, unflawed, diamond. It fit the woman's body perfectly, and seemed like it would flow perfectly with her every movement. Atop her still-horned head, a crown of purest sapphire, that seemed to conform around the horn, clearly designed specifically for Erim's head. What appeared to be wing's were fashioned into the side of the head adornment, also sapphire, but which reminded Erim of the tales of Starlet's winged crown. The woman held nothing in her free hand, except for the strings of emerald leading to the sleeping girl, but by her side, was a floating, emerald blade. Its crossbar was made of hardened gold, as was the very tip of its blade, to make it more of a slashing and swinging weapon, rather than piercing. And the blade itself, was made of emerald, which happened to be the same color that matched the strings entwining her older form's fingers.

It was than, that she noticed the additional strings. Lighter, smaller, and simpler than the ones leading from mother to daughter, these led from Erim's own wrists, tangled itself around her horn, to the sword beside her. The strings then led further into the darkness above Erim's head. Only then, did the darkness truly explode. A mighty demoness leapt down from above, and started attacking Erim. She had wild, unbidden hair writhing above her head, and mighty ivory horns spreading from her shoulder blades in a queer mockery of wings. Talons leapt forward to strike at Erim's chest, as she started running from the beast. But the demoness's spiked and toned legs allowed it to keep up, and was soon
even before the Amazon. They faced off than, in many ways, before something from behind Erim drew the demon's attention away from her. However, she awoke now, to-

*

-find herself surrounded by flames, and what appeared to be fingers made of giant bones surrounding their platform. Below and around them, the writhing spirits of the damned who had died recently. Their souls came here instead of passing to the High Heavens or Deepened Hells.

Charisena looked up then, from her position beneath a mighty red devil's foot. It was literally stomping the life out of her.

So too did it look to Erim.

And Charisena rolled away during the devil's momentary lapse.

It could be none other than Diablo himself. His skin, if it could be called that, was nothing more than muscles, redder than Charisena' hair, and darker than blood, at the same time giving it's own light off. The muscles though, had no order to them. Erim was no doctor, or even shaman, but she knew anatomy, and knew that those muscles looked as if taken from different sources, and stuck on with goatmen blood. His head was comprised of his piercingly sickening yellow eyes, and many twisted and curving horns of different make. One appeared to be from a goat, one a charger, one a balrog, and yet another seemed nothing more than a rock twisted around in a parody of a horn.

He stepped forward then, and pointed at Erim. Something inside her, something in her mind, in her soul, screamed. So too did she scream, as fire leapt from the surrounding chaos, and engulfed her. And too did it engulf Charisena, who had been trying to get her maul ready for the battle.

They screamed. Diablo continued making fire burst from the Hell around him, into the two women. Life drifted away.

*

Tyrrynan stood nearby, within the fiery pits of this gateway to Hell, watching the battle unfold. His master, the Lieutenant Rathan, of the Palace of the Indigo Sea, had given him the task of watching the women in their trip into Hell. He questioned now, whether to aid them or not. Surely his punishment would be great if he did, but even greater if he did not. If he aided them, the beings around him would know of his presence, and he would surely be slaughtered. Spirits of the damned flitted about, staring intently at his place of hiding, but were unable to see him in this form. He was safe for now, but for how long. And how long would the two women, his charges as it might be, last?

*

Erim tried to stand, but she could not. The devil was standing near the area from which she had entered this place, and was not paying attention to either her or Charisena, who was lying nearby, unmoving. The girl crawled onto her elbows, and started trying to stand. But she could not. Her will power gave out, and she slumped back down to the cold floor.

*

Charisena reached once more for her maul, but could not do so without drawing the devil's attention. She needed a diversion again. She had hoped that Erim would've gotten all the way up, to distract the beast, but it had not happened. And so she waited.

*

Orla, sister of Aurla, and aunt of Erim Lera, watched the battle as well, from the fiery pits of the hell she had been confined too. She knew something big was to happen now. But what that was, was unbeknownst to her. Suddenly, a darkened hand reached for her, and pulled her from her burning residence. Not that she was so reluctant, but she did not entirely trust that particular hand.

*

Everything exploded into movement then. Zanaste appeared from behind one of the rock outcroppings, holding a fiery piece of material, and ran past Diablo, into the portal back up. Charisena, noticing her before her escape, grabbed her maul, and leapt up with it. Erim, though, had more trouble adjusting to this new event, and was only on her knees by now.

Charisena ran to intercept Diablo, and had started pounding on the demon with her lightning maul, the one she had lent to Erim earlier, while it tried to catch Zanaste. It quickly realized it's own peril, and turned back to the Amazonian Hero. A few swings, and she was about to go down.

And then, Erim was there aiding in it's defeat. Her sword, given to her by a crazy man who resided in the woods, which once belonged to her sister, whose body she now inhabited, sliced cleanly through the thing's rocklike skin. Named the Grandfather for some unknown reason, to Erim at least, it was a mighty katana from the Far East. It served her well then, as it's blade grew darker and darker with Diablo's ichor. And then, without any spectacle, the killing blow was landed, and brackish blood started spraying from all of the demon's orifices and open wounds. Charisena grabbed Erim by the elbow, and dragged her towards the portal. They entered, with their last sight of the monster being it's death
throes.

*

Erim dreamed once again. By now she assumed it was part of the process of going from the inner-Hell of Diablo's chambers, to the outer-Hell of the more physical world. Now though, she was within the familiar backdrop of her homelands. The Southern Plainlands. Everything seemed so familiar and for a moment she stopped to think perhaps she was being returned to her homelands. The sprawling drylands. The rolling hills. The sparse, but lush trees. And far off, the not oft seen lone traveler, walking towards her.

He was a beautiful creature. His age was hard to determine, as he seemed eternally young, but his eyes, those clear blue that stood out so much with his similarly colored hair, would drive any woman insane with jealousy. Except for the woman who already had those eyes. Which Erim did. Or had, before her reincarnation. But it was no secret who this man was.

Soc.

Her father.

Her cousin's father.

Shellandra's father.

Who knew how many other children's father.

And he reached where she had appeared. They stood only a foot or so apart. The sun beat down on them, much more realistically than it should have.

He started to speak.

No sound came out.

He didn't seem to notice.

It was then that the demoness from her other dream appeared.

And it leapt towards them. Soc turned to the she-beast. They stared each other down. Finally, they each walked off, separately, the two beings, away from where Erim stood.

Confused through the whole course of events, Erim only now truly got her bearings. It was now that she noticed the similarities between the creatures. Her father, and the devil-kin. Herself, and the devil-kin.

*

And then back within the more 'normal' levels of Hell, Erim Lera began vomiting again. Charisena was too exhausted to help the girl hold her hair back.

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