Hey fellas, let me start off by saying I am NOT a writer. I don't claim to have any skills. I just thought this might be fun. I haven't even checked it for typos. Wasn't sure if this was the right board for it. Hope so.
Please don't flame me or anything. I also have not participated in the beta, so I don't know how the real story goes, and I was not trying to stick to facts or make this canon or what not. Character name and personalities are made up as well. Again, please don't flame me for it. Just trying to have a little fun.
Hope you enjoy this for a minute.
"You're dripping."
Logen's eyes snapped open, looking up from his seat to find on a pale looking man standing over him.
"What?"
The man nodded to Logen's arm.
"Need something for that?"
Logen followed the man's gaze to his arm. A gash in his forearm was steadily dripping blood onto the floor board of the inn, forming a dark crimson puddle.
"It'll be fine." Logen muttered. The man shrugged, and made his way back towards the bar. Behind the bar was a woman holding a child and speaking softly to her, trying to quiet her sobs. The man started to whipe down the bar, his hand shaking, only cleaning to try and take his mind some where else.
Logen took his attention from his arm and gazed around the room. Eight of us left, he thought. How could things have turned so quickly? He shouldn't be surprised. This was hardly the first time something like this has happened to him. Memories of has past have begun resurfacing more and more. They weren't pleasant.
The noise outside was becoming intolerable. The moaning of the undead was constant. Their banging against the barred doors of the inn like a steady rythm that refused to leave the forefront of Logen's mind. He let his tired eyes close for a moment, trying to focus on anything other than the noise..
Trapped, he thought. Barbarians never let themselved get trapped. He took stock of his gear. Two rusty single handed axes. No armor, not even a shirt. Just his long loin cloth. Couldn't have picked a worst time to leave my old gear behind, he thought. He let go a mental sigh, recalling the images of the armor and weapons he had worked so hard to obtain.
I wouldn't be trapped in a damned inn if I had my gear, he thought darkly.
Scratching at his grey beard, Logen decided it was time to evaluate the others. He opened his eyes, looking first to the quiet man sitting across the table from him.
The man, whos eyes were closed in what seemed like a sort of meditation, was of average size. His light complexion brought notice to his shaved head. A fairly large beard covered the bottom half of his face. What caught Logen's eye were the two red dots on the man's forhead.
A Monk, Logen thought. He didn't need to see those dots to know that the man was a monk, however. Logen had seen him fight earlier, during the attack of the undead, before they had barred themselves in the inn. The Monk's fighting techniques were incredibly unique. The grace and speed at which the man fought was unbelievable. Sometimes it even looked as if the monk's fist didn't even make contact with his enemies, yet it's chest caved in as it was flung back from the Monk's range. A far cry from my methods, Logen thought. He didn't mind though. His methods worked just fine.
Logen's eyes strayed from the Monk to the next man, further down to the table who was quietly muttering to himself. An oddity, to Logen. This man also had his head shaved, though his complexion was dark. A big loop of metal pierced the man's chin and two big earrings hung from ears, swaying as the man shook his head softly, still having a conversation with himself.
Logen had heard of Witch Doctors before, though he had never seen one himself. He frowned, remembering what he saw earlier during the battle outside. As he cleaved one of the undead in half, he had caught a glimpse of the Witch Doctor cornered against a short wall by a horde of the undead. The Witch Doctor had calmly assessed his situation, then had acted. As the undead has closed in, two big shapes had leaped over the short wall, landing in a crouch infront of the With Doctor. Dogs. It took a moment to realize something wasn't right about the animals. They were dead. Logen had figured the Witch Doctor dead, the odds too high against him, when the undead dogs turned from him and leaped towards the nearest shuffling bodies, ripping them to shreds, and letting the Witch Doctor casually walk through the newly created path his pets had created for him.
Logen did not have good expierences with companions calling the undead. His memories of the Necromancer still made him shudder.
"This is rediculous!"
Logen looked to the speaker. A younger man was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed with a look of contempt on his face. His long dark hair rest on his shoulders. He looked from one person to the other, daring someone to contradict him.
"We shouldn't be sitting here idly. We need to act."
Silence sat heavy in the inn for response. Then a soft voice from a corner of the room.
"No one's stopping you, Sorcerer. You can walk outside to your death any time you like."
The younger man swivled his glare towards the voice. Another man was leaning back in chair, his legs up on the table, crossed and relaxed. His arms hung by his sides loosely, disappearing from view under the table. A cowl covered most of his facial features in shadows, except for his mouth which was set in a soft smirk.
"I'm a Wizard, not a Sorcerer. There's a difference. We have- " The other man cut him off abruptly.
"Fascinating, really. Will somebody quiet this child?"
The Wizard's glare transformed into a smirk to match the other man's.
"Let's see you try it." He raised has hand, and Logen noticed a soft blue glow emanating from it. So much power, Logen thought. Was it wise to place it in a man so young and inexperienced? He hadn't seen the Wizard or the Demon Hunter during the battle, but from traveling with a Sorcereress and an Amazon, Logen knew how deadly spells and arrows could be. While this exchange was happening, the Monk hadn't moved an inch or reacted in any way, and the Witch Doctor kept glancing up as if he had something to say, but thought better of it and looked down to the top of the table.
The other man's smirk turned into a grin, and he raised both of his arms. In each hand was a small crossbow, primed and ready to fire.
Ahh, A Demon Hunter, Logen realized. Of course. Fate just so happens to bring the five of us together. The memories forcefully pushed their way back into his mind. His old companions fighting tooth and nail beside him, covered in blood and gore while spells and arrows rained down around them.
Pressure built up behind his eyes. The pain grew until he couldn't bear it.
"Enough!" Logen shouted. Everyone's attention snapped to him. He sighed softly, took a deep breath, composing himself. He met each person's eyes as he spoke.
He looked to the Demon Hunter. "You argue with each other, you die."
The Wizard's eyes. "You get arrogant, you die."
The Monk's. "You don't pay attention, you die".
The Witch Doctor's. " You don't communicate, you die."
He looked from face to face, waiting until each person nodded, then nodded himself.
"To begin, we need to- " He began, but was cut off as a crash sounded off to his right. Everyone looked towards the barred inn door. Splinters scattered towards the ground, as the door bent inwards towards them under the weight of whatever pushed against it.
Everyone shot out of their seats, arming themselves with their weapons of choice. Logen was the only one who took his time getting out of his chair. They stood together, watching the door and waiting. The door finally gave, breaking apart with a loud snap and a mass of bodies, limbs reaching, surged inwards to the floor. Logen, his expression grim, gave one last weary sigh, then muttered under his breath.
"I'm getting too old for this shit..."
(Many kills and some time later)
Logen's arm muscles strained as he pushed back against the boned foot pinning him to the floor.
Damned Leoric, why can't he just stay dead. He turned his head fraction, blinking blood out of his eyes.
One of his axes lay just out of his reach, the edge blunted and covered in gore and patches of decomposing skin. Further away lay his companions, still and silent, red pooling around each of them.
The skeleton king's foot lowered an inch, causing his arm's to tremble. The cold dusty hall of the throne room pushed back sharply against his back.
Just me left, Logen thought, and not for much longer. Part of him wanted to let go. The weary part of him that was tired of fighting, tired of killing. The other part of him was ashamed. This is what you are, it whispered. He shook his head against the thought.
A glitter of metal a few feet to his left caught his eye, his movement stilling as he focused on the object. Even when death was mere seconds away, he still knew how to appreciate an amazingly crafted weapon.
A giant two handed axe lay on the ground, half of it sticking out from under a rotting corpse. As Logen's eyes ran across what he could see of it, tiny sparks of electricity jumped from the weapons two edges.
A new hope surged in Logen, his eyes snapping back to the skull of the skeleton king. He let loose a ear rattling bellow, his war cry causing his blood to pound through his vains. Putting all the fury he had within him into focus, he slowly removed one of his hands away from Leroic's massive foot. The king tilted his head slightly, almost as if curious as to whether or not this was to be Logen's last plead for mercy. Logen lifted his free hand into the air above him, and brought it down to the ground with an earth shattering slam.
The ground beneath his fist shattered and spider webbed around his fist, tremors streaking outwards like the ripples in the surface of a disturbed pond. Logen felt the pressure in his arm holding Leroic's foot ease then disappear as the king lost his footing, stumbling backwards and then crashing to the floor into a heap of bones.
Taking the only chance he had left, Logen stumbled drunkenly to his feet and ran towards the axe, falling to his knees infront of it. He shoved the corpse off of the weapon, ignoring the wide eyes of the undead staring towards the ceiling. He couldn't help but take a second to admire the craftmanship of the axe. The sparks grew a bit brighter, as if the weapon was glad it was freed from beneath the corpse.
A roar snapped Logen out back to reality. Leoric had climbed to his feet, and was charging towards him, his giant mace trailing the ground behind him, causing sparks of it's own to jump off of the stone floor.
Logen grabbed the grip of the axe and made to stand up, only to get jerked back towards the ground.
What? He thought, Is it stuck? He looked frantically for an edge that was snagged but found nothing. He kept pulling, trying to ignore the loud footsteps drawing near towards him.
I don't understand, he thought, I can't be this tired. As a giant shadow loomed over him, the glare from the electrictiy dulled enough to reveal something engraved into the handle of the weapon.
Required level 18.
Logen closed his eyes and hung his head.
"God damn Be- "
The end.
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Please don't flame me or anything. I also have not participated in the beta, so I don't know how the real story goes, and I was not trying to stick to facts or make this canon or what not. Character name and personalities are made up as well. Again, please don't flame me for it. Just trying to have a little fun.
Hope you enjoy this for a minute.
"You're dripping."
Logen's eyes snapped open, looking up from his seat to find on a pale looking man standing over him.
"What?"
The man nodded to Logen's arm.
"Need something for that?"
Logen followed the man's gaze to his arm. A gash in his forearm was steadily dripping blood onto the floor board of the inn, forming a dark crimson puddle.
"It'll be fine." Logen muttered. The man shrugged, and made his way back towards the bar. Behind the bar was a woman holding a child and speaking softly to her, trying to quiet her sobs. The man started to whipe down the bar, his hand shaking, only cleaning to try and take his mind some where else.
Logen took his attention from his arm and gazed around the room. Eight of us left, he thought. How could things have turned so quickly? He shouldn't be surprised. This was hardly the first time something like this has happened to him. Memories of has past have begun resurfacing more and more. They weren't pleasant.
The noise outside was becoming intolerable. The moaning of the undead was constant. Their banging against the barred doors of the inn like a steady rythm that refused to leave the forefront of Logen's mind. He let his tired eyes close for a moment, trying to focus on anything other than the noise..
Trapped, he thought. Barbarians never let themselved get trapped. He took stock of his gear. Two rusty single handed axes. No armor, not even a shirt. Just his long loin cloth. Couldn't have picked a worst time to leave my old gear behind, he thought. He let go a mental sigh, recalling the images of the armor and weapons he had worked so hard to obtain.
I wouldn't be trapped in a damned inn if I had my gear, he thought darkly.
Scratching at his grey beard, Logen decided it was time to evaluate the others. He opened his eyes, looking first to the quiet man sitting across the table from him.
The man, whos eyes were closed in what seemed like a sort of meditation, was of average size. His light complexion brought notice to his shaved head. A fairly large beard covered the bottom half of his face. What caught Logen's eye were the two red dots on the man's forhead.
A Monk, Logen thought. He didn't need to see those dots to know that the man was a monk, however. Logen had seen him fight earlier, during the attack of the undead, before they had barred themselves in the inn. The Monk's fighting techniques were incredibly unique. The grace and speed at which the man fought was unbelievable. Sometimes it even looked as if the monk's fist didn't even make contact with his enemies, yet it's chest caved in as it was flung back from the Monk's range. A far cry from my methods, Logen thought. He didn't mind though. His methods worked just fine.
Logen's eyes strayed from the Monk to the next man, further down to the table who was quietly muttering to himself. An oddity, to Logen. This man also had his head shaved, though his complexion was dark. A big loop of metal pierced the man's chin and two big earrings hung from ears, swaying as the man shook his head softly, still having a conversation with himself.
Logen had heard of Witch Doctors before, though he had never seen one himself. He frowned, remembering what he saw earlier during the battle outside. As he cleaved one of the undead in half, he had caught a glimpse of the Witch Doctor cornered against a short wall by a horde of the undead. The Witch Doctor had calmly assessed his situation, then had acted. As the undead has closed in, two big shapes had leaped over the short wall, landing in a crouch infront of the With Doctor. Dogs. It took a moment to realize something wasn't right about the animals. They were dead. Logen had figured the Witch Doctor dead, the odds too high against him, when the undead dogs turned from him and leaped towards the nearest shuffling bodies, ripping them to shreds, and letting the Witch Doctor casually walk through the newly created path his pets had created for him.
Logen did not have good expierences with companions calling the undead. His memories of the Necromancer still made him shudder.
"This is rediculous!"
Logen looked to the speaker. A younger man was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed with a look of contempt on his face. His long dark hair rest on his shoulders. He looked from one person to the other, daring someone to contradict him.
"We shouldn't be sitting here idly. We need to act."
Silence sat heavy in the inn for response. Then a soft voice from a corner of the room.
"No one's stopping you, Sorcerer. You can walk outside to your death any time you like."
The younger man swivled his glare towards the voice. Another man was leaning back in chair, his legs up on the table, crossed and relaxed. His arms hung by his sides loosely, disappearing from view under the table. A cowl covered most of his facial features in shadows, except for his mouth which was set in a soft smirk.
"I'm a Wizard, not a Sorcerer. There's a difference. We have- " The other man cut him off abruptly.
"Fascinating, really. Will somebody quiet this child?"
The Wizard's glare transformed into a smirk to match the other man's.
"Let's see you try it." He raised has hand, and Logen noticed a soft blue glow emanating from it. So much power, Logen thought. Was it wise to place it in a man so young and inexperienced? He hadn't seen the Wizard or the Demon Hunter during the battle, but from traveling with a Sorcereress and an Amazon, Logen knew how deadly spells and arrows could be. While this exchange was happening, the Monk hadn't moved an inch or reacted in any way, and the Witch Doctor kept glancing up as if he had something to say, but thought better of it and looked down to the top of the table.
The other man's smirk turned into a grin, and he raised both of his arms. In each hand was a small crossbow, primed and ready to fire.
Ahh, A Demon Hunter, Logen realized. Of course. Fate just so happens to bring the five of us together. The memories forcefully pushed their way back into his mind. His old companions fighting tooth and nail beside him, covered in blood and gore while spells and arrows rained down around them.
Pressure built up behind his eyes. The pain grew until he couldn't bear it.
"Enough!" Logen shouted. Everyone's attention snapped to him. He sighed softly, took a deep breath, composing himself. He met each person's eyes as he spoke.
He looked to the Demon Hunter. "You argue with each other, you die."
The Wizard's eyes. "You get arrogant, you die."
The Monk's. "You don't pay attention, you die".
The Witch Doctor's. " You don't communicate, you die."
He looked from face to face, waiting until each person nodded, then nodded himself.
"To begin, we need to- " He began, but was cut off as a crash sounded off to his right. Everyone looked towards the barred inn door. Splinters scattered towards the ground, as the door bent inwards towards them under the weight of whatever pushed against it.
Everyone shot out of their seats, arming themselves with their weapons of choice. Logen was the only one who took his time getting out of his chair. They stood together, watching the door and waiting. The door finally gave, breaking apart with a loud snap and a mass of bodies, limbs reaching, surged inwards to the floor. Logen, his expression grim, gave one last weary sigh, then muttered under his breath.
"I'm getting too old for this shit..."
(Many kills and some time later)
Logen's arm muscles strained as he pushed back against the boned foot pinning him to the floor.
Damned Leoric, why can't he just stay dead. He turned his head fraction, blinking blood out of his eyes.
One of his axes lay just out of his reach, the edge blunted and covered in gore and patches of decomposing skin. Further away lay his companions, still and silent, red pooling around each of them.
The skeleton king's foot lowered an inch, causing his arm's to tremble. The cold dusty hall of the throne room pushed back sharply against his back.
Just me left, Logen thought, and not for much longer. Part of him wanted to let go. The weary part of him that was tired of fighting, tired of killing. The other part of him was ashamed. This is what you are, it whispered. He shook his head against the thought.
A glitter of metal a few feet to his left caught his eye, his movement stilling as he focused on the object. Even when death was mere seconds away, he still knew how to appreciate an amazingly crafted weapon.
A giant two handed axe lay on the ground, half of it sticking out from under a rotting corpse. As Logen's eyes ran across what he could see of it, tiny sparks of electricity jumped from the weapons two edges.
A new hope surged in Logen, his eyes snapping back to the skull of the skeleton king. He let loose a ear rattling bellow, his war cry causing his blood to pound through his vains. Putting all the fury he had within him into focus, he slowly removed one of his hands away from Leroic's massive foot. The king tilted his head slightly, almost as if curious as to whether or not this was to be Logen's last plead for mercy. Logen lifted his free hand into the air above him, and brought it down to the ground with an earth shattering slam.
The ground beneath his fist shattered and spider webbed around his fist, tremors streaking outwards like the ripples in the surface of a disturbed pond. Logen felt the pressure in his arm holding Leroic's foot ease then disappear as the king lost his footing, stumbling backwards and then crashing to the floor into a heap of bones.
Taking the only chance he had left, Logen stumbled drunkenly to his feet and ran towards the axe, falling to his knees infront of it. He shoved the corpse off of the weapon, ignoring the wide eyes of the undead staring towards the ceiling. He couldn't help but take a second to admire the craftmanship of the axe. The sparks grew a bit brighter, as if the weapon was glad it was freed from beneath the corpse.
A roar snapped Logen out back to reality. Leoric had climbed to his feet, and was charging towards him, his giant mace trailing the ground behind him, causing sparks of it's own to jump off of the stone floor.
Logen grabbed the grip of the axe and made to stand up, only to get jerked back towards the ground.
What? He thought, Is it stuck? He looked frantically for an edge that was snagged but found nothing. He kept pulling, trying to ignore the loud footsteps drawing near towards him.
I don't understand, he thought, I can't be this tired. As a giant shadow loomed over him, the glare from the electrictiy dulled enough to reveal something engraved into the handle of the weapon.
Required level 18.
Logen closed his eyes and hung his head.
"God damn Be- "
The end.