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For people who are interested in the story of Urticae the Blizzard Man, the following link is available:
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Check it here:
http://www.diablofans.com/forums/showthread.php?t=7676
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For people who are interested in the story of Urticae the Blizzard Man, the following link is available:
http://urticae.blogspot.com/
We apologize for the inconvenience.
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Chapter 2: Ashes of a lost dream
As the beggar tried to go out of the door, a howling wind welcomed him by blowing into his face and burning his cheeks with small grains of sand. But it was not the sand storm that made him close his eyes, but an unforgiving blast of strange light. He raised his hands to protect his eyes against explosion of mid-day desert sunlight. His eyes started to burn, and tear drops started to pour down almost instantly. He was puzzled and frightened. He could not remember anything and was unable to understand the ominous change before his eyes. A long time passed, but the beggar did not have the courage to go back. He was caught between a terrible fear of a forgotten memory which he did not want to remember and mysteries of an uncertain future, rape to be discovered and yet so unexpected he was just too afraid to step in.
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As his eyes got used to the light, he saw a ghastly vision of an endless gray desert. There was a skeletons lying on the ground, in front of door and it seemed almost a decade had passed after its demise. The beggar walked towards the skeleton and looked at several red stripes of clothing around its neck. The skeleton belonged to a man, probably middle aged. His body was nearly intact, but as the beggar looked more closely, he noticed that the skeleton’s left hand was missing and was no where to be found. He thought the skeleton was familiar, and started to remember.
He knew that skeleton all too well. He was the one handed bartender of the inn. It was him, who was always cruel to the beggar, always mocking him and tormenting him with his vile words and disgusting actions, lying on the ground. And yet, the beggar did not want him to be dead. Only this time, the beggar knew it was not a feeling of compassion or love for humankind, but fear.
It was then, that the beggar felt an unspeakable terror of an unknown menace. So much frightening, horrible and grim, that the beggar fell back and tried to escape, as it was there, standing right before his eyes. The fear was within him and a part of him now. He knew there was no escape anymore, because what he was afraid of was in fact, the beggar himself.
The skeleton was simply an omen of his broken dreams, crushed under the heels of an unknown power he was not even aware of. He did not know what had happened in those fateful minutes after he entered the hut and was unable – and uneager - to remember, but all he knew, was it was him. He was responsible for the death of the bartender, as he was responsible for that gloomy change before his eyes. He prayed that it was all a dream and closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them, this terrible nightmare would have come to an end. But as he tried to escape the truth before his very eyes, the forgotten memory of the past started to take shape and become vivid in his imaginations. The beggar remembered a sudden flash of light. A strong and unknown feeling started to grow inside him and he started to feel exactly like before the accident. He opened his eyes, afraid that the memory could be even more frightening than the truth he had discovered. The feeling of fear started to grow into guilt, then into pity and regret, and as the strange strength began to return, he noticed that he felt nothing anymore.
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The beggar stood up. His eyes could distinguish everything now. As he looked before him, he saw the hooded figure in the light. The hood was removed, and he could see a strange, human-like creature. Although the creature was much taller than a normal man, his body was not too different. Maybe the only difference was his hunch, which in fact was not a hunch at all. His back was bloody, and strange; tentacle like limbs had come out of his body. Most of the tentacles were either cut or broken. His hands seemed all messed up as well and it was obvious that someone had used a sword to shape his body, perhaps to create a new, atrocious sculpture. His face was hidden under a scarf. It was dark and invisible, yet not so threatening at all. Next to the creature, the beggar saw another familiar shape. It was Janus, soaked in blood as well. He seemed much, much darker than he used to be before that night. His face was calm, dark and almost lifeless. The beggar started to move towards them. Although he had so many questions in mind, he did know with entire his soul that it was not a time of answers.
As he approached the creature and Janus, they started to walk with him. A strange feeling guided the beggar to a path unknown. The party moved calmly towards the edge of the town. As they moved silently among ruins of his hometown, he looked at countless dead skeletons around him. His mind had become clear again and he could easily recognize every single one of them now. The beggar tried to remember them as they were in life. He thought about little boys, running down the hill and chasing cattle. He thought about young women who used to gather around the town well and threw stones at young men passing by. He thought about young men, wrestling and hoping they could catch the attention of those young girls, unaware and ignorant that they had already done so. He thought about old people, gossiping about the poor beggar and telling imaginary tales of his evil doings. And the beggar thought they were right, because as the small party passed among dead bodies of the townsfolk and as the beggar dreamt of their lives, the skeletons begun to raise and do as the beggar had imagined, just as he had seen them do in their real lives.
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As the party ventured afar, the only thing he could see of his town was the hill he remembered as his only playground in his childhood. He stopped for the last time, looked at little and fragile skeletons which were running on the hill, and smiled.
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Storm of Changes
This is the story of a man, caught between two sides. He did not want to fight. He had no intention of supporting any side. All he did want, however, was to stay alive. As the storm of war began, our little man was in his village, living a sad and miserable life as a beggar. And it was then, when he witnessed the first tide of the storm. He saw them. He felt unspeakable fear and relentless agony of those people he had always lived with. They had never been kind to him, but he was not eager to see their misery. It was then, when for the first time in his life, he felt he did not want his life to change. He prayed to lord that it was just his imagination, a terrible nightmare. He begged to remain a beggar. But he knew that the change had already begun. It was no wind of changes. It was a storm.
Chapter 1: The coming of the storm
It was a cold autumn evening. The beggar was outside the tavern, waiting for someone kind or drunk enough to give him some money for a piece of bread and enough beer to make him forget the strange cold of that night. As he stared down the street, waiting anxiously for someone to come, he saw a dark, shambling figure, coming towards him. He rubbed his eyes, and looked again, as he thought it was a shadow, or maybe just his imagination.
The shadow came closer. The beggar could clearly distinguish a hooded figure, tired and shaking and maybe hurt. But it was the enormous size of a hunch behind the hooded figure that caught his eye. While the hunch was fairly covered by the hood, the beggar could see it was a rather disfigured shape, big and ugly, with several spines coming out of it. As the man –or monster, or whatever it was – approached, the beggar felt a terrible cold, unnatural for that time of year.
He did not know if it was fear or cold that made him feel so uneasy. A terrible wind started to blow and cold drops of rain fell on his face. As the lightening struck someplace not far from the tavern, the beggar saw a flash of light in the hand of the hooded figure. As he looked more carefully, he saw a blade. Quickly, nervously, he tried to hide in the shadow, but the lantern in front of the tavern was violently shaking in the wind and it was nearly impossible to hide. As the dark figure approached, the beggar could see a reflection of light in his violent eyes. The dark hooded figure was staring at him.
The beggar's heart was pounding so fast he thought it would jump out of his chest any moment. He felt an explosion of blood in his cheeks. It was the first time after so many years, after his sad and frightening childhood, that he felt this. He was unable to move or scream and had never been so frightened in his life.
The hooded figure came closer, stood close to the beggar and moved his had. The beggar closed his eyes and nervously thought the sword was coming down on him. He thought about his life. He had always been a beggar. From the very first moments he remembered, his mother had used him as a tool for begging. As he learnt to walk, he became a beggar as well. He had never seen a single happy moment in his life, and yet life was so precious to him. He did not want to die. He heard a sound. The hooded figure's hand was coming down.
As he felt a hand on his shoulder, he thought that even if the hooded figure would not kill him, he would die of fear. Suddenly, he heard a voice:
"Do you know Janus?".
"His house is around the corner. He…" shouted the beggar.
The hooded figure walked away silently. The beggar started to laugh like mad, and shouted again: "Thank you sir…thank you…".
"Thank you for what?" said the man. The beggar could not hear him in the rain. He turned and looked at the beggar. His huge hunch looked even more frightening now. The beggar froze. "Thank you for what?" said the man again. His voice was calm, yet unnerving. The beggar could not move. Why? Why did he say that? Why did he doom himself?
"Thank you for what?" said the man for the third time. His voice was calm, but there was a frightening, persuasive change in his voice. The beggar gathered all his strength and tried to talk: "I…I…". The man waited for a moment. The beggar asked himself: "Why is he not moving?".
The man sat down on his knees and leaned on the sword. He seemed too weak, but eventually he gathered his strength and stood up. The sword fell from his hand. The man looked at the sword, but turned and started walking towards Janus' house. Then he stopped again and calmly said: "Pick up the sword."
"How could he be so calm?" thought the beggar. He did not know what to do. Several moments past and the beggar did not do anything. The man said again: "Pick up the sword". His voice was as calm as ever.
The beggar jumped towards the sword and tried to pick it up. The sword was strangely heavy. The beggar gathered all his strength and held the sword. The man said: "Follow me" and started moving toward Jauns' house. But this time, the beggar did not hesitate to follow his order. As he followed the man and tried to hold the heavy sword at the same time, he looked back and saw his copper coins on the ground. He remembered the trouble he went through to gather those coins. But they were not important for him anymore. All he wanted now was this nightmare to come to an end. Little did he know that it was just about to begin.
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Janos was an old, wise man. He had moved to the village several years ago and was living a peaceful, quiet life. He rarely came out of his house and when he did, he usually returned as quickly as possible. Some people said he was up to something. But the beggar thought otherwise. Janos was always kind to him and although he had never let the beggar inside his house, but always tried to help the beggar as best he could. Janos was a poor man himself, but he sometimes spared some food or drink and even money, and if he did not have any, he caressed the beggar with kind and heartening words.
As they came close to Janos' house, the beggar felt a disturbance. He could not describe it, but he could definitely feel something very strong, ancient and powerful. It was then he heard a frightening buzz in his ears. The buzz changed into a voice and again into something strange, unnatural and unhealthy. The beggar thought he was losing his control. His feet were moving by themselves, and his hand was now so powerful he easily held the sword in the air. He felt terrible though. He noticed that his breathing had turned into moaning, and there was a terrible movement under his skin. The closer they move, the stronger the feeling. As the beggar came in front of Janos' house, his thought his skin was going to be ripped apart. Blood was boiling in his veins, and he wanted to scream. He went towards the door. He was frightened and puzzled. He did not understand what was happening. All he knew that he did not have control over his own body. Someone else was in control, someone powerful. He had forgotten about the hooded figure. He had forgotten Janos. He had forgotten his mother and his miserable life. The feeling of fear started to fade away and the beggar felt he was beginning to enjoy the creature inside him. It was dark, frightening, ugly, angry and hateful. But the beggar did not care. All he cared about now, was power, absolute power. His hand started to move. The beggar started knocking on the door.
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