[Sarofax]

Dark Conjurer Class Lore

A rebellious band of Vizjerei sorcerers grew tired of the elemental magic and sought out the darker arcane knowledge. These rebel mages traveled to the east and settled in the Kehjistan jungle for a while were they learned the summoning powers of the Priests of Rathma and formed a council with in themselves. After studying under the necromancers for nearly a decade, High Councilman Myfel urged the clan that they should depart from the east and head back west. While most were in agreement with Myfel, many had become accustom to the jungles of the east, including Myfel's son and preferred to stay.

Myfel gave them his blessing and moved west to an unknown location in Lut Gholein. These sorcerers that stayed behind continued to study with the necromancers over the next few years combining elemental and summoning magic into what they call Dark Conjuring. Dark Conjuring is the use of shadow magic to flay the minds of evil and summon dark warriors, also known as shades, to aid the conjurers in battle. One of the most surprising discoveries was made by Myfel's son Johun. He discovered the secret of summoning extremely powerful weapons engulfed in pure shadow energy. They took on a murky appearance and were light as a feather and since no preparation was needed, they could be summoned at will making traveling much easier on the somewhat dainty conjurers.

After news had spread of an ancient evil awakening in the west, the Dark Conjurers left the temples of the jungle to seek out Myfel and offer their assistance to him. Upon entering Lut Gholein the conjurers learned of Myfel's untimely death from a council member who traveled with him. The High Councilman's seat was offered to Johun as it was his birthright by the laws they governed for themselves. Johun proudly took up his father's seat in the council and the clan reunited.

Not long after they settled in Lut Gholein Johun was approached by a stranger who said he had knew his father many years ago and was seeking the aid of him. Johun sadly told the stranger the story of all that had happened over the last decade and of his father's death. The stranger had a faint hint of remorse in his voice, but asked Johun and the other council members hastily to go with him to Tristram for he was in dire need of their services. They cautiously accepted the strangers proposal and traveled to Tristram with him. Johun bade the others to make their way back to the eastern lands, for he did not know what his fate would be and if the worse should happen at least they would be safe there. Although, they did not want to leave Lut Gholein, the other clan members did as they were told and went back to the jungles to continue practicing their dark arts.

Upon arriving in Tristram the stranger had apparently betrayed the conjurers leading them straight in the clutches of evil. A massive attack was made on the city by the demonic foes of Hell who left the city in rubble. In the heat of battle Johun and the council members were attacked by a savage brood of hell spawned creatures. Their powers were not enough to overtake the overwhelming amount of demons and thus they fell in battle.

Now a new generation of Dark Conjurers have assembled and their powers have grown immensely since the forming of the original clan. Rumors of a new terror have started to spread. The conjurers now rest in their underground homes deep in the temples of Kehjistan, but they have convened and are preparing for what could be the greatest battle ever fought in Sanctuary. Hell-bent on taking revenge upon the demonic entities that slay Johun and the Black Council, as they are now called, this new breed of gloomy magicians have their eyes set on one goal and that is to send the demons back to the fiery abyss from which they came.

This post has been edited by Sarofax: 01 June 2009 - 05:01 PM

[mvm199]

THE ROCKSTAR

The Rockstar hails from the Islands of Skovos and Philios.

After the destruction of the Worldstone, the female warriors of the Amazon Tribes decided that life wasnt all about hunting, fighting evil and mudwrestling like a bunch of overly tomboyish l*sb**ns. They needed to get some pleasure out of life. Specifically, they needed a male companion. But they realised all the men in their society were a bunch of pansy pushovers with no ambition or style whatsoever. So, they prayed to the Redhaired Hippie Goddess, Tori Amos. At first she threw a massive tantrum, 'cause thats what she always does. She insisted that they needed to focus on the task at hand, that men would provide too much of a distraction from their ultimate mission: That of eradicating evil wherever it was found. But the Amazons were like "Yo Tori, you get us a real man or we never wax your legs again" And the goddess was like "OK OK allright .... just promise me you wont be fighting over this gift I am going to provide you with, and make sure you shave more often than once a year", and the Zons were like "Come on, who do you take us for? We can be responsible dont worry" So the Zons started shaving in anticipation, and the goddess provided the Zons with the ultimate boytoy: The Rockstar. Or so they thought....

At first the Zons thought the goddess was joking. Most of these men were wimpier than what the Zons already had, and few were truly good looking. Some were extremely hairy, others had a huge drug problem. Eventually, the Zons found what made these men so special.

They were immune to the Ancient Power of Drama. They were heavily resistant to the deadly Silent Treatment. Back in their glory days, a group of scantily clad Amazons using the Silent Treatment was known to unnerve and challenge the psyche of even the most war hardened and battle scarred Lieutenants of Hell. Not anymore.

Rumour soon spread that these male gifts from the goddess could play their instruments a hundred times better than even some of the best Amazon flutists, and their music spread throughout all of Sanctuary. Some even claimed that if played well and timed correctly, their music could serve as a deadly weapon in combat.

Furthermore, they were not easily distracted by the Amazons' good looks, and often viewed their female companions as secondary or tertiary objectives in life. And this made them resistant and reluctant to any form of submission or dominance from the Amazons. They even began turning the other men towards their ways. This infuriated the Zons, and when they found out they couldnt easily get rid of these powerful men, started blaming each other for this big problem that they now faced. Turns out the Goddess was tired of the Zons, and had hatched the ultimate plan to get rid of them and replace them. Eventually, the Rockstars turned out to be too much to handle and most of the female Amazons were eradicated as a result of the massive infighting that occurred. The few that remained were either allowed to live as house guests of the now overly rich Rockstars, or used to breed a new line of male and female warriors that would forever search to identify and eliminate any presence of Evil in the holy lands of Sanctuary.

That, and excelling in the art of entertainment.

[DeadlyCouncil]

mvm199 said:

THE ROCKSTAR

The Rockstar hails from the Islands of Skovos and Philios.

After the destruction of the Worldstone, the female warriors of the Amazon Tribes decided that life wasnt all about hunting, fighting evil and mudwrestling like a bunch of overly tomboyish l*sb**ns. They needed to get some pleasure out of life. Specifically, they needed a male companion. But they realised all the men in their society were a bunch of pansy pushovers with no ambition or style whatsoever. So, they prayed to the Redhaired Hippie Goddess, Tori Amos. At first she threw a massive tantrum, 'cause thats what she always does. She insisted that they needed to focus on the task at hand, that men would provide too much of a distraction from their ultimate mission: That of eradicating evil wherever it was found. But the Amazons were like "Yo Tori, you get us a real man or we never wax your legs again" And the goddess was like "OK OK allright .... just promise me you wont be fighting over this gift I am going to provide you with, and make sure you shave more often than once a year", and the Zons were like "Come on, who do you take us for? We can be responsible dont worry" So the Zons started shaving in anticipation, and the goddess provided the Zons with the ultimate boytoy: The Rockstar. Or so they thought....

At first the Zons thought the goddess was joking. Most of these men were wimpier than what the Zons already had, and few were truly good looking. Some were extremely hairy, others had a huge drug problem. Eventually, the Zons found what made these men so special.

They were immune to the Ancient Power of Drama. They were heavily resistant to the deadly Silent Treatment. Back in their glory days, a group of scantily clad Amazons using the Silent Treatment was known to unnerve and challenge the psyche of even the most war hardened and battle scarred Lieutenants of Hell. Not anymore.

Rumour soon spread that these male gifts from the goddess could play their instruments a hundred times better than even some of the best Amazon flutists, and their music spread throughout all of Sanctuary. Some even claimed that if played well and timed correctly, their music could serve as a deadly weapon in combat.

Furthermore, they were not easily distracted by the Amazons' good looks, and often viewed their female companions as secondary or tertiary objectives in life. And this made them resistant and reluctant to any form of submission or dominance from the Amazons. They even began turning the other men towards their ways. This infuriated the Zons, and when they found out they couldnt easily get rid of these powerful men, started blaming each other for this big problem that they now faced. Turns out the Goddess was tired of the Zons, and had hatched the ultimate plan to get rid of them and replace them. Eventually, the Rockstars turned out to be too much to handle and most of the female Amazons were eradicated as a result of the massive infighting that occurred. The few that remained were either allowed to live as house guests of the now overly rich Rockstars, or used to breed a new line of male and female warriors that would forever search to identify and eliminate any presence of Evil in the holy lands of Sanctuary.

That, and excelling in the art of entertainment.

You sir, win my vote

[Diablo-Fiend]

Note: Unable to attend BlizzCon, but t-shirts are nice. :)

Clan name: Meiji Clan
　
Class name: Shadow Agent
　
Background of clan

The history behind the Meiji Clan is somewhat limited due to their highly secretive existence within the world of Sanctuary. They are thought to be wanderers who travel on pilgrimage across the vast landscapes of the world, seen as ordinary citizens amid the strife which grips the populace. However, from what can be gathered from texts and age-old scrolls, the Meiji Clan was formed in the same time period of that of the Vizjerei. Where the Vizjerei followed the path of elemental magic, the Meiji saw that delving too deep into the unknown depths of mystical power was dangerous and followed a different route.

The Meiji follows the path of secrecy, being covert and routing out evil within the world through stealth and shadowy operations. Sometimes mistakenly thought of as the Viz-Jaq'taar, an order of assassin?s formed by the Vizjerei, the Meiji were not to be used as a counter-measure against the users of magic but rather a clan of secretive agents of the highest order that performed acts which Viz-Jaq?taar were incapable of.

Throughout the Meiji Clan, there are both magic wielders and close-combat experts. One cannot work without the other, and the Meiji Clan learnt this early on from the actions which occurred within the Vizjerei Clan itself. The Meiji insists on complete devotion to the clan, and new recruits must sever all ties between themselves and people outside of this secret body of agents. They are also closely monitored by the High Meiji, the most acclaimed in the order, to ensure that each of its members are completely selfless and following the right path, the path of secrecy.

It is unknown what events which have taken place in history the Meiji Clan have taken part in, but they are the keepers of balance within the world of Sanctuary, seeking out demons and angels alike who have began to stray too far and became a threat to humanity.

Background of class

The Shadow Agent relies on staying in the shadows and striking at opportune moments to get the job done. They use a number of tricks and special equipment to aid in their operations, both magical and physical. They are the masters of deception, concealment and are able to vanish out of sight within the blink of an eye.

Able to wield many different types of weapon such as; hand-crossbows, knives and magic, they are capable of eliminating their target in a variety of methods. Through their magical knowledge, they also have the ability to heal fatal wounds, cover themselves in magical wards and even use concussive force to knock opponents from their feet. They are not as adept as other magic users, but they are capable of wielding the winds of magicka to their advantage without being at risk of pursuing it further.

Because of the nature of the Shadow Agent, they refuse to wear the heaviest of armour and prefer the light and medium protection a set of robust linen or toughened leather would bring. The Shadow Agent is however able to imbue their armour with protective wards which increases its effectiveness to further their defense.

The Shadow Agent themselves see their order as they do their life; eternal, for the greater good and with purpose. These values make the Shadow Agent adept at working alone, but when called to work alongside fellow members of their order, there is little an opponent can do to stop the actions that are to follow.

This post has been edited by Diablo-Fiend: 30 May 2009 - 11:43 AM
Reason for edit: Added BlizzCon note.

[istradling]

Antitheus

Judge not the book by its cover. Not all is as it seems. Years ago, demon and angel fought against each other for domination over the whole of Creation. When Inarius created Sanctuary, some from either side threw down their weapons to live peacefully in co-existence. When Lilith began to murder every other Angel and Demon living on Sanctuary, nearly all were killed. Unbeknownst to Lilith, a pair of peace minded demons, Thenotis and Shaelinth, survived the slaughter and went into hiding. Living deep underground beneath the jungles of Kehjistan, Thenotis and Shaelinth lived in relative peace, unnoticed and unseen by anyone or anything. Breeding slowly and instilling anti-demonic teachings into their posterity, they began to call themselves the Antitheus.

The Antitheus' seclusion has been their main defense for all these years, but they have not been unmindful of the evils occuring in the world. With the rumblings of evil again stirring in the world of Sanctuary, they can no longer stand by while the world of Sanctuary is threatened.

The Demon race is traditionally vile and evil, hell bent on destruction and death. While the Antitheus look like the very evil they strive to vanquish, their behaviors are nothing like their evil brethren. A typical Antithean spends many hours per day in meditation, striving to keep the teachings of their ancient progenitor's in the forefront of their being.

The Antitheus are loyal to peace and harmony, and are willing to do anything that is within their power to destroy the enemies of balance. Like the Necromancers of Rathma, they are not loyal to either demon or angel. They are however, more likely to side with an Angel to drive the evils that would turn the world of Sanctuary into a land of death.

An Antitheus still has many of the latent abilities of their brethren. The ability to create fire at will, incredible strength, and dominate the minds of lesser demons are still very much a part of the Antithean arsenal. They can shapeshift into various forms suitable for different tasks and are capable of feats that no mere mortal could accomplish, they wear ghastly armor created from the corpses of their slain enemies. These pieces of armor are able to grant them different abilities based on the abilities of the previously living (or unliving) owner. It is not uncommon to see freshly dripping limbs or other body parts draped across their already freakish bodies.

The Antitheans are ready to lay down their lives in the persuit of peace in Sanctuary. Whether they can stem the tide of evil threatening the land remains to be seen.

*edited for a bit of grammar correction*

This post has been edited by istradling: 30 May 2009 - 03:47 AM

[Guasti]

This is my Second entry, and i like it more than my first It is in the personal view Of Arthin Seplin.

The Warlord
It all started in the library of Ureh, I found that I had forgotten some things that were most important to the old war! I just had stumbled upon an old bundle of a long time ago in the war. They were from an old Strategist, who was clearly very against the strategic moves of his superior As his note was:

My former superiors were inferior to me in their strategic moves , luckily you, Jerhyn had an better offer for these plans.

Signed by: your new strategist.

and that?s not all there was to the pages, he had made a Flawless tactics of how to lure the enemy out and how to overmaster him. Inspired by these awe-inspiring pictures and texts I had learned that there was a class I had until recently never heared of, The Warlord in many ways the leader of the battles and an inspirer to everyone.

With this new discovery at hand I could not gain more inspiration, for I was urged to find these persons and learn what they had learned. As I ran out of The library with these pages, and as an Trail of dust and sand followed me, my journey started. I joined up with my camel and left, Through the Dry Steppes Mountains. The mountains were steep but sandy, and on the third day of travelling, I saw them. A group of lost soldiers seemed so inanimate, that anyone on first sight would have thought they would be dead and Hydrated. I came near and when they saw me there leader moved near. Give us all your water! The man said as he viciously pulled me of my camel. His Dehydration was clearly see able, as his skin was loosening and his eyes were somewhat dry. I calmed him and gave him a zip of water. it soon became obivious they were left here by there superiors to die. It wasn?t far from Caldeum but most of the Soldiers were delusional of the sun and thought it was a Illusion. As I Tried to convince Them that they should follow me, a page fell out of the bundle, Convincion! All the information about how to Convince someone I was right, As I read the pages it was soon obivious I had to lure them that it was true. As I tried this it didn?t take long and me and a group of 12 Soldiers were in Caldeum. They Thanked me and gave me an companion for on the way to Lut Gholein. Freshed by these new memoires and thoughts I soon went on for Kurast. The two of us were fierce in battles as I had learned a two man tactic Defence and Breach. It was a combination of letting me Defend us both with my Tower Shield and letting him Breach or slice with his spear.
When we arrived in Kurast, Chaos was everywhere. An Huge Octopus was Breaking all the little harbors, and everone was in panic. I opened My bundle and Searched through, I soon came at Inspiration I casted this on everyone I saw and As they stopped Running they all Soon Came near to me. They Asked what I had done to make them feel good again and how they could ever repay me of this kindness. I once again browsed through the bundle and came at Rift Tactics, Tactics against Huge animals. As I read what we had to do, everyone started quickly what they had to do. Two huge ropes were made and a Group of swimmers were ready, the landers were already standing near the creature distracting him. As soon as they could the swimmers dived into the water and the ropes were thrown over the huge octopus. Suddenly the Ropes were pulled and brought upwards from the water by the divers. They bounded the ropes and pushed the octopus away. Amazed of what I had done I was more inspired by the effect that I would meet an strategist soon. An Happiness Spread over the Crowd and I was thanked from every direction. Soon I was on water Lurking near Lut Gholein.

On My Eight day of travel I finaly got to Lut Gholein, I walked up To the Palace, As soon as I saw Jerhyn I waved with the bundle. He smiled and said: Aah! Our new Warlord has arrived!
And then I knew what it was to be a Warlord as I had become one.

The True Thing is to be inspired to inspire others.

by Arthin seplin

This post has been edited by Guasti: 07 June 2009 - 09:43 AM

[bluewolf35948]

Please check the class skills thread for the corresponding post to...

THE JUGGERNAUT
Class Lore

Were it not for Diablo's reign of terror, the Juggernaut might have remained a madman's draconic equation, full of undefined variables and unexplained modifiers, firmly in the world of arcane impossibility.

However, upon returning to his homeland after Diablo's defeat, decapitated demon heads in tow, one priest of Rathma--some say he was the Hero of Arreat--set out to unravel the final mysteries of creation.

In a gentler time, the Necromancers of Rathma were philosophical oddities at best, toying with the idea of their own mortality. Few understood their convictions regarding chaos and order, and fewer still could describe what is now only skeptically referred to as "the Great Cycle of Being". Indeed, the torment of Hell's campaign against Sanctuary and the destruction of the Worldstone caused those once noble, if mystic, beliefs to fade from the world.

In their stead, the last Necromancers, at the behest of their cryptic war hero, designed the very breed of Golems--Juggernauts--that would deliver their tribe's ultimate end.
It is unclear whether the Priests of Rathma were murdered by their creations, or if they purposefully designed them to eliminate the tribe in some sort of final mortality rite. What is clear is that the race those priests of Rathma left behind is truly a sight to behold.
With the advent of Diablo's third coming, the Juggernauts who once roamed the swampy murk of the Eastern jungles have begun to gather restlessly. Still they are driven by an unseen force--possibly the final instructions of their ill-fated masters...possibly the work of Diablo himself.

Traits and Abilities
Juggernauts possess the ability to activate different aspects of their creators' design, as well as selectively activate the instincts of their opponents. These abilities cause the Juggernaut to take on supernatural qualities of speed and strength which tend to increase in power the closer enemies are. In addition, though not intelligent enough to master the bone magics of their former masters, Juggernauts are quite adept at manipulating the mud and silt of the swamps from which they were originally created.

[istradling]

Alchemist

"We knew not where he came from. It was like he appeared from the desert, it was surreal. The Alchemist was a strange man, concerned not with sword and sorcery, but with science and learning. One thing we knew for certain: He was odd. He came from the desert to Lut Gholein one day with a strange device on his back that was constantly in motion. "It works by harnessing the power of steam," he exclaimed when we gathered around him.

He drew a long, hollow rod from his back that seemed to be attached to the metal basket that was attached to his back by leather belts. A trigger much like on a crossbow hung from the bottom. Pulling a square box from his belt, he attached it to a slot on the rod and turned a wheel mounted on one of the leather belt straps across his chest. Pointing the rod at a seagull flying by, the Alchemist squeezed the trigger. Much to our surprise, a whoosh of steam exploded from the rod, and the seagull exploded in a shower of darts. "This here is a steam powered dart thrower," he said, holding aloft the rod.

The Alchemist was a strange looking man. He wore a long leather robe, and what looked like fire and poison potions were attached to leather straps that criss crossed his body. The Alchemist never really said where he came from, only that he was here to prove that niether sword nor sorcery were required to defeat evil. "A brilliant mind is a most powerful weapon," he said.

We could dicern no conventional weapons on his figure, and decided that he could not possibly last long against the forces of evil. The Alchemist huffed and walked out of the city into the desert.

To our astonishment, he came back a short time later dragging one of those foul demon birds behind him. It had been shredded to pieces by the man's strange device. A few darts were still lodged in its freakish skull.

It was clear the Alchemist meant business and would make a good account of himself against the evil threatening our world."

Anj'zul Nassir, Guard of Lut Gholein

[Roskvape]

GYPSY


From the writings of Abd al-Hazir.

Of all the fearsome warriors I have seen in my travels, I admit that the gypsies of Aranoch are the least likely ones I have seen. It seems even the butterfly becomes a brutal fighter when pressed upon by the forces of evil.

The gypsies wander the deserts in their caravans, entertaining all who would spare a coin. They rarely disappoint. Lut Gholein's sultan, Jerhyn himself, once spoke highly to me of their mesmerizing belly dances and their uncanny ability to tell fortunes and create good luck talismans. Upon seeing them dance, I find myself in no position to disagree, for the gypsies are beautiful creatures of grace. Jerhyn warned me that they were not to be crossed lightly. Once slighted, they do not easily forget, sometimes passing a grudge down through generations, or cursing an entire bloodline. The deadliness of their curses is well known, but I thought that was as far as their dangerousness went.

The gypsies I have met in my travels have been a generous people, kind-spirited and loyal. They have an unmistakable rapport with nature, often seeking the aid of animals, which seem to sense their kindness. They have the ability to heal, which they are quick to offer. Many an injured traveler owes them his life.

Yet, I would occasionally hear whispers of fear about them. Curses alone didn't seem to merit such dread, so this inspired me to learn more of them, a venture that led me into many a tale in the streets and taverns of Lut Gholein. Most I discounted as the exaggerated ramblings of someone with too much drink in their stomach, but story caught my interest. Having heard several versions of it, I have since learned from Jerhyn that it is true.

The story tells of a young gypsy named Ghea. She was rumored to be the most stunning belly dancers the gypsy tribes ever produced, and as such, the then-sultan Hessif summoned her to the palace. She went as requested, but her performance so entrance Hessif that he refused to let her return to her caravan. The guards reported that he locked her in his chambers, but when they entered the room the next morning, they found nothing but Hessif's ashes upon the floor.

Even so, it wasn't until I witnessed bandits attacking a caravan that I truly understood why few dare to harass the gypsies of Lut Gholein. Their animal counterparts rushed to their aid, and bandits fell rapidly to the ravages of terrible ailments. Most striking of all, the gypsies use dances to conjurer their spells and familiars, and some . . . some called fire to their fingertips with the power of their dances. I have never seen such fiery devastation brought forth with such supple grace. It was as if Diablo himself had stepped in to lend them a firestorm. Perhaps Jerhyn, and the sultans before him, had another reason to keep gypsy belly dancers in his entourage. I dare say, they would be surprisingly effective bodyguards.


---


For more information, check this thread for artwork: http://www.diablofan...5683#post445683

Also check the Class Skill thread, as I will be posting the Gypsy there as well.

Artwork:
(For high-res: http://www.castlebri...ypsy(Final).jpg)

[Sadeiko]

The Cursebloods

A lesser known tribe hailing originally from the jungles of Torajan. Their denial of the faith of Mbwiru Eikura, and more so their cannibalistic nature resulted in their forced exile from Tenganze. Their exile, brought them to their new home across the Kehjistan desert to the swamplands however their persecution was the least of their worries, as within their newfound homeland a far greater threat existed, whoes ties to their fate would affect them in unimaginable ways for centuries to come., rumors spread around their new homeland that Belail and his mighty demons walked sanctuary nearby leveling small viliages and burning them to the ground without reason or method. The exiled as they were, at this time known , had no fear for men, nor fear for demons.


And thus began a 4 year war with Belail known now as the cursed war. Lesser being with 10 times the ranks the exiled had, could not have dreamed to survive the war that was waged. Unlike the other Torajan tribes, their full dedication to the phsycial realm without the destraction of spiritual rituals, along with brutal training, gave them a tactical advantage and made them a formidable match for belails minions. While the war taxed, and nearly decimated the entire tribe, an unexplained event changed everything.


While a fierce battle wore on, the unending numbers of demons. began to wear on the few remaining tribesmen, without warning Belail and his demons began abandoning their positions and drawing back into the mountains. The exiled took chase, for they had nothing left to lose and every victory would feed their ranks and fuel their bloodlust. Most of the demons managed to escape however, those that were caught displayed a metamorphosis believed until recently to have not been witnessed by any mortal. Belail's minions, mighty and overpowering in stature crumbled in the hands of the mighty exiled warriors. The strongest minions of Belail became frail and weak letting out impish cries as their bones, which could once not be broken by the heaviest mace, crumbled in the exiled's bare hands.


This was yet again the start of another dramatic set of events for the exiled. The event that gave title to the war. An event so dramatic and life changing, that the lesser known exiled tribe would be far more than a drunkard's babbles. Shortly after their sudden victory with belail and his minions nearly all of the exiled became ill. Some lost all strength and were killed ritualistically in an attempt to rid the once mighty tribe of any weakness, but while the weak were sacraficed, those that did not immediately appear to fall prey to the untimely curse, would become something different...


The few remaining exiled that were able to resist the negative effects of the very curse that carried their victory, were changed, each metamorphoses different from their brethren Some were able to turn it to their advantage, to manipulate it and strengthen themselves. Others still became blinded by bloodlust, the canibalism that was once a ritual of battle became an insatiable addiction. The leadership among the exiled, and those who got first feast at battles end, discovered that their presence on the battlefield had a far more dramatic affect than any battlecry or drum of war could accomplish. Finding direct control of their demonic enemies both psychological and physical.


The exiled tribe, going forward, thought little of their forced exit from their homeland. Those past events bared little remembrance, on the hardened, fearsome, and bloodthirsty as ever cursed tribe. And thus the survivors, of exile, war, and battle with hells demons themselves came to be known as the Cursebloods

[slowrider96]

Repented Class

The Three Prime Evils assault on Sanctuary resulted in the summoning of countless damned souls to fight for their cause. Prior to their return to Sanctuary these damned souls faced a horde of grotesque and unspeakable horrors that men could only fathom in their blackest of nightmares. These souls have been surrounded in darkness for years, some even centuries and there was no escape from the torture that was inflicted on them by the Lord of Terror.
Mindlessly following the call of their masters the damned were requisitioned to wield sword and axe to fight for the Burning Hells. At the top of Mount Arreat, Baal did battle with the lone hero who had ventured across all of Sanctuary, to put a stop to the coming of darkness. After Baal was defeated and the world stone was shattered, Mount Arreat buckled under the immense energy released, killing most of Hells army who had not been slain by the hero. Once the dust settled all the beings that gathered to fight for the three prime evils dispersed. However the damned souls that remained alive on Sanctuary were no longer under the control of Diablo. Having regained not only their freedom but also a piece of their once lost souls, they set out to reintegrate back into the world of man so they may find peace.
This freedom did not come with out a price. Citizens of Sanctuary repudiated their attempts to assimilate back into society. Rejected by the world of Sanctuary and broken from their bondage with Hell these damned souls sought a new home. With nowhere to go the remaining damned ventured north of the Khanduras Mountain range and settled on the fringe of the Dreadlands. Hoping to carve out a settlement where they can atone for their sins and repent the decisions that brought all of them so low.
Forced to live with the eternity of their damnation, the Repented eek out an existence among the world that they unwillingly ravaged in the name of the Three Prime Evils. But despite their growth and desire to live in peace, survival has been bleak and fraught with hardships and trepidations. But after their trials had ended, it seemed as though life would be much more straightforward. With the path cleared of any wreckage, the Repented sought to reconcile their sins and create their own patch of Earth to call home. Over the past 20 years they have been eager in establishing their newfound community. These forgotten have slowly begun to reestablish their lives in a world they once knew. But after twenty years of peace and prosperity, their former master and tormentor, Diablo, has resurfaced and has put into motion yet another dark and insidious plot to overthrow Sanctuary.
Fearing that the Lord of Terror may succeed in his task to bring his evil reign into the mortal world. These forgotten souls have pushed all of their efforts into helping whomever will stand against the evil that had scarred the world so many times before, in a hope that others do not suffer the same fate as they did.
Since these people are formerly dead, and were imbued with powers to fight for Diablo. They were given dark powers, power over the shadow. They are able to manipulate the world around them to their advantage. Their powers were not of anything living and therefore are perfect for combating the darkness. Since they were once in hell and had been tortured with demons fire, they are not vulnerable to regular fire from Sanctuary; only the fire brought upon them by a demonic weapon or a demon itself can harm them. But they are susceptible to attack from all types of conventional weaponry and spells. Some of their main spells cause pain and death through fire and ice. Other spells can create illusions to frighten an enemy so they will retreat.

[Peteman]

Like the other guy I'd likely not be able to go, but T-shirts are cool

Niyang Mystics

From the journal of Radim Kanzu

I have always doubted the traditions of the Niyang Order. Originally a breakaway faction of the Order of Kerim, who tattooed binding rituals to allow them to channel the essences of defeated demons. The purpose was to give them inhuman strength and abilities, using the demons own power against them. Our founder, Keila Samal is said to have brokered a deal with a renegade faction of lesser angels calling themselves The Redeemers. Similar to the Order of Kerim, we would tattoo ourselves with binding rituals, but in addition to the channelling demonic energies to tear apart our enemies, we would possess ourselves with angels so we could use their auras to protect ourselves, while they tried to bring into the Light the demons that cohabited in our bodies.

However, according to Keila Samal, our goal was not merely to wield angelic and demonic powers simultaneously. She believed that if we could fuse the two together into some kind of metaphysical "alloy", for lack of a better term. She called this mythical spiritual alloy "Niyang", after some concept of balance she picked up in a foreign land.

I considered ourselves lucky our patron angels let us conduct our experiments without interference. We suspected they did not reveal their full motivations to us. Still, for over two hundred years our order has fruitlessly searched for a way to merge the two energies. Most of us thought it was a dream not meant to be.

That was... until twenty years ago. I had heard about the Prime Evils who wreaked destruction, terror and hatred across the lands. I heard about the many heroes who traveled to Hell and back to slay them. I had in my youth considered joining them, but we believed that we might have been slain by those same heroes we sought to join, given that we traffic in dark spirits and renegade angels.

However, something happened one day, a day we later found out to be the day Tyrael destroyed the Worldstone that day, we felt something stir inside us. That day, many in our order felt compelled to try to create long sought-after Niyang. And for the first time... we succeeded.

I can only try to describe what I felt that day. I wouldn't say I felt power overwhelming, the truth is I felt very little from it. We knew that our newfound power could not match the established traditions of the rest of the world. Many of them could draw upon hundreds of years of traditions, but we were forging ahead in undiscovered territory. But by bringing the two opposing powers into unity I felt like I had conceived a child destined to change the world. And strangely, it felt familiar. And stranger still... the angels also seemed elated.

For the last twenty years we have been experimenting, trying to achieve the full potential of this newfound power. It has been difficult but we have made great strides. The demon spirits within seek to break out of the confines we have placed on them and the number of Mystics that have succumbed to madness and bloodlust has increased dramatically since the destruction of the Worldstone. But it is the angels that worry me more. I know they are not telling us a lot of things, but I feel that they using us more than we are using them. However, now that the troubled times have returned, I feel that this time we may be forced to reveal ourselves. And we will have to pay the price of our dealings. I just hope it is worth it.

This post has been edited by Peteman: 09 June 2009 - 03:23 AM

[Kojin]

Wild Sister


From the Journal of Beran Ko'jin


I first saw her while traveling through Entsteig. On the path to the mountains of the Barbarians, known commonly as the Dreadlands I saw a path through a wooded thicket. It was the glimmer of water I noticed that drew me down this makeshift path, for I had walked all day and was parched.


As I was about to step outside the woods into the clearing surrounding a clear lake, I noticed a young woman kneeling next to the water. At first I believed her a barbarian due to her dress, but such associations were quickly removed from my mind. Her clothes were more make-shift, her appearance more wild. She wore minimal clothing comprised only of animal skins, her body was dusty, and her hair was neglected. However, despite her dirty appearance I must humbly admit that I was struck by her beauty. I remained in the thicket, hidden by the trees to better observe this alluring individual.


Sitting and observing, I come closer and closer to the conclusion that this woman was not simply primitive, but almost feral. She did not kneel nor bend to drink the water as a civilized woman would, but crouched like a beast. Like a deer she would look up from quenching her thirst and look around her in what I assume was an attempt to detect danger. I held my breath each time she did so.


Her senses were clearly superior than mine, for she noticed the band of men coming towards the lake before I. Bandits, thieves, killers the lot of them. I had seen their type before during my travels, and more often had seen their handiwork.


There were four of them, and when they saw the lone woman their demeanor took on an aggressive tone. Their weapons lowered as they advanced.


The woman remained where she was, starting at the men with a look I could only describe as feral. Slowly the men approached, but the woman did not move. They surrounded her, and yet her body remained motionless. Oh how I wanted to do something, to stop them. However, I knew that attracting attention to myself would only result in two bodies instead of one. Such beauty lost...


And then she leaped. Such grace and such speed, the form of a cat. The first bandit had no time to react. He went to the ground with a blood-curdling scream. The woman stood, her hands red and dripping with blood. The wounded bandit twitched twice, and then remained still.


The three remaining bandits all took a step back as the woman turned. Her face had lost it's beauty. In its place was a visage which could only be described as a twist between that of an animal and that of the woman. As she growled, her hands shifted and turned into paws, each with claws extended.


Lowering herself, the woman charged at the three bandits. They swung and stabbed in a futile attempt to kill her, but she ducked and weaved through their blades. Another bandit fell, both his arms removed in one stroke of her claws. As the other two raised their weapons to strike again, the woman let out the shriek of a hawk. I felt that my mind was going to break. The two remaining bandits stood in place with weapons raised, each unable to react. The third bandit lost his head as the woman swiped it off.


The last bandit shook off his paralysis and turned to run. I thought the woman would leap and dispatch the man like the first bandit, but instead she remained steadfast. Instead, she stood and howled like a wolf.
Seconds later she was met with a response. Several wolves appeared out of the woods and chased the lone bandit down. They tore him to pieces in seconds.


There the woman stood, covered in blood. Yet despite her now grisly attire, when she changed back to fully human she was still exceptionally beautiful. I leaned forward to better peer at her, but broke a twig in my movement. She turned and looked at my hiding spot. Her feline eyes bore into my soul, and I feared a moment for my life. However, she simply turned and ran off, moving many times faster than that of a normal man.


And like that, she was gone.


I learned later at a tavern that she was what the locals called a Wild Sister. Some say she was a human raised by wolves. Others say she is an animal who learned to take on human form. Each story was more fantastical than the last. The only constant was the stories of her feral and savage prowess.


But in the end, what I remember the most about my encounter with the Wild Sister was her savage beauty.


Beran Ko'jin is a traveling writer, documenting his travels of the Western Kingdoms.

This post has been edited by Kojin: 09 June 2009 - 03:40 AM

[Damerae]

Doomsayer


Dearest Sara,


Today on the road to New Tristram I was reminded of the fear and hopelessness that plagues so many in these times, how some have seen the end coming so clearly that they have actually embraced it. You've heard the rumors I'm sure, of relatively harmless but growing cults preaching that the last days of our world are upon us. I met one such individual as I traveled, a so called pilgrim who eventually introduced himself to me as a "Doomsayer". At first when he came astride me a few hours after I'd set out at dawn, I took him for a beggar but his slender hands never reached out for alms, he never spoke to plead for a handful of coins. He just smiled as he came up beside me then continued to trudge in silence, his feet intent and sure as though he were on some great mission. Despite his quiet manner, I couldn't help but to gawk at him from time to time as the miles disappeared before us.


Truly, I have never met a soul more wretched and terrifying before. He was dressed in breeches of darkest leather, with a tattered vest of the same material haphazardly thrown over an otherwise bare chest covered in wicked and angry scars, enough to turn a man's stomach. The soles of his otherwise fine boots were shredded from the rocks and grit of the road, what glimpses I caught of the flesh beneath showed it to be raw and bloodied. A heavy plaque hung about his neck suspended by a knotted length of coarse rope, almost as if he was wearing his own eventual noose, the words "the end is nigh" scratched into the wood. His hair was long and wild, matted by sweat and what appeared to be ashes, giving him the appearance of a madman. But it was the eyes, the eyes which stole my breath and chilled my heart. There was no madness, no delusion within them. Only a sad certainty, the look of one who knows without doubt that tragedy is upon them and has accepted the inevitable fact that there is nothing to be done for it; surely that look will haunt my mind for weeks.


Soon the midday sun burned down upon us, and while I languished beneath it my silent companion never wavered in his stride despite the raggedness of his footwear and the small splotches of blood he left on the caked dust behind him. Indeed, if one were to take in his constant small smile and tireless steps then they would surmise, which I would soon find to be true, that he was pleased and revitalized by the pain he must have felt.


Eventually we stopped along the way for provisions, though I realized that if he wished it that my companion could have continued on indefinitely. His fare was simple, a few slow gulps of water from a worn wineskin and a single bite of grainy bread. It was when he was done putting these away in the small pack he carried slung over his shoulder that I had a great scare. Withdrawn from the bag in place of the sustenance was a gleaming dagger, it's blade jagged and cruelly serrated. My blood froze, certain was I that the weapon was for some reason meant for me. Such thoughts must have been apparent in my expressions, for my fellow traveler grinned wryly and in a dry tone that I heard for the first time informed me that I needn't fear, saying:


"All endings come at the appropriate time, and it is not I that shall usher you into the inevitable."

After speaking these words the cause of his scars became apparent, as he turned the blade upon himself and began to delicately carve into his own chest. As he drew a thin line of blood upon his scarred skin, he apologized for startling me with his daily devotions. In incredulity, I demanded to know just what sort of devotions could command that a man inflict wounds upon his own flesh. Most would have been angered at my accusations, but his wry grin remained as he favored me with the same look you give a daft child who wasn't taking to his lessons. Even as the bloodied blade weaved it's tapestry on him, he calmly began to explain himself to me.


As I already stated he introduced himself as a Doomsayer, an adherent to the teachings of the Brethren of Inevitable Demise, a small cult that sprang up fifteen years ago and preaches that the end of all things is inevitable and thus must be accepted. He explained that the purpose of causing himself pain was that in feeling pain he reaffirmed that while his end was coming it had not yet occurred, that he was still alive in this world of suffering. He actually drew strength and renewed life from the pain he experienced, much as I'd thought earlier on the road. This was proved further to me as before my eyes his newest wound slowly sealed itself, leaving behind another scar. Finally he spoke of his pilgrimage to Tristram, to visit the unhallowed ground where "the end began".


It was then that a wild dog sprang at us from behind some nearby bushes, snarling at us. The Doomsayer didn't even flinch, he merely stared at the mongrel with his intense eyes. As soon as his eyes met the beast's it froze, paralyzed by dread. Voice full of conviction he spoke a single unintelligible word, and the dog dropped dead in the road, it's body decaying into dust alarmingly fast. He then turned to me and spoke again, saying:


"Thus is the fate of all things, none can escape the approaching end."

Needless to say I quickly parted from his company and made the rest of my way to New Tristram alone.


Sincerest regards,
Demre

This post has been edited by Damerae: 09 June 2009 - 05:39 AM

[Hammerhand]

From the writings of Zyuu Si Special Entry 3


Again fair reader I write to you an addition to my ?special? report inspired by the self-proclaimed renowned gentleman, historian, and scholar; Abd al-Hazir. Anyone familiar with his works no doubt knows how full of exaggeration and conjunction they are (who after all references his sources as ?but it has been verified by reliable sources ??) and that I have taken it humbly apon myself to ensure that factual accounts instead of fictional are present to those interested in ?investigating, researching, and compiling information about the unique locales and denizens of our world.?


Having heard of Abd al-Hazir's self imposed quest I took some opportunities myself to depart Caldeum and research tales of unique locales and denizens, this entry comes from an opportunity that arose with the departure of one delinquent wizard. Pursing her fascination with what was rightfully locked away from the public has led the Vizjerei mage clan offered to finance an expedition to Lut Gholein based on the recent discovery of an ancient tome below the palace which they felt might be the next target of this upstart brat.


While traveling to Lut Gholein I happened apon a band of three desert men who by their clothing were in service to the Sultan of Lut Gholein but were strangely enough traveling into the desert. Encountering them as it were while the expedition was setting up to rest for the day I invited them to come join us and sensing an opportunity to expand my knowledge conversed with them.


During the upheaval that occurred 20 years ago many places were attacked by demons, more viscously then others, was Lut Gholein. Informed readers might themselves wonder how when a portal was opened beneath the palace itself and the hordes of demons came pouring through the guards held back this infernal tide. The answer is that they did not, most of the guardsmen were slain in the first surprise attack and much of the palace fell before most elite of the guards came forward to hold the demons off.


These three were in fact the afore mentioned elite guards. These three were part of a sub sect of the desert tribes. Long has the desert been home to tribes of nomadic people. Rarely among these nomads warriors have arisen whose skills and abilities can be considered nothing short of legendary. Almost all of these warriors joined or came from a society referred to as ?the Whispered Ones?, although those that obtained legendary status were simply referred to as Winds. Supposedly these warriors learned to speak with and command spirits of the desert and heat. The greatest, chosen by the desert itself, their names whispered on the desert winds. And the day before these three Whispered Ones had heard their names on the desert winds. Now they go to train in preparation for what is to come for the desert had never summoned one unless great evil approached or some great task needed to be done.


When I asked how often this occurred they told me that usually only one was summoned a generation, when I asked how many had heard the summons intending to ask about previous individuals I was stopped as I watched their faces. Although not my intent I realized I had treed apon a subject that had stricken them with fear, these men who had held back wave after wave of demons devils and perhaps worse. For if the danger was in proportion to the number of men (I apologize and regret to inform my readers that I did not at the time ask if the summons was gender restrictive but further research into less reliable resources has implied that it is not) what must approach to call three such people. Again I was struck with a revelation while that dark silence descended over our conversation, they were not alone, I had seen individuals and even groups traveling inward and apon reflecting something told me they were on the same mission.


Attempting to dispel the mood I joking asked if they would like to dance. To my surprise they eagerly took up the suggestion, and in no time at all a small orchestra seemed to have materialized around me. Noting my surprise one turned to me and explained that many desert spirits loved music, and in particular dance and so in learning to communicate with these spirits they in turned learned to dance. Apparently they specialized in wielding scimitar and pole arm, desert magic (for lack of a better term as I halt call it ?desert spirits?) and these dances. Leaning in he confided to me that many of the dances were also part and partial to special spells and blessings that few would believe and fewer were prepared for as so many demons found out when he did a little dance for them.


As they struck up a tune and one began to dance the rest of the expedition arrived and began to cheer them on. Content I sat back enjoying the performance until suddenly the wind picked up and my beard some how managed to flip itself into my face. Cursing I spent a minute rearranging and tying down my beard and suddenly realized that the expedition members were silent in that way you only hear when a group of people are terrified. Looking around I suddenly realized why. One of the three was dancing while the other two made music, but he was not dancing alone, a figure made seemingly from wind and sand danced beside him and as I stared another wind gust blew by and a second figure formed.


Shortly thereafter they ended and bowing and thanking the wind ?spirits? packed up and prepared to depart as the figures dispersed. One thought they have left me with, if the forces of good have such men on their side, I pity the demon who walks this desert!

This post has been edited by Hammerhand: 09 June 2009 - 05:42 AM

[Hammerhand]

Just wanted to say I went through and skimmed some of the other entries and was blown away! There is defiantly some talent here and later I will come back and read each and every one of these entries because they deserve it, oh and please vote for me >.> I got into both ques about the time they started but didn't get a ticket /cry.^_^

This post has been edited by Hammerhand: 09 June 2009 - 05:36 AM
Reason for edit: posted at midnight and spelled like it

[KQKyle]

THE PRESERVER




The steps were coated with dust, illuminated by a simple iron lantern, fireless yet burning bright. It was held aloft by a cloaked man, each of his steps downward sending a minuscule avalanche into the abyss below. His other hand couldn't help but be fixed on the center column of the immense spiral stairs, ready to scramble for hold if he were to lose his footing, unlikely as it was considering the scale these steps were built for. Wide, thick slabs seemingly carved out of the column itself, as though the entire structure had once been a seamless pillar of stone, sculpted by a people no less ancient or brutal than the rock itself. Stone reshaped to have purpose, to connect these people from the frozen peaks of their mountains to the hidden places under the earth that they would make their burial grounds.


He glanced towards the carvings that marred the face of the column, colored by the glowing wisps crowding the lantern with their increasingly frantic movements. Their reaction was something he had become used to, the runes found in the north always excited them. He entertained the thought that they understood the dead language, recognized words and phrases they had known, comforting them with memories. It was remarkable that the wisps had materialized at all, neither as necromantic perversions nor the vessels of demons, but as actual pure remnants of souls. The thought that they retained their personalities, much less their memories, was absurd, yet in spite of this he could not help but empathize with them, humanize them, if only to soften the burden he had placed upon himself. The glow intensified, glancing towards the rune they had reacted to he saw that it was the mark he had come to recognize as the sign that he was near the bottom. Maybe this would be the one, this crypt the one deep enough to escape the destruction that ravaged the land above. The wisps flew around each other like flies trying to escape a jar. He couldn?t help but think that they were excited too.


During his travels he found that he was not the only one who had made a bond with these spirits. His connection with them let him sense their presence, their despair radiated out from whatever vessels their guardians had chosen for them, like heat from a raging forge. Most unsettling were those who apparently used their own bodies to contain them, turning their very flesh into one of those forges, tempering the cries of the wisps into a weapon. Unleashing the torment unto their enemies as waves of fury, allowing the spirits to take command of their bodies, bolstering it with inhuman strength, the wisps and their host used each other as tools, caught in an unending battle for dominance.


The sudden drop was something he had come to expect, the first time he delved one of these crypts he had almost broken his legs, it was the water that took him by surprise. Though the water only reached up to his knees the roll he had fell into completely submerged him, soaking past his chain and through the leathers underneath. He held aloft his lantern once again and followied the pale colors as they danced across the surface of the dark water he saw that fog now covered it, originating from an alcove which the wisps were guiding him straight towards.


As he entered the chamber he was stunned by the cold that filled it, the sarcophagi lining the walls shimmering with a coat of ice, brightened not just by the ghost light emanating from his lantern but also by the mummified corpse that sat upon a throne opposite of the entrance. Pale light shone from the withered eye sockets reflecting off of the golden, gemmed adornments it wore. Mist flowed from the gaping mouth of the dead king, cut into thin tendrils by the stitches that had once bound it shut. One of these tendrils rose now, lazily floating up towards the lantern and licked across the glass that separated it from the lights within. This was all the sign he needed, he lifted his other hand to the clasp that held the lantern shut and freed it.


The second the first wisp touched the tendril he knew something was wrong. One presence he had felt among the spirits vanished, dissolving in pain and terror, consumed by the dead king. He would not do this to them. His arm yanked back but the mist was quicker, it raced up and around this forearm and gripped, the unnatural strength shattering both the lantern and his bones. He fell to his knees, already numbed by the slushed icy water, bringing him eye level to the wisps that had gathered in front of him, free of the lantern. Behind them the other tendrils began snaking their way towards them, the light in the king's eye sockets burning with intensity. There was no time to hesitate over what this would do to his soul or his own will. He consented.


The numbness left him, the pain left him, he stood up, the strength of forgotten warriors filling his body. His aura burnt away the tendril that gripped him, sending the others recoiling back into the corpse of the king. He unsheathed his sword and in one motion drove it into the mummified skull, sending papery skin and hair all around him. The mist surrounded him then, not in attack but in desperation, he heard the pleas but they were nothing like those of his wisps, they lamented the passing of a man, a single selfish king while his lamented the passing of a culture. He simply turned around and left the cavern, to climb back up to the sunlight and back to the search for a way to bring peace to the souls he guarded, leaving the king alone to find his own rest, alone, with the dark.






Woo, last minute entry! CHYEA!

This post has been edited by KQKyle: 09 June 2009 - 06:56 AM

[Jetrall]

Thank you all for submitting such interesting character concepts. I noted an interesting differential in the stories, in that some were presented as individual/group histories while others were presented more as a specific event in time.

What it really came down to in the voting (at least for me) was how well the story 'hooked' me and whether or not it left me wanting more but not feeling confused. There were definitely some outstanding entries and I appreciated having the oppourtunity to read them. Thanks, everyone! :)