Treepull Aitch
111th Post

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"A story I wrote a while ago." , posted Sun 23 Mar 11:40

I'm more busy these days: babysitting, gonig out with my girlfriend, Photoshopping, having relatives visit every Saturday etc. And there's also the matter of those 20+ hours at Hack Infection.

This means less time actually online at the computer - and at the MMC, irregardless of how much time I leave said comp actually on to download anime and cartoons.

While searching my harddrive a few days back, though, I found a story I wrote some time back - of what time e-xactly, I cannot
recall - it's a Diablo II fanfiction, in which I try for humor and parody. I never sent it to any fanfiction site for publication, though.

So here it is, to share with the cafe.

Comments are welcome.

Oh, and I snuck quite a number of game/ anime/ bad fantasy novel references within the story. Have fun spotting them!

A Dark And Stormy Night

Third Watch

Some time past third watch, Sir Strongerarms Brighterblade woke up hugging his bolster in an empty bed which was empty. His wife, the Princess Elmindreda was gone!
"Devil's work! Verily, the dark claws of Diablo are afoot here. For only Diablo, the Dark Lord of Terror, possesses the dark magics to do this to me!", he instantly realized.
Strongerarms reached under the bed and drew his flaming magic sword, holding it aloft. "By the Gods and the Light, I, Sir Strongerarms Brighterblade, Holy Knight of Westmarch, do pledge to free my beloved, and destroy the dark devil Diablo, who has plagued our lands for too long! Demon, thy end is nigh!"
His smallfolk, who had roused and gathered outside his bedroom door, oohed and aahed at this display of their Lord's heroic prowess. Soon, yes, soon, their liege would return, covered in glory yet again.
Two nubile young twins stepped forth - Erika and Eliza, Strongerarms' apprentices in magecraft and swordsmanship. They helped their mentor put on his armour of solid gold, and were about to crown him with his custom-made dragonskull helm, when Strongerarms shook his head, setting his long, blond hair aflow. "Nay! Loosen thy hands, varlet knaves! Only the Princess Elmindredra may touch my helm, for twas she that did sing the dragon to sleep with her enchanting voice before I rescued her by chopping off the dragon's head armed with nothing but a rusty dagger that was actually the Blade of the Immortal disguised as a rusty dagger by an evil sorcerer whom I did defeat using spells learnt from my father."
So saying, he put his sword down on the bed and donned the helm himself.
Then, he saddled his trusty steed, Steed, and galloped thunderously out of his castle, a man consumed by vengeance.....a man with nothing to lose.

Fourth Watch

"Halt!" cried Strongerarms, rearing his steed at a dark, hooded figure. "What manner of beast art thou, old vagrant, that do wander the Forest of Confusion like a beggar-thief at so dark an hour?"
"'Tis I," came the reply in a strong voice unbent by age, "I, the great sage Retsnimle Brighterblade, King of Khanduras. The news of thine beloved's kidnap hath doth come to me, and I have come to assist thee in thine darkest hour."
Strongerarms drew his flaming sword. The rain fell heavier as he did, as though angels were weeping. "Sir Strongerarms Brighterblade falls for none of thine tricks, accursed one! Prepare to die!"
He dug in his spurs. "Onward, Steed! For Justice great!"
And charged.
That would have been the end of the old man, had he, with a quickness belieing his years, not stepped nimbly aside, blending into the darkness of the nearest tree. Strongerarms whirled his horse around, breathing mightily. "Just who *art* thou?", he questioned.
The old man stepped out of the shadows, and threw off his hood. Lightning cracked.
Strongerarms reeled backwards, stunned.
"Father?!"

Fifth Watch

It was later, in Retsnimle's forest cabin. With Steed stabled by his seven Rogue guards, the old man pottered to his study and unrolled a yellowed scroll veritably pulsing with arcane power. "Yon parchment is the last magic of the Old Religion, Skatskim. Cast in the name of God, by one not guilty, it will transport said caster to the dark temple of the Lord of Terror himself, where thee may free thine beloved. It, however, is incomplete, and without the remaining pieces, not even I will be able to invoke the runes."
He sighed. "My son, I fear all is lost."
Strongerarms laughed heartily, and dug around in his backpack. "Fear thee not, Father, for I have the remaining two portions. Now, sing the spell, and by the Light above, I will end my beloved wife's ravishment at the dark tentacles of Diablo!"
Retsnimle felt his heart swell with paternal pride. Huskily, he accepted the proffered parchment, raised his arms and chanted in long-forgetten tongues. "Shirak!" And red-blue vortexes swirled, and congealed in the study. "Dumak! Dulak! Ast tasarak sinuralin kry..."
In the throes of spellsinging, the wizard suddenly stopped, screamed, and sank to the ground. One of his Rogue guards, stood over him, clutching a bloody fourty-stone warhammer.....red with the old mage's blood and bone.
The door slammed open, and the other six pounced on Retsnimle's prone form, slashing and stabbing.
"But why?" Strongerarms gasped at the slaughter. "Why?"
"Because. Because we have been possessed by the dark powers of Diablo's brother, Mephisto. He commands us to stop you, and we shall!" Snarling, the Rogues hurled themselves bodily at Strongerarms.
Strongerarms was prepared though. Switching his sword to his left hand, he leaped over the posessed demonspawn, skewering two in the process. With his right, he yanked down the heaviest bookcase within easy reach, flattening four more.
The sole surviving Rogue blanched. "I'll....I'll get you for this! Just you wait! Someday..." Her voice trailed off as she vanished into the night.
And with that, it was over.
Strongerarms hastened to his father. The King had suffered grievious wounds, yet was somehow, someway, still breathing, though just barely. "Do not cry for me my child, for I have lived long." He gave a wry smile. "Too long, some might say. Go now! Save your princess, and leave an old man to his rest." His eyes rolled up and fixed at the ceiling.
Strongerarms fought back tears. "I will, Father. I will."
He stood up, and cast the spell himself.
Alone, he entered the portal.

Sixth Watch

Dizzy and disoriented, Strongerarms fought the bile that threatened to rise up in his throat. Traversing the barriers between the Planes often had that effect on him. But, he would be strong, he told himself. His loved one's life depended on it.
He materialized, half-stumbling, in the middle of an enormous pentagram. Glancing around, Strongerarms saw his wife bound to a pillar. He felt fear grip his heart in its icy clutch. For arrayed between him and his screaming princess was the consolidated strength of the demon host.
Balrogs licked the edges of their clawed blades, their faces red masks of blood.
Undead mages stared at him with empty eyes, stripping away his courage.
Spectral knights stole his determination with chill fingers beckoning. Join us... Come with us... Join us...
And beyond them all, the Ruler of Three laughed, and it was great and terrible to hear.
Strongerarms knew he was beaten. He was ready to cast the portal again, and go home empty-handed. As he raised his hands to invoke the magic, however, he heard his father's voice.
I called you because I had a use for you. Should you leave now, not only will your wife die, but with the life-enegry Diablo drains from her, he will be able to assume physical form on Sancturary at last. He will trample and destroy the cities of men under his feet, and armies will be as gnats to him. Stop him! Before it is too late!
The old mage's voice penerated through the haze of self-doubt in Strongerarms' mind. He was a hero. A champion. And now, King of Khanduras. Had he turned tail and fled before? Never. He wouldn't start now.
His hands went anew to his sword. He raised his head and looked Diablo square in the eye.
"I won't run away."
He charged, believing in himself.

Seventh Watch

As Strongerarms fought, he blotted the unearthly moaning out of his mind, imagining himself to be one of his serfs, cutting wheat in the fields. His motions became more sure, and his strokes, more precise. One-two, one-two, chop. One-two, one-two, chop.
Presently, the minions of the Burning Hells lay carved asunder at his feet, and Diablo himself was reeling back, left forepaw dangling uselessly.
The Lord of Terror dashed away from the armoured force of righteousness striding toward him. Towards the bound Elmindreda.
"Stop right there, mortal, or the girl dies!" He put a sharp claw to her throat. Elmindreda screamed, and the claw came away red.
"I don't think so!" roared the paladin-king. He threw his sword, and it sank into Diablo between the eyes.
Diablo began to slash his captive, but a firebolt turned his good paw into a blackened stump. In pain, he released Elmindredra and sank to his knees.
All the easier to chop off his head, thought Strongerarms to himself.
And so he did.
Elmindreda clinging gratefully to him, Strongerarms spoke the words of magic and opened the portal.
He had done what he had swore to do. His father would be proud of him.
He heaved a sigh. It had been close though. One false move, and....and...
He didn't want to think about it. Instead, he smiled down at Elmindreda and she smiled back.
The nightmare was over.
It was time for breakfast.

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