Rathma's Redemption

Chapter 1: Dark Benevolence

 The sun had just risen from the east, a mile away from the rogue encampment; a gangly figure was seen approaching. As he was moving closer across the fog, the skinny figure was spotted carrying an odd wand and wearing a slightly worn robe. Most people would simply identify him as an ordinary wizard if not for the bizarre symbols embroidered in his robe but he is not. He is a necromancer: A dark sorcerer.

Lanky and pale, the man approaching is known as Luthian Frosthand, the Necromancer tasked to help the rogues. He was slowly approaching the Rogue Encampment when he felt a slight bitterness to the rogues when he recalled their relations in the past. The rogues long has been in doubt and cynical to the necromancers’ allegiance to the forces of the light.

“Darn those rogues. They have always distrusted our kind.” He sighed.

As he was going to enter the camp, many eyes were upon him. Observing and probing every move he makes.

“And your call yourselves order of the Sightless Eye. Ironic...” He thought to himself.

Luthian was nearing the gateway when a rogue guarding the gate approached him.

“Where do you think you are going, Necromancer? Your unpleasant presence is not welcome here.”

Although these kinds of welcoming are not new to the necromancers, this caused distraught and irritated Luthian. Contemplating the orders given to him, those he held sacred and precious as a priest of Rathma, he retained little self-control. With a smirk on his ashen face, he responded.

“I am Luthian Frosthand, an emissary from the Priests of Rathma, or as your ingrate order would call us Necromancers. Though my presence would be a pain to you as well as it sickens me too, I was tasked to do this, I have arrived to aid you in your plight.”

Dazed by the necromancer’s statement, the rogue guard shrugged and though she’s still suspicious, granted him entrance to the encampment.

“All right, I would let you in this time but hear this: One false move and these arrows will be in your gut, cultist.”

“I would like to see you try.” He said silently with an impish grin as he was entering the gate

His blue eyes and grey hair, that gangly body of his and the robe he’s wearing were all strange and bizarre to the eyes of the inhabitants in the camp. Still, countless eyes observe him in disbelief. His very presence inside the camp astonished the populace.

HALFWAY ACROSS THE CAMP, beside the campfire was he greeted by a breezy man clothed in a merchant’s garb.

"Greetings' stranger, my name is Warriv and I am not really surprised to see you here," said the Merchant, smiling.

“You are the first person to have told me that. What dared you to say that old merchant?” asked Luthian. He was a little surprised.

"It would be common, after Diablo left chaos and suffering in these lands, to see countless of adventurers in quest of vanquishing him for all eternity," Warriv said.

Warriv then become uneasy all of a sudden, hesitating about something that has been bothering him for some time. Luthian was baffled.

“What is it, Warriv?” he asked.

Warriv, who seems to be embarrassed to talk about it, replied coyly. “It’s nothing, young necromancer.”

Luthian insisted on asking him. “Come on, tell me. Don’t worry, you can tell me.”

Though hesitant at first, Warriv finally spoke. “I am quite troubled to ask but if you insist, alright then. It’s just your kind, as you know, well the townsfolk is not really fond of. Despite of that fact, your kind still came to aid them and sent you, one of their best. I’m just pondering why, young Luthian.”

With a little pride, Luthian answered him. “We have one goal, old man, to restore the balance of Order and Chaos. Diablo messed it up.”

Warriv started smiling again. “I see. This thing that you’re doing is quite benevolent, young Necromancer. I can feel you have a little resentment on the way the Rogues see your kind.”

“My thanks, Warriv. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must find the High Priestess.”

He waved the old merchant goodbye and started to move towards the northern part of the camp.

 LUTHIAN WAS WALKING just a few paces past the campfire when he was approached by a rogue. “Welcome outlander, to our glorious hovel. High Priestess Akara wishes to see you,” said the rogue. She was a little taller than other rogues and her hair was of crimson.

“I was actually looking for her too,” Luthian said in relief.

“Good. There are matters that she desires to discuss with you.  We go this way, outlander. Follow me,” said the rogue. They started to stroll towards the south-eastern part of the camp.

The rogue was dressed in unique studded leather armour. Distinguishable was the shimmer of the ruby brooch she was wearing, matching her beautiful crimson hair and the gem of the golden circlet on her head. This is no ordinary rogue.

Figuring she is not a regular rogue, Luthian became curious of her identity. “Wait a minute, you are no ordinary rogue. Tell me your name, endearing rogue.”

“You have keen eyes, outlander. I am Kashya, commander of the Rogues. I know you’re here to challenge the evil that driven us from our ancestral home but know this, it would take more than slaying a few beast in the wilderness to earn my trust.”

Knowing she is Kashya, the rogue’s mightiest and known as one of the most enchanting, Luthian was awestruck. “Just as I’ve thought, your exploits have always been known for both its notoriety and bravery.” It is quite rare for necromancers to be impressed. Only a few had achieved such feat.

“Thanks,” she said, quite adamantly. “We are nearing her tent now. Mind your manners there, outlander.”

As they came through the south-eastern part of the camp, Luthian saw a big blue tent. It was perhaps the most beautiful tent he had ever seen in the camp so far.

“Must be Akara’s tent,” he said.

“Oh it is. I will be waiting right outside when arrive,” said Kashya as they were just a few steps before arriving at Akara’s tent.