"Goliaths look much more badass than they actually are"
-Bob_The_Newt
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| From The Tales of Kron, Hero of The Barbarians | | | Author: | | | IP: | 63.99.5.XXXX | | Date: | 08/09/00 06:08 | | Game Type: | Other | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 2, Max: 8, Min: 7
Lifetime Rating for Guy Costantini a.k.a. Kron The Warrior: 7.5000 |   | Episode I
Throughout the lands of Sanctuary there roamed a hero... His name
was whispered in late-night tavern tales and his ability with the
sword (slvl 25) was legendary. The demons that now ravaged the
lands of Sanctuary ran just at the mention of his name and the
minions of Diablo himself feared they one day might meet this
noble hero.
Our Noble hero, was also known to be a handsome Lord, always
desired by all women in the kingdoms he would travel through...
tales about his looks and performance were renowned among the
Harems of Lut Golein and the Amazons in the West. The mages that
were lucky enough to have had the honor of fighting aside him
called him the "wind of death" while the demons that had
been lucky enough to see him in action and survive called him
"the Meatgrinder".
This rampage was too much for The Three to bear. Calling upon
their powers the Prime Evils decided to evoke the only possible
solution to the decimation of their armies, a spell so powerful
that it would forever affect the whole world of Sanctuary... they
would call it "Patch 1.03".
Unbeknownst to the hero, the enchantment was cast upon the world
while he was venturing deep within the Nightmarish bowels of The
Plains of Despair. Here, he encountered a mob of Demons so thick
he could not see past them. Fearlessly like he had done many a
time he performed his dance of death, the sound of his swords
sinking deep within the demons' scaled bodies...
Something was wrong though, the demons were not dying, the mob
just grew thicker around him as more and more of his hits were
missing, as if some unknown curse had been cast upon him. In the
distance he could hear the laughter of the Three. Sinking in his
body were the pestilence-infested claws of demons, which no
longer ran in fear at his howls and war cries. He was cornered
against a wall, blood dripping from the countless wounds that now
streaked his once untouched body. Never had he thought he would
have to retreat, yet his last scroll of town portal was the only
thing that could save him now...
With a sorrow-filled voice noble, yet filled with the
acknowledgement that he had lost his first battle he screamed the
spell's activation ritual and the blue soothing light of safety
engulfed him.
He lay, poisoned and dripping blood on the cold floor of the
Pandemonium Fortress his sword in pieces, his face disfigured
forever... empty flasks of mana and life potions all around him,
unable to restore the honor that had been taken from him.
No longer would this bringer of death bestow terror on the
minions of the damned, no longer would he come to the rescue of
his sorceress and paladin friends, the King of Melee was now
broken. But he would have his revenge, he would show his skill,
the demons had won the battle, and yes, he had known his first
defeat, but in the name of the Light he would be BACK! And no
matter what The Three would do, he would forever fight back, for
the essence of the hero comes not with the victory but is forged
in the fight.
From the tales of Kron, Hero of The Barbarians
Episode II
It was cold and damp in the tavern, Kron sat by the window,
observing the outside… as the rain streaked the glass he could
see Griswold’s old Blacksmith shop, now totally rebuilt by
Charsi, the Amazon’s finest blacksmith. That girl had done quite
the job… picking up his pint of dark ale thoughts roamed his
mind, a month had passed since he had miraculously escaped the
city of the damned and only thanks to the services of Ormus were
his wounds now almost completely healed, still looking at himself
in the mirror was a challenge, like a fragmented reflection his
skin was torn in many places. Healed scars now substituted his
once open wounds, wounds which were infected by poison, and that
only the most skillful mage in Kurhast had been able to purge out
of his system.
Curse the “Patch 1.03” enchantment, he thought, my primary attack
is now but a gentle breeze to the hell-spawned demons, my once
legendary sword mastery (slvl 25) must now revert to something
else, maybe I will even need … an Ally. All these thoughts ran
through his mind, his sword lying beside him on the tavern’s
bench.
Tristram brought back all these memories, alone he had rampaged
through the demon-infested town cleansing it of the evil, freeing
his friend Deckard Cain, last of the Horadrim. Why was he now
back here, in a place that could no longer provide any experience
for him… Nechro was the answer. Once a very powerful necromancer,
he used to be feared and respected by all the minions of Darkness
as well as by the warriors of the Light, but just like Kron he
had experienced defeat at the hands of the infamous effects of
the “Patch 1.03” enchantment, no was he able to masterfully
coordinate the detonation of enemy corpses, the chain reaction
that monsters used to fear him for was now a joke, unable to
strike the fear it once did in the minds of the demons.
The two sat for a while and stared at each other… -“Kron The
Broken” is what people whisper behind my back now- the barbarian
Lord thought, he who once I despised for his way of fighting I
now am teaming up with. On the other end of the hard wood table,
the master of the dead was sharing similar thoughts: - Once My
horde of demons would have been able to keep me safe, I still
remember the corpses of my enemies exploding and engulfing all in
a blood-filled pandemonium, this melee warrior at which I was
used to laugh at is now my only hope of fending off the legions
of evil.
Tristram was now back to its usual splendor, and overlooking the
bad weather, typical of the western highlands anyway, you could
have missed that this small village had been once the epicenter
of the evil that had corrupted the world. One Tall stone was now
the only monument remembering all of the town’s dead, a
monolithic landmark, set to never forget the tragedy that had
struck.
The two were waiting for yet another ally, the key, if you must
know, to their now team-focused strategy, the paladin
FirstofFive. Only thanks to his auras would they have any chance
of going back to the battlefield and returning as winners… a bolt
of thunder broke the noisy tavern’s background chatter. And in
the doorway stood FirstofFive, paladin of the light, he was once
known for roaming the lands and converting the hordes to his
side, purifying the legions of Darkness with his magical sword,
cleansing the land as a real follower of Zakarum. And now “Patch
1.03” had hit him as well, he now had to cast aside his disdain
towards these two warriors’ unclean methods of fighting and ally
with them to assure that the Light would ultimately triumph.
The Three heroes looked at each other, there was only 1 game
before them in the Lag queue, and no further words were needed,
they once again were about to take arms against evil, and “patch
1.03” or not, they were going to get their revenge against the
Three
From The Tales of Kron, Hero of The Barbarians
Episode III
The cart’s wheel stopped with a jolt, and the horses puffed in
the dry hot air, as the curtain that was the caravan’s door was
pushed aside, a massive figure made its way out. Kron jumped off
the cart with a leap that the common man would have found amazing
for a man of such size. Next came the necromancer and at last the
noble paladin, slowly whispering prayers to Zakarum as he
descended the creaking ladder onto the stony ground of Lut
Golein.
The necromancer appeared annoyed, why were they wasting their
time on a futile distress call that some puny (lev 31) sorceress
had desperately asked them for. Their main goal should not have
been postponed and of what use could a sorceress be anyway, he
had all the power the group needed, his mastery over the legions
of the undead was way more powerful that any element that
sorceress could ever hope to harness. These dark thoughts echoed
in the mind of Nechro, no pity was left in his dark should, he
had given up part of his humanity long before, to further
reconcile himself with the underworld’s mystic powers. But the
brute was in charge for now, he would tag along and see if his
temporary alliance with these melee fighters was going to prove
itself of any use. The Paladin scared him, he could feel his
powers threatened every time a holy aura had been cast on the
team, he could feel his distrust as well, and he knew how the
followers of Zakarum despised his kind and those who made use of
the underworld’s dark magic.
Warriv waved to the group as he prepared to unload the cart of
its many goods, since Andariel had been banished he had been once
again able to reap profit in his commerce. The amazons considered
the jewels and spices that he brought back from Lut Golein very
precious, and they had a particular predilection for the oils and
balms that could only be found in the desert regions. And here,
the amazons’ fine steel and weapon smith mastery was renowned as
the finest available, also various types of rare carved wood
statues the monastery sisters produced were more precious than
any gems to the inhabitants of the vast desert regions.
Kron had been thinking a lot about the person in distress, was
she in real danger? Or was she just another minion of darkness
trying to lure them into a trap? He and the paladin had
immediately agreed to help her, but maybe the necromancer’s view
was not to be taken so lightly, after all, they did have other
tasks at hand. But a decision had been taken, and he was, for
now, the leader of the group, he had made a call and could not
back out of it. The sewers were waiting for them.
They passed quickly by the potion store to grab some dark spices,
the smell of decay would not be so unbearable then, the
necromancer waited by the sewer entrance, the smell not bothering
him at all, his eyes glowing an eerie green, his pupils dark as
the eternal night…
As they descended into the darkness they could hear the sound of
swords shattering, they could hear the screams of a warrior and
the words of a woman, spoken in the language of the mages,
uttering enchantments one after another. The ground was covered
in bone, some of the bone was blackened by fire, and other was
frozen and shattered, reflecting the dim light of the torches
everywhere, in a hypnotic display of light. Every now and then u
could hear an electric discharge, and the howls of the sand cats,
screaming in the distance. The necromancer was immediately at
work, summoning a blood golem and half a dozen mages as well as
the usual skeleton cannon fodder.
The paladin quickly uttered a prayer and a cross of white light
was projected upon his shield (Holy Shield) then he raised his
hands and the group was imbued with heavenly force
(concentration). Nechro grunted as the light imbued him with
additional power but he quickly adapted to the change, as for
Kron, he howled a battle command and raced down the stairs
towards the noise, his Tusk Sword glimmering, the fury in his
eyes indescribable…
IceKara had drawn her last enchantment, an icy shield surrounded
her, the protection Orb (mana shield) floated above her, yet her
power had been exhausted, hordes of burning dead were after her,
their scimitars dripping with poison. Her last town portal lay
behind dozens of demons, so close, yet so out of reach, and she
could not stop for long enough to cast a teleportation spell.
Worst of all, she had dropped all her equipment in a room that
now lay beyond the hordes of screaming demons, she would lose it
all… where were the people she had implored for help?
As she prepared to cast her last frost nova she saw a cloud of
smoke coming form the skeletal horde that had blocked her
retreat, the shattering of the bone was a terrible sound, but
this time it was reassuring, the demons retreated from her as she
felt stronger, words of prayer being whispered in her mind, her
power was returning at an ever growing rate, praise -Zakarum-,
she thought, and the words of Meteor started forming in the back
of her mind, instantly being spoken in the mages’ ancient
language and striking the skeletal hordes without pity, without
mercy, without regret… she was so caught in the fervor of her
enchantment she forgot about the undead, until a decaying hand
dropped on her shoulder …
From The Tales of Kron, Hero of the Barbarians
Episode IV
Time slowed down as IceKara looked down to the rotting flesh that
was only inches from her jugular, cold sweat ran down her spine,
not the kind of cold she could control though. She felt like a
kid, scared and alone amidst the horrors of the world… how was
she letting panic overthrow her, She, who had learned to control
with her thoughts the very elements of nature had underestimated
the slowest minion of darkness. She shook the limp arm from her
shoulder like a girl would a bee, without considering what she
perfectly knew from past experience, the infected nails of the
corpse dug into her skin, and her vision went blurry… the poison,
it had her in a grasp, chocking her, turning her legs to stone,
then to butter, she fell to her knees the open bowels of the
zombie pouring rotting smoke in her face, it was over … or was
it? She felt the stench of the returned’s breath closing in on
her. She would NOT go as a coward, looking up with a
tear-streaked face she stared death right in the face, in its
disgusting decaying face…
One second later a cloud of dust was all that remained of the
foul creature, a shining war scepter in its place, gleaming with
the power of prayers that centuries earlier Millabrega himself
had whispered to Zakarum. She was not mistaken, the scepter of
Millabrega was once again in the hands of the light... there was
hope after all. She looked towards the light, a soothing smile
quietly reassuring her she could now safely pass out…
Sir First Of Five grabbed the falling maiden with his shielded
arm, zealously crushing skulls with his other arm side by side
with the creature of flesh known as the blood golem. He prayed
for his ally the necromancer, as he could sense the powers of the
underworld consuming him from within, he had no problem with the
current alliance, he could sense the distrust of the master of
the undead, yet he had no hard feelings for him, only pity, for a
dark mage that was not any more the master of his art, but slave
to its power, addicted to the dark enchantments he cast…
30 feet above, a child was running in an back alley, leaving a
trail of dust behind him, the little rascal had just stolen
cookies from his mom’s stash, and was not in a hurry to get
caught, he exited the alley and into the hot center of Lut Golein
and froze. Right before his very eyes stood an Amazon, he had
never seen one before, a lot of warriors passed through the city
from time to time, but to se a real Amazon… He dropped the loot
that two seconds before had meant so much to him and just stared
at her figure, slim, muscular wrapped in light armor, brandishing
a long spear shining in the hot afternoon sun. She was just like
in the tales that Drognan used to tell the children about at
sundown. Maybe he could ask her what her name was, maybe she
would even answer …
A scream that had nothing human within it echoed through the
streets, it was coming from the sewers, right below their very
feet! Would the Amazon do something, wondered the kid, he turned
to look for the heroin he had heard about so many times but she
was not there…
The skeletons were being struck down with methodical precision,
yet they did not retreat, nor their number appeared to be
diminishing, as soon as you shattered their crooked bones some
mysterious force would draw these back together to fight once
again in the legions of evil. The Paladin changed his prayer,
calling upon the holiest mercy of the heavens, and the life force
of the fallen corpses evaporated in a red glow recharging his
life force as well as his mental abilities. Only then did the
real horrific master of the burning dead come forth, a horribly
disfigured corpse, surrounded by a cloud of poisonous smoke and
emitting electric discharges as he teleported from side to side
of the underground tunnels. The necromancer cursed him with words
that human ears should never hear; they poured out of his throat
like dark blood out of a wound, terrible in their meaning,
unbearable in their power. Yet these curses were the very essence
of Radament, and the dark champion of evil advanced without a
flinch, his blade dirty with the blood of many warriors.
In the corner of the room the paladin was fending off horror
mages, in a desperate attempt to guard the motionless body of the
sorceress, the necromancer had been cornered by marauders,
apparently his minions had turned on him and he and his golem
could do nothing but try not to succumb to the hordes of burning
dead that now swarmed them. –Where was the brute- thought Nechro.
–Wasn’t he supposed to be the leader around here? -. Just then he
saw the barbarian performing his “dance of death”, it was not
hitting much, why was that fool running towards his doom? Yet his
course among the living dead seemed to have a purpose, Kron was
masterfully passing through the rows of skeletons to take down
their only real source of power: Radament himself!
-Brilliant! At least for a barbarian- giggled the necromancer as
he cast amplify damage on the mummified champion of darkness.
Kron lowered his Tusk sword towards the demon’s skull, it was a
blow meant to crush that bastard infant killer, a blow that would
have shown the whole underworld the power of the barbarian tribes
of the Northern Highlands and taught all the undead to leave the
inhabitants of Lut Golein alone. His sword sunk into the
monster’s skin, crushing the shoulder blade of the demon and
taking his right arm off, the one without the blade… the one that
held “the Book”. It shone with the secrets of the Horadrim, he
just had to pick it up, he was fast enough, he would swing right
back at that slow mummy and tear his head right off… it would
only take a second…..
And a second was all that Radament had ever needed, his blade was
ready to parry, when the barbarian attempted the final blow his
strike came to an abrupt halt. Only then did Kron realize his
fatal mistake. He cried to his pagan gods to forgive his selfish
act, and was hit by the strongest electric discharge he had ever
felt. As he fell backwards he felt the skeletal arms of the
burning dead grabbing him, digging into his skin, ripping him to
shreds… he whirled, and a dozen more warriors fell to pieces, but
the situation was not looking good…
Just then Kron saw his chance of finally being a Team Leader and
not a lone warrior, behind Radament was the stealthy figure of an
Amazon he knew way too well: Nightwind… beautiful as the night
and just as deadly. Kron ran towards Radament taunting the demon,
the walking horror raised his blade… ready to release all the
fury that his infernal pact had granted him…
One second later his heart, blackened by the evil that had
resurrected him was impaled on Nightwind’s spear… a green liquid
slowly oozing out of it and dripping along the long pike as the
rest of his body decomposed, slowly consumed by the breaking of
the enchantment that had resurrected him from his grave and
brought him to serve the Three.
-Long Time no see, gracious…-
-Yes it has Kron…-
The two looked at one another for a long moment, it was good to
see each other again, maybe later they would remember the old
times, the days of the training… but now it was time to heal
their wounds, and to celebrate the victory of the light on the
grounds of Lut Golein, the sorceress would have some good stories
to share by the bonfire on the beach, and the kids would love to
be able to once again run on the beach at night without being
afraid… but what was that shiny stone amidst the corpse of
Radament, could it be?
Kron blew the dust off the artifact….
Ps. Approve and I shall continue…
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