The crash of thunder and something else woke Fenrir from his dream of the wild hunt. The young druid shook the sleep off and got to his feet from under the tree.

He was tall for a human, his height giving even some of the over-muscled barbarians a run for their gold. Before he'd left the school back in Scosglen, some of the other druids joked that he was half barbarian. His long wild gray hair that was for the most part tied in a tail that reached down to his lower back, waved in the wind. While most of his hair was tied back, his head was a uncontrollable wild mop of gray, with two large bangs hanging near his dark green eyes. His sensitive nose and ears picking up things that evaded most dull humans. His feral green eyes scanned for whatever threat that lurked within the woods in the south of Khanduras, his unshaven face in a scowl. He wanted to know what had set his senses to high alert, but with the incoming storm, the odds of him finding out were slim at best, even with his animal senses and instincts, the same instincts that told him he'd be better off not knowing. He sighed, looked out into the forest once more then looked back to his campsite and noticed something.

His camp fire had long since died, yet he could smell smoke on the rising wind. There was a fowl scent that made him growl accompanying the smoke, but he couldn't place what it was. Regardless, now that he had the scent, he was going to check out what had disturbed him. He picked up his few health potions, battered buckler and the battered near worthless piece of wood that passed for a club.

He'd taken them from one of a trio of bandits who'd been stupid enough to attack him when he had been in a bad mood. Even after being ripped off of most of his belongings in Kingsport save for his fur and leather clothes, the bandits couldn't have hoped to match the animal power he wielded.

"Worthless scavengers." He snorted in disgust. Then moved after the scent of smoke and flame as the rain began to fall.

He moved fast through the undergrowth, the scent fading, but still there, with the unknown stench growing stronger.

Fenrir reached a clearing and stopped, the rain poured down, soaking through the fur hides he wore, drenching him. The scent had faded, but it was no longer needed as the stench was now overwhelming. Not even the rain seemed to drown it out. Closer now, he was able to better identify how it smelled of burning hair, charred flesh and unwashed undergarments. However, there was something wrong.

It was too quiet, the downpour of rain made noise but there as no sound of natural life of the forest, no irritated chirping of birds at all. Then a twig snapped, loudly to his ears, and something bright blood red and the size of a small man jumped at him. He was not unprepared, club ready in his hand, he swung. Fenrir was rewarded by a squishy crunch of the something's face crumbling under the weapon and the feeling of a few warm specks among the many cold ones.

He would of turned to look at his kill, to see what it was but he had more little red irritants coming from the woodwork. He grinned, finally, a fight he could enjoy. Now with them coming from all around him, he could get a look at these things.

Their skin was bright red, their bodies lean, humanoid and oddly muscled. They had a pair horns thrust forward out of their skulls. They almost might of been slightly scary except for the fact that the tallest among them was only as tall as Fenrir's waist. If anything, they seemed laughable. Fenrir would of probably started laughing, but held it back on account of two reasons. They had deadly serious weapons and they had surrounded him.

In his head he cursed himself for being this reckless, but still, a snort of laughter escaped his mouth, only to be covered by the thunderous storm above him.

He remembered hearing talk of of little 'demons' like these ones in a inn a few days south. The soldiers called these impish creatures 'The Fallen'.

The small monstrosities looked at their dead comrade by his feet. Some turned and ran screaming back into the woods, the rest swarmed, roaring high pitched cries that sounded mostly pathetic, Fenrir thought he heard some kind of name "Rakanishu!" among the cries. In reply he grinned and yelled "Alright then!" as he charged the one in front of him.

He'd rarely used a one handed weapon and shield, but it was easy to use a club. Swing it until whatever he was swinging it at wasn't moving anymore, and that he did. The first fallen was swept aside with a crunch, falling to ground with a bloodied ruin for a head, but Fenrir was already focusing on the third one, having killed the second fallen with the club as he spun to face more of them. From there on it was merely repetition of swinging and moving on. To his heightened scenes, every move these little devils tried to make was already long known by the druid as he swung his club. It almost looked like a grisly dance of blood, splattered brains, bone bits and death.

Too soon, it ended as the storm boomed and raged above like a crowd denied their sport. Almost too late he noticed one last fallen rushing him. He turned to face it, his club raised. Suddenly a blast of heat and flame blinded him, forcing him to stagger back, followed by the stink of fresh burning flesh.

Fenrir blinked away the bright spots that clouded his vision and found himself looking at the one thing that could make his day worse.

A woman but wait, from the staff clutched in her hands and her odd, unsuited to the weather, dress Fenrir could see that she was something even worse than that.

A damned mage, or more specifically, a Sorceress.However, considering the events in Kingsport that had led him to the situation he was in, the Druid was more put off due her gender then by the ancient grudge he had been taught.

The storm continued on it's path, beginning to lessen as Fenrir and the Sorceress stared at each other, a contest of who would look away first.

Druids as a rule, even secluded far in the north as they were, more or less despised most other magic wielders for the havoc their irresponsible use of arcane power had wrecked on the natural world of Sanctuary, especially the Vizjerei, for their history with demons and their warping of the natural world. As for which mage clan this Sorceress belonged to, Fenrir could only guess.

She was quite beautiful from what he could see of her form in the shadows of the withering trees. She had a kind of aura around her, probably due to her magic. Her long black untied hair gently blew in the wind despite the storm. Fenrir also noted that the form fitting green cloth and silk clothes that covered most of her body was dry, in fact it seemed the Sorceress was entirely dry. Meanwhile, the Druid was more or less soaked. The added jealousy of that fact did nothing to help Fenrir's first impression of her, or his deteriorating mood.

That lousy dry fire flinging...

After what had seemed like an eternity of waiting in silence, the Sorceress spoke up first, interrupting that train of thought.

"That's strange, I thought I'd sensed some kind magic around here."

"By the primordial forces, she has powerful senses!" A rather surprised Fenrir thought to himself. True he'd used some of his mana powering his second sight, but it was a minuscule amount, only enhancing his senses and reflexes. While it sounded like a lot, it hardly affected his mana supply at all.

"Oh um hi, sorry, I didn't see you there." That one line instantly made Fenrir kind of loathe the Sorceress. How had she not noticed him? Any more and he couldn't guaranty his civility or her safety. "Have you seen signs any arcane magics around? Other that these... things of course." She seemed kind of out of it. Knowing her kind, that could mean anything, not a lot of it good.

Doing his best to maintain his scrap of civil manners, Fenrir couldn't help but let out a snicker. She was sharp, but not enough to know precisely who did what. Still, he adjusted his grip on the club.

"Nope, other than the little red jokes that came at me to die, I haven't seen anything worthy of mention, beyond this sickened wood. Although, the magic you sensed probably came from me. Now, could you tell me who you are, or can I start coming up with some nicknames to call you by? Like maybe Flamehead, or how about Firefingers?"

That seem to snap the Sorceress back to the world. "What? Where did 'Firefingers?' come from? Shouldn't you introduce yourself first, since you're the one asking?" She sounded a little confused.

Fenrir snorted and started moving towards her and the cover of the trees, slowly. As he made his way over the bodies of the dead demons, he gave one or two of the fallen with more intact heads a precautionary kick, just to make sure they were dead. Could never be too careful with these things.

"Normally that would the case but then again, you did just nearly roast me with that fireball that you used to steal that last kill and without even noticing that I was there! So how about it, Firefingers, you tell me your name and mage clan first, or I can start to get real creative with the nicknames. I've had a few bad days lately, so I'm not in the best of moods and I've got more than a few choice words right now." He retorted, nearly snarling while giving a massively irritated feral glare at the Sorceress. He fixed his club to a loop on his belt, just so if he lost his temper, he wouldn't get too rough with her, at least not too much.

Her voice came out extremely embarrassed and quick, stumbling over her words. "O-h-h, sorry about that. Um, yes, my name is ah, Erica Lam, of the Zann Esu mage clan. I'm really sorry, I was carried away trying to figure out what was happening to the woods around here." she started to regain her composure. "I was so focused that when I felt that last fallen's presence, I just reacted without thinking."

If she was going to say any more, a loud scream of fear and loss broke through the fading storm, drawing there attention.

"Right, Firefingers it is then. Bye." said Fenrir and he dashed west in the direction of the scream with Erica following him, keeping pace much to the druid's surprise. As they made their way through the withered trees the Erica asked Fenrir his name.

"Fenrir. Blackclaw. Druid." He replied as he ran. He figured since he knew her name and mage clan, he'd at least tell her his. It couldn't hurt.

The smell of smoke reemerged as they moved and a light appeared as the darkness grew, growing larger and larger. Until they came to a burning farmstead at a large clearing in the forest.

Erica leaned against one the trees, catching her breath. She had kept up with Fenrir going through the underbrush better than he thought any human possibly could, so he didn't judge her. He shook himself like a dog to dry off a bit and sniffed the air from the shadows, picking up the other scents. The smoke and fire was over whelming obviously, however the fowl stench of demons was present, and fresh.

Erica had regained her breath and was looking at him curiously.

"What are you doing?"

He held a his index finger up to her while still focused on the burning cottage, "Shhh."

The Sorceress sighed irritably, and began to use her own powers to check.

The wind picked up, and with it came more demon stench and something new, but it was something that Fenrir recognized. It was blood, freshly spilled, and human.

A cry of pain, made them move towards the small barn, quietly. They were greeted by a corpse of a middle aged man, bloodied short sword by his side. He was clothed in normal clothes, soaked red by the blood coming from a gaping wound in chest and an ax in his skull. Another painful scream sounded from inside the barn, along with a crunch of wood and a bunch of excited high pitched inhuman chatter.

Fenrir, his impatience overwhelming his common sense, quickly picked up the short sword, it's previous owner no longer needing it and charged into the barn.

It was hard to tell who was more surprised; Erica, the fallen imps, or the mortally injured Rogue being tortured, when he burst in howling. But Fenrir didn't care, after all, he finally had things to fight!

The first two fallen were missing body parts within seconds of his entry despite the extra tugging feeling caused by the dull edges of the blade, while the rest ran screaming. Except the main one that was tearing off bloody pieces of the downed Rogue. Fenrir swung his sword down on it, thinking it an easy kill. With surprising speed, the fallen dodged the attack by a hair's breadth. The Druid's swing found only dirt, while his eyes quickly locked with his foe's. This was no ordinary fallen. This was an alpha the pack, not one to be taken lightly.

Fenrir growled in challenge, taking a more defensive low crouched position that he knew of. While he was more skilled at fighting with a scythe, he had learned a trick or two from the fighting arena down in Kingsport.

The fallen alpha rose to it's full height. It was tall. Kind of, at least compared to the average imp, in other words it was as tall as the middle of Fenrir's chest. It let out a an actual slightly throaty higher pitched roar, fresh human blood, flesh and and demon spit flying from it's mouth.

"Fenrir!" cried Erica from the outside the barn, her voice slightly tinged with worry "We may have a problem."

Fenrir could see that, the rest of the fallen were moving towards him, the shock of the northerner's charge now completely faded. He breathed, clearing his head for less than a split second, then went right back to needing unleash his temper. "You don't say, Firefingers. Tell you what, you can handle those two on the right, I'll take the 'big' one and I'll tear apart the rest, think you can handle that?" he shouted back.

There was the familiar sound of a flaming WOOSH!, a few demonoid screams along with the sound of a staff thwacking a fallen's skull.

"My name is Erica!" WACK! "I have my own problems out here! Be careful-" BOOM! "-I can sense some magic coming from inside!" FWOOSH! More demonoid cries came from outside.

"Yea, mine-" Fenrir started to say before the Alpha and his pack attacked at a speed that would of defied the eyes of a lesser man. The Druid might of died at least five times in the opening moments of that attack, might of. Only his heightened senses, training and instincts saved him from getting clobbered or skewered. He still received a few nasty lumps from from some of the fallen with clubs and one or two shallow cuts from the ones using ugly sharp mini cutlass like blades.

Fenrir fell back against a wall of the barn and growled. The fallen attacked en mass again, this time though, Fenrir was ready for their unnatural speed. The first imp to enter his range found it's head split in half, pieces of it brain and blood spilling onto the ground. The sword almost got stuck in the demonoid's head, the minor delay nearly left Fenrir open to the next Fallen attacking with an over head swing. The Druid blocked the strike with his buckler, the impact denting the already deteriorating piece of metal, and sending small tremors up his arm. Fenrir swung his blade low and cut open the small devil's stomach. With its insides trying to get outside, the fallen screamed in pain and fear, dropped it's weapon, desperately trying to keep them in. Then was sent flying into a following fallen as Fenrir kicked the imp in its wound, killing it and pinning down/stunning the fallen it collided with. That was enough to make the alpha and three of the remaining fallen run to the other side of the barn as Fenrir cleaved the one mobile fallen stupid enough to continue the attack down the chest then dispatched the trapped one by stabbing it through its chest.

The sounds of the fighting outside were dying down, but Fenrir didn't care. The stench of blood, the feeling of it's warm spray and his own heart thundering in his chest had ignited the feral fury that his Shan'do had tried to teach Fenrir control. It filled him with strength and numbed the bites and throbs of his minor wounds. There were four more sickened mongrel intruders in what was now his territory, they would not be intruding much longer. Fenrir let another growl, this one filled with blood-lust and went one the attack, determined to end the suffering of the creatures facing him.

The Fallen fought back desperately, one fell from a slash to the throat, but without avail, the other two lesser Fallen fell with their backs split wide as they tried to flee. The blood spreading and making the ground a little uncertain, the large Fallen went in for a final attack, it's blow met the buckler. The buckler split under the force as the alpha's blade dug into Fenrir's arm, slicing flesh and just grazing the bone. The Druid merely jerked his arm away and replied with a slash of his own, taking the fallen's head from it's body.

With that it was over. Fenrir almost howled to his victory, but the medallion on his chest burned hot suddenly, taking his fury and strength, forcing him to stagger to a wall to remain standing as exhaustion introduced itself. His arm shield arm hung useless in pain as he panted, trying to catch his breath.

"Fenrir, are you still alive?" Erica rushed in, looking tired and breathing heavily, but ready for an attack.

"Still here Firefingers, what did you expect?" Gasped Fenrir between heavy breaths. "Though I can't say the same... for the other guys."

She looked over at him in the shadows, irritated yet concerned. "You're hurt! Do you need a healing potion?"

Fenrir regained his breath, stabbed the sword into the wall and reached into his sash, grabbing a small red vial. "I have my own, but if you think I'm hurt, take a look around at the other guys. Though you may wanna ask that woman that." he said, gesturing around with the health potion and smirking before downing it quickly as Erica moved to aid the dying Rogue.

He'd had enough health potions by now to be used to muscling his way past the gag reflex that came from the taste, barely. It tasted like how burning hair smelled, horrid. Funny thing was that health potions were supposed to taste like something the individual who drank it found delicious. Not him. He took some comfort that 'Firefingers', as Fenrir had resolved to call her, was busy trying to save the Rogue so that she could not see the face he made as he drank the potion. Then it went to work, speeding his body's natural healing well over five times the normal mending time. The itches from the sped healing kicked in as a gentle warmth unlike the heat of the his blood fury spread through his body, reaching for Fenrir's wounds. His cuts closed up, bones mended and bruises faded.

With his arm healed, Fenrir quickly discarded the worthless, split scrap that had once been a buckler as well as the club, he didn't need them. Then yanked the short sword from the wall, putting it in the loop he'd used for the club.

Then he turned to where 'Firefingers' was doing her best to ease the Rogue's pain using health potions with little success. The only reason the Rogue was still alive was because the Fallen had shoved a sword into her guts, plugging a ragged gaping red hole poorly. Fenrir snarled in disgust, the rabid little imps had wanted her to suffer before she died, and that she had.

Her legs were twisted at odd angles with gashes where puncturing, glistening bits of reddened white bone had broken through her skin. One of her arms was missing, no doubt distributed around the various Fallen's stomachs, her other was still attached, with bite sized chunks missing. Her face retained some of the beauty the Rogue sisterhood was known for, but was obscured for the most part by dried blood that covered most of the right side of her face, mixing with her long brown hair, her right eye sealed shut by the flood. Her open unhurt blue eye looked at her late saviors with a dying light, her eyelids barely staying open. Fenrir was wrong, he'd insulted rabid animals for comparing them to this brutality. His fury almost flared again, only stopped by the wooden medallion carved in the likeness of a wolf's head on his chest heating up and absorbing it, before cooling. The amulet was his last connection to Scosglen, given to him by the elders to aid in his training to master his feral nature. Fenrir pushed away the memories, not wanting to go over them now, preferably never in fact.

"Please..." was all the Rogue said with a weak, weary voice. She feebly pushed away the minor health potion Erica was holding to her mouth with her trembling hand and grabbed something hidden in the hay. A sealed scroll. She pushed it into Erica's hands, leaving a drying red incomplete hand print on the parchment.

"Take it to Akara..." She coughed up blood. "...at the Rogue camp near-" More coughing with more blood.

"Very well. We'll get it done." Said Fenrir as he knelt beside Erica.

The Rogue pulled off her necklace, and tried give it to Erica but dropped it. Fenrir quickly picked it up. It was a stone engraved with an eye, overlooking two women holding bows who appeared to be guarding a gate of sorts.

"I understand." was all that Fenrir said. The Rogue shot them a thankful look, which turned into a blank dead stare as the last light in her eye darkened. It had felt like an eternity, even though it'd been only a minute. Fenrir closed her eye and gave a respectful nod, before standing.

The blood that had sprayed him was now dry and crusty, some of it was starting to flake off. Fenrir grimaced, he must look a bit like a nightmare. He looked down at Erica, who was looking a little pale. He noticed that from the looks of her, she was around the same age he was, about nineteen summers, but then again, you could never be sure about most mages, even the Zann Esu. But this was neither the time or place.

"You alright Firefingers?" he asked her. That seemed to get some life back into her.

'I told you it's Erica, but yes, I'm fine. Just... She just stopped, right there, just like that..."

"Okay then, whenever you're ready, get yourself and your stuff together and we'll go try to find this Rogue Encampment. I'll be by the well, washing some of this off." Fenrir said, brushing some of the dried blood off his left arm, shield arm, and walking out of the barn to the well near the now smoldering ruin of a house leaving Erica to recover.

He felt the medallion the Rogue had given him, it was still in his hand. Fenrir looked at it again, this time feeling some groves in the back of the stone. He turned it over, looking at the carved runes on the back of it. They formed a pattern that looked similar to signs the Druid had seen, on this item, it was possibly the archer's name but he had no way of knowing. "Hunt well with the the wind, Rogue." Thought Fenrir in a rare moment of respect, as the wind seemly stirred in response. The storm had passed now. Fenrir, quickly put the pendant into his coin pouch, regretfully empty, save for about ten gold pieces

Fenrir pulled a bucket of water from the well and was about to poor it on himself, when he heard someone walking up to him.

"One second Fire-"

"Braaaaaaaaaains..." came a foul breath and he turned to see the farmer, ax still lodged in his head, throw himself on Fenrir.

The ground met them with the farmer trying to take a bite of the druid. Fenrir looked into the man's eyes and saw only a pale rotted white glaring back at him. Only his left hand, placed on the farmer's, no, the thing's throat prevented it's teeth from making contact with Fenrir's face, which it pushed a with strength that defied its current state.

"What the f-" Fenrir started when the thing breathed. Despite being most certainly dead, Fenrir couldn't feel any blood pounding through the thing's throat, it breathed and Fenrir got the full whiff of the stench to his face. It smelled worse then the health potions tasted, like a rotted bloated corpse, even though this one had only been dead for a few hours. That was how it might of smelled for a normal man, for Fenrir with his sensitive nose, it was somewhat magnified, to the point he could taste the foul smell in his mouth. Fenrir gagged, nearly vomiting, allow the living corpse's mouth to inch closer, foul warm saliva dripping. Fenrir's right hand felt around for something that could be used to crush the zombie's head as quick as it could, his lone wolf pride not permitting him to shout to alert Erica. Finding nothing, Fenrir grabbed the fallen ax embedded in the zombie's head and ripped it out, pulling bits of red and gray with it and slammed it back in the side of the thing's head. It was an awkward grip, holding it upside down, so it didn't knock the undead corpse off, but it stunned it enough that Fenrir could push it back a bit, change his grip on the ax and yanked it back out, taking some more pieces of the zombie's head. Then he reached back and nailed the undead corpse with a full swing this time. That knocked it off, but didn't quite kill it, it was trying to get to it's feet as Fenrir got to his own.

"Fenrir, move!"

"You've got to jesting me." he growled, ignoring Erica, before ripping the ax out a final time and burying it deep into the zombie's brain. It moved no more, although to be safe, Erica Fire Bolted the corpse.

Fenrir quickly poured a couple of buckets of well water on himself, repeatedly. He was still gagging and spitting to try to clear the taste out of his mouth.

"Great, now I'm going to be tasting rotted corpse for weeks." he complained as he shook himself like a dog to dry off.

"Well, it's good to see you're okay." Commented Erica. "Why didn't you call for help?"

"I had it under control Firefingers." He retorted as he rung his tail dry.

She let out an annoyed breath, "Of course you did. Are you ready to go?"

"Just one more thing." said Fenrir as he ran off to the ruined house, grabbing a smoldering piece of wood, then disappearing into the barn. The Druid exited the barn as flames came to life in the building behind him, a farming scythe resting on his right shoulder his right hand holding the middle of the shaft steadying it. The short sword gone from it's short lived place on his waist, and wearing a look of careful contentment.

"I prefer to use scythes and I felt that the forest would be better off without the remains of those demons fouling everything up." Fenrir explained when he saw the question forming on her lips. "Now let's go."

"Lets?" asked Erica, a slightly confused look on her face. "Forgive me, but I got the impression you wanted to head off on your own."

"Who said that I don't? Someone has to make sure you don't accidentally burn that scroll. Besides this Rogue encampment sounds like a good place to find some of the paid kind of work my skills are suited for.'"

"Paid? Aren't druids-" Erica started before Fenrir intercepted her

"Also when that Rogue gave me that pendant, I think she wanted me to give it to the lady she mentioned to you. So, let's go find this place already Firefingers" He explained as he started moving north. It was as good an excuse as any.

Erica followed in pursuit. "I told you, it's Erica!" as the flames consumed the barn and it's contents.

Author's bit: Hi there, thank you for reading so far. As you can guess I am still a massive noob at publishing stuff here. Like I said in the description, any and all reviews, pointers and tips, would be great. I'm aiming to at least try to make this go the entire Diablo 2 game, with some extras. I'll make it a point to update at least once a week, but crap may happen (or I'll get lazy).

Also I'll answer any questions about the story I get or can, in these little bits or give heads up if I'm expecting delays. Any way, enjoy and good night, or day, or evening or morning and see ya later.

Edit: Fixed a bunch of spelling errors and grammar, along with some minor adjustments to the story, nothing really major.