#donan

Donan was born and raised in Gea Kul. Also he's a huge nerd (affectionately) and is so very clever.

Donan paid 100 gold for a book in a language no one can read (I love him)

Lorath has anger issues and is very reckless in combat.

This incredibly fascinating conversation between Tyrael and Lorath:

- Lorath is getting it on with Adreona

- Tyrael has parked his ass in a library where he will remain for the next 10 chapters

With the main group of characters and Mephisto (in wolf form) drawn earlier, it feels like this would be the worst edition of Horadrim except for the player characters. It's not easy for everyone, a lot of bad things have happened to them.😢

omgee, I finished my first run on Diablo iv today on my necromancer and I’m just JHJSHBNg

How many times will he come back to stare at the Black Lake? Rathma isn't here any more. His body lay where it has for however long it's been since Inarius came back and spread the prophecy as gospel.

No amount of speed or lack of distraction would have let him meet Rathma personally.

The wanderer huffed under his breath and leaned on his hand. He's perched above, just inside Kasama, looking down at the barely-submerged platform where Vhenard died twice over.

"The first necromancer... Wow, I bet this is a big deal for you, huh?"

"Hm? ...I suppose so."

Neyrelle's question to him, when they'd first come across evidence of where they were.

"Well, isn't it? Aren't necromancers priests of Rathma?"

He remembers his thoughts from back then. Should he pretend to be in awe? Excited? Something other than skin-crawling anxiety about meeting the nephalem his people worshipped?

"I guess I'm just... Nervous."

The wanderer considers going back down there. Hell, he even walks through the City of the Ancients to the entrance of the Cradle... Only to stop and stare at the mural on the floor in front of it.

He must've not seen it before. Rathma's face, scrolls falling from his hands, a skeletal mage at his side.

Nope.

The wanderer turns back around and goes back to his spot overlooking the lake. Back to the little food he'd packed himself. Even if he went, he couldn't cross the lake. And even if he could, Rathma would still be dead and his spirit gone from this place.

And even if he wasn't...

Best not think about that. He stuck a piece of bread in his mouth.

"Well, Neyrelle told me I'd probably find you here."

Only to nearly choke on it in shock.

"Donan...!"

The wanderer, coughing, turned to look at the man.

The man is grinning at him, "Hey, now, don't die on me, you're the only necromancer we've got!" The man walks over as the wanderer manages to get a drink and clear his throat, "Mind if I join you?"

"No, of course not. Why were you looking for me?"

With a heave, Donan sits beside him, "You'd been gone for a while got concerned. I guess you couldn't resist coming back here while we're in the area, hm? Neyrelle told me all about how you two met."

A soft grunt of acknowledgement.

"...I can't imagine it." Donan sighs, his voice becoming soft, "I guess, in a way, it's like if Inarius had just. Suddenly died one day. No glory, no songs... I can't imagine how the church would react."

"Hah, yeah, except it's as if that arse died locked away in the Alabaster Monastery and the world forgot about him. Hidden away with a key you can never get again. And why would you even want it?" A dry laugh, "Just to see a dead body?" The wanderer stares down at his food. He can feel the heat of anger beginning to boil in his stomach.

Donan goes quiet, "I'm sorry... For what it's worth, he isn't forgotten--"

"His prophecy isn't forgotten, you mean." He spits, "There are no crusaders for him. No knights to guard his tomb. His temple is sunken beneath the rancid sea and his tomb is rotting. I've heard so many people talk about him ...But no one but me and Lilith seem to grieve."

"...I thought you said you weren't religious. Yet you sound as devout as Prava. Don't go falling into Lilith's arms just because she--"

"It's nothing like Prava. And I'm not falling into that bitch's arms." He snarls suddenly. Wolven teeth snap behind his own. He can feel Hatred in his words, and Donan does, too. "She grieves him... But what she does... It's too much like... Like where I came from. Except Rathma never actually demanded the things my people did to me." His hair bristles on the back of his neck. Donan clenches his hands into fists in his lap.

"...Wanderer... What happened to you?" Donan reaches and gently places his hand on the necromancer's shoulder. He flinches, but doesn't pull away. He glares at Donan, but the man meets his eyes evenly back.

Donan seems to be considering his next move. Almost like a young boy eagerly expecting to find a small hind on his hunt and running into a great hart who has no intention of being shot.

But this hart trusts that will not be shot, and he will not run, either. The wanderer rolled his shoulder, shrugging off the hand.

"We were terrible people. Isolated from the world on an island south of Hawezar. I thought I loved what We were. We took trips to the mainland to get corpses for Our craft. They weren't dead when We got there." His hands ball into fists in his lap.

"...you were an instrument in the Death Song..." Donan's voice is barely a whisper.

The wanderer tilted his head, "Is that what your name is for who We were?"

Donan scowls softly, "Well, it's what we heard from travellers who came from the south. What do you mean, were?"

"How long ago was the last time you heard a story about Us? I imagine We'll become nothing but a fairy tale to children before too long."

Donan frowns, "So... They're gone?"

"Yes. We're gone. For the most part."

Silence. The wanderer just stares at Donan, waiting for the next word.

"...What did you do?" A look of concern and caution crosses the man's face.

"I think you've already guessed the answer. Why do you think I travelled so far north? Why do you think Mephisto haunts me?"

"Answer the question, wanderer."

"I killed them." Tension hangs like a heavy stone in the air, "Say what you want about it. Yell, storm out, threaten me." The wanderer looks back at the lake.

A slow sigh, "No, I don't think I will." Donan's hand reaches to take one of his hands, and the necromancer realizes he's bleeding from his own nails, "I know you, wanderer. Whatever they did to you to push you to such a point. You still consider yourself one of them, even after killing them."

His shoulders fall. He pulls his eyes away from Donan carefully wiping the wound off with a cloth. And he decides to speak again, "I'd been a bad omen since birth. White hair. Pale eyes. And they treated me like it, only barely a part of the Whole, no matter how hard I worked, how many I killed. They only gave me a name when I was bathed in the blood of someone I loved." There is more to it. But he can barely conjure the words to speak it, "My mentor cursed me and stripped me of my name with her dying breaths. Probably the best thing she ever did for me."

Quiet, again. He glances to Donan and sees the man deep in thought as he wraps his palm. It stretches out for a while. The wanderer simmering slowly in his own head as the water below gently splashes onto the shore and stones.

"So why do you feel so strongly about Rathma? Why are you still a necromancer?"

"My craft is Mine, not Ours." He snaps, yanking his hand back and his lips peeling back from a snarl, "Made for One, not the Whole. I am a necromancer because that is who I am. My people may have shown me the path, but that's the only part they play."

A hum. He suspects Donan is confused, by what he doesn't know. It's clear to him, but Donan doesn't press on whatever it is.

"And what about Rathma?" He motions to the lake. The Necropolis beyond, "Your people told you everything was his command, didn't they?"

"Yes. And for a while, I hated him as much as I hated the Whole." The wanderer leaned against rubble nearby, looking down at his hand and finishing the wrapping himself. "And then I sought to learn more of my craft, beginning to struggle on my own. I read his teachings in the wider world, and I began to question what I had been taught."

The binding tight, he let his hands fall back down.

"First to learn he was a flesh and blood being? And not a serpent at all, but that he looks as human as you or I. And then to read his teachings and find that the Balance I had been taught was twisted." He shakes his head. He reaches into his pouch and pulls out a beaten up book; his journal. It's scarred and stained with who knows what all.

"I don't see him as a god, I don't worship him. He was a person. A teacher."

His fingers flip open the pages and his eyes flick between each one. And then he stops. The page he'd written after returning from the city of dead. There, delicately sketched, is Rathma's face.

"Almost every word I was told about him as a child was wrong. Coming here, suddenly being thrust with the realization that I could possibly even meet him. Only to find him dead. Killed by Inarius with his own weapon." A shaky breath.

"In a way, I guess I am devoted to him. But as one is devoted to a loved one, not an angel nor a demon."

Donan has been quiet for a while now. The wanderer snaps his journal shut.

"I hope you're satisfied now."

Donan still doesn't answer. After a second, the wanderer looks over his shoulder, almost wondering if the man had snuck out at some point. But no, he's still there.

"You've been through a lot, haven't you, wanderer?" Donan hums softly, "I can see why you aren't eager to let Neyrelle try and think of a new name for you."

"I am happy being a simple wanderer."

"Perhaps I'll have a word with her in private, ask her to stop."

"You don't have to--"

"No, I think it's only right." He stands up, then pauses. He wants to say something... But it escapes him, "We have to make for Hawezar soon, though. I don't want to rush your meal, but we're ready to leave when you are."

A son for a son..

Yorin Vs Rathma..

DIABLO is a real pro when it comes to tragedies and dark fates..

Lilith..

I would LOVE to believe that she got blinded by hatred and revenge for choosing Donan's son Yorin.

Why this boy in particular?

She could've chosen any one (and correct me if I'm wrong)

Nothing special about Yorin except he is a son..

She wanted to tear some parent's heart apart just to transfer her pain for Rathma.

"All you might have been, has been stolen from me.."