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Raised in a world without a soul, Sheam knew what the destruction of the soul stone meant. Even before enjoying life's finer riches in foods, women, and wine, Sheam knew life as he knew it would pale in comparison to the old world. Inspired by the stories of Cain and the Patriarch, Sheam sought out a similar glory to fill the void left behind in the world's long-standing wake.<br /><br />It wasn't long until he found himself face-to-face with the shattered remains of Mephisto. The air was heavy and made it hard for him to breathe the foul stench of the nearby blood bath. Since his first step, he felt anger and resentment. It was in this place that the Patriarch ripped the soul stone from the bone of Mephisto. Hate inspired him to do this, the Patriarch was trying to clense the world. Sheam hated Mephisto almost as much as he hated the Patriarch for ruining his life.<br /><br />Approaching the gateway to hell, Sheam's stomach sank and he felt compelled to toss a rock though the gate and into the pool. Rummaging through the black moss covered debris for a small projectile of some sort, he came upon a skull forcibly removed from the hosts body. Perhaps not, nearby a body with its ribcage collapsed and spine strewn about lay in disarray. Perhaps the patriarch had crushed his foe's chest so hard that he head flew off? Sheam ripped the jawbone from the fortunately departed and stared down the skull crested gateway.<br /><br />Tossing the jawbone through the gate, he watched as a hand flew from the pool and gripped the jawbone as blood dripped from a small fragile hand. The hand belonged to a woman, its fingernails still masked by a royal purple. Sheam prepared himself for battle, anger and rage flooded his veins, but the hand only slowly retracted into the blood.<br /><br />It was a long five minutes before Sheam let down his guard and made his way towards the gate again. He thought to himself, there must be a way to reach Tyrial. He was still angry from the startlingly gruesome grace of the woman's hand, it reminded him of his wife. Looking for another fight, he tossed a bit of scrap into the damn pool again. The arm did not reappear this time. Tossing more bone did not yield anything either. The arm would not come back for a fight and Sheam grew impatient.<br /><br />Sheam turned to leave the gate along with his hopes of glory, he suddenly could feel the hate of the old world. He left home for nothing. Not a damn champion, not a warrior, not even a scar to show his friends. That was something else, his friends were still alive, but no more exciting than the zombies he disemboweled. It wasn't the air that was heavy, it was his own forsaken lungs that were making it hard to breath. Was this the doing of the Lord of Hate? He knew staying in this place would only raise his anger and hate.<br /><br />On the other side of the dimension, Tyrial was preparing the gate to reminisces on the Patriarch's strength. Sheam, not knowing of the gate's soon activation, slowly made his way back around the room to leave his dreams behind with the hate now brooding inside of him.<br /><br />Pt. 1
Edited by ZombieNova on 11/25/2011 10:09 AM PST
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