From journal scraps, recovered from the personal effects of StormChaser, archdruid of Storms. His current whereabouts and status are unknown.

- Druidic archives, Tur Dulra

"... my meditations bade no interruption. Still, nature spoke not to me. My harmony was disturbed by the great force of the walking of the three. My wont was to leave the angels and daemons to combat as they saw fit; nature remained the harmonious middle, wherein power was in perfect balance. The three troubled me yet. Waves of reflected anger moved through me, and I was unable to concentrate. My students were forced from their communion with the oaks by disturbing forces. Two have gone mad, driven to suicde by the infernal powers. One has left our plane for the heavens, breaking the taboo on heavenly forces in the druidic orders. This perhaps troubles me most of all; the three walk the surface of sanctuary, true. But they are not alone. Tyræl, the warrior angel, has intervened in mortal affairs, causing ripples in the natural fabric that even the evils could not equal. For it is in the nature of the three to destroy, and their role in the harmony is thus only vaguely distorted by their meddling. The heavens must remain silent, as is their role, yet Tyræl's interference has gone unaccosted by even the order of Grand Druids. This is most troubling. Still, I feel I must venture forth; It has been perhaps two hundred years since I have left my grove. The forces that compel me are great, and my runes are accurate, if poorly practiced. If any should find this at a later date, may they have some sympathy for my cause, and..."

This is the tale of StormChaser's final adventure, an archdruid determined to stop the interference of the outer realms in the affairs of nature.

"... I returned to the grove of my youth, long abandoned to the weeds, yet still bearing the mark of the druid, a mark I left perhaps nine score years ago. My tree called out to me, searching for the druid who planted it. My pace quickened as I moved to it, gaining strength from its age, and passive wisdom. One must never underestimate the accumulations of a tree, for they span the lives not only of men, but of angels. The nearer I became, the stronger the spirit voice. Its call moved me, for it was filled with a terrible anguish and pain, a suffering unique to a tree, born of a slow wasting at the roots. I sat with the tree for days, gaining communion with it, hearing its tales. It spoke tales of demons and magics, of druidic powers manipulated as never before, both by Druids themselves, and by demons seeking their might. The great Oak then offered me protection, that it would lend its spirit, the Oak Sage, to serve me as guardian. With such fortitude, my quest would be a long one, despite my age..."

"... tower was empty, having not been claimed by any further druids since my departure from it. My chamber of meditations was as silent as ever, so I gave myself to the depths of thought one final time before my quest. What I found there, however, was a destructive power beyond my previous imaginings. The balance of the world was fundamentally altered; impossibly powerful magics whorled and stabbed across the scope of the inner planes. The sorrow that filled me was terrible. I could not bring myself to further effect this destruction. Forsaking the violent magics of the archdruidic canon, I settled upon a humble spell, so as not to disrupt further what little balance remained. Arctic Blast was a mere apprentice's spell; not a mighty sword, but often the subtlest blow is the fatal one. Never before had I quested without the aid of Hurricane, the battering force of wind, or Armageddon, which would summon the fires of the inner earth to the annhilation of my foes. This quest must, by its very nature, be different..."

So, his skill tree is set out. Through normal, (the "quest" of which he can now conceive, as opposed to the mind blowing "repetitions" he will make later) his skill tree will consist only of Arctic Blast and Oak Sage. Points will be saved until level six. After that, they will go into Arctic Blast until it is at 20, with any remaining points going into Oak Sage. Since I cannot conceive of getting any higher than lv. 37 in normal, this build will suffice.

Stat points will be distributed over strength, vitality and energy. Dexterity will not be a factor for this character. Strength will get points as needed; I'd like to see it up to 75 or so by the end of normal. Energy will be my necessary combat statistic, so I'll pump it regularly. Vitality will be increased occasionally, to keep me alive. Oak Sage should increase the value of Vitality points, freeing up more stats for energy.

Items are unrestricted.

"... it gave me pause. The world I now surveyed was not the world I left one hundred and two years ago. This was a scarred battlefield, a candle burnt to wax. Trees were living not from the light of the sun, as noble creatures of the earth, but from the corpses of demons and the righteous alike, becoming scavengers of blood. The demonic influence here was widespread, but weak. Even with my limited abilities, I was confident in my power over these feeble hordes; my stout club alone provided ample protection against the weakest of these, the ever present Fallen. I forsook magic for the first days of my quest, for it was unnecessary, and further disruption of the balances was loathsome, even from a mere apprentice's spell. Caves dotted the landscape. What once was a home for animalkind now became a fortress of the infernal powers. Several times did I venture down to the bottoms of these pits and purge them of demonic presence. Each time, I felt the strength of my former days come back to me. A druid becomes stagnant after teaching for so long as I, many lifetimes for all but the magically skilled. Having restored some semblance of balance to these places, I was asked by the rogues to rescue one Deckard Cain, a sage who was held captive in a town of Tristram. The city of sadness; perhaps the name would be apt, given over to destruction as the rest of the world..."

"... but never so corrupted as the tree which screamed before me. The Tree of Inifus was perhaps the most tortured of all, a noble tree not merely warped by the demonic forces, but actually given a demonic power of its own, a fusion of nature and underworld, and an abomination. I had no time to incant the proper rituals to destroy the tree; I could only commune with it for a moment, giving it perhaps the slightest rest from its agony. Should the druidic college ever come across this testament, they will free this soul from hell's claws..."

"... the earth screamed at the abomination of this place. It was no longer of this world, but rather a gateway to hell, forever burning with an inferno not of this world. Tristram was indeed the city of sorrows. I met a pathetic creature by the name of Griswold. Something of his eyes suggested that this once was a noble spirit of nature, but his soul had been broken by one far more powerful than he. His attempts to fight me were slow and pained, though, perhaps as an effect of his internal torment. Dispatching his soul, I set about to clearing this area as best I could. A wooden cage hung in the center of town, and inside was contained an aura I had not felt since my youth. Deckard Cain, the sage I sought, was indeed one of the Horadrim, the last of that great order of Magi, more powerful even than the druidic circles. His power had been sheathed, however, and the ages had taken their inexorable tax from his spirit. He lived yet, however, and whatever power had destroyed Griswold had been unable to bend so mighty a mage to its will. Cain's body could be easily restrained, and thus this meager gibbet was more effective than any great planar prison at containing this mighty occupant..."

"... there stood a great Monastery, a beacon of the conflict between the powers of the Firmament and of the Hells. Such symbols as would ward off the most powerful of demons were cracked, destroyed by the power of some far mightier force than they. Surely only a lord itself could inflict such damage, for this holy place was hell, surely as the pits of fire ever were. Opening the great oaken door, I made great haste through the monastery. Whatever force governed this place, I could tolerate its presence for only so long. My magics were returning to me in force, and the demons posed little challenge. Few apprentices take the time to master this spell as they evolve into their higher druidic forms, preferring the might of tornadoes, hurricanes, or the mighty armageddon itself. Its power is great, though, if sufficient study is invested into it. Such study time was my existence now, destroying the demonic forces with a spray of the north storms..."

"... across a monster surely related to the mighty Hephæsto the Armourer. It called itself the Smith, and its terrible strength would have rent my bones, were it not for Roman, the spirit of my great Oak, who fought at my side through endless manifestations of his physical body. A hammer of great power was among his possessions, and Charsi, a young blacksmith, offered to enchant an item upon its return. How little the young know of the druidic powers. Should I desire them, weapons of impossible power could be summoned to my aid to shatter the demonic forces. The great Balance, however, fundamentally forbids such intervention in the mortal realms..."

"... the hells of her birth! A demon queen! Never before have I taken such a task to hand, even with my fullest powers. The Great Druids themselves have scarce fought demon lords, even during the first days of the dark exile. It would have felled me, surely, had it not been weakened by the fighting of hundreds of rogues, each experienced from the campaigns against diablo's forces at the city of sorrows. Having attained sufficient mastery over my adopted spell, I fought her to a standstill. Her infernal flesh froze as a glacier, her terrible poison falling to the stone floor in tears of pain. When it finally ended, a tremendous peace washed over the area, as my druidic magics began the centenarry process of cleansing the monastery of evil. Nothing shall tread here again under the banners of hell unless it is able to shatter my power, which shall not happen as I live..."

"... I had no desire to travel to a barren land, filled with the riches of fools and the adventures of the young. My quest was sacred, however. Terror and Destruction must remain apart, lest their combined force swallow even the powers of Tyræl, and end the last semblance of balance in this land of sanctuary..."

Thus ends act one. It wasn't very hard. It never is. I've done act one with nearly every hogtied variant imaginable, including a naked punching barbarian. It's just not very difficult. Act two is much more interesting. At this point, my Oak Sage is around six, and my Arctic Blast around ten. I'm well ahead of the power curve, and my only problem is with mana consumption.

"... Lut Gholein, and I was loath to return. The searing heat caused grief with Roman. I vowed to leave this wasteland as soon as my quest would permit..."

"... a foul undead construction, Radament. Sensing his presence permeating the city was reason enough to purge the area of his presence. The undead are an abberation of nature, a bane to all druidic forces. The heavens and the hells are in balance, despite their powers. The undead are balanced to nothing; they are a stain on the existence of Sanctuary. Radament proved to be no more terrible than the sum of his hordes, easily felled by the powers of my spell. His mind, so corrupted by evil magics, was unable to overcome superior tactics. His minions, at his direction, attacked me directly when I was vulnerable to flanking. His loss was absolute, and my victory cleansed Lut Gholein proper, although something still felt improper, a void where none should exist..."

"... a horadric staff. No easy task, this ancient artifact was unknown even to the Druidic orders. That one exists at all, in pieces regardless, is perhaps the testament to the Horadrim and their wisdom; I have often admired their powers of action, even as I live in the wisdom of the Druids, intervening seldom, and in balance. Deckard Cain, however, is a sharp contrast to their history. Never have I met a more reserved scholar, nor seen more energy focused without release..."

"... more undead. That any being, even an evil of the hells, would see fit to release so many of the walking dead is an insult to nature, a blight and a curse. They met their second end swiftly, crumbling before the buffeting forces of the arctic winds. Never have I been more satisfied with intervening in worldly affairs than here, using a humble means to grand ends..."

"... a microcosm, and one that deserves further study. Sheer scale has prevented our orders from truly understanding the insect world. Perhaps this demonic lair is more than a mere perversion of nature; I feel the forces of balance stronger here than the rest of the desert. I was forced to destroy the spawning creature, however, which may impede further meditations on this subject. How it accumulated a horadric staff, I am unaware. Infernal influence must be a twisting force indeed, to have bent minds so small to so specific a purpose..."

"... only by foul magic. The sun is still in the sky, in balance with earth and moon, the living cosmos. An illusion this is, and nothing more. Still, it troubled me greatly to see the very essense of the desert mauled by the sun's illusory absence. That I destroyed the altar quickly was a great boon, for the desert's creatures only live with the orb shining. Without it, only demons thrive..."

"... nature's absence. A complete void, filled with shadows, nightmares, and sorcerous magics. Nature's creatures were not the only things absent from this void; nature's laws were sacrificed to the foul gods just as surely. Of all the creations of the horadrim, I enjoyed this least. Most were great tributes to man's harmony with the magical forces. This, more than any other feat, showed the degeneration of that concept, man's dominance over the forces on which he thrives..."

"... a pathetic creature, twisted in intangible knots by forces of the hells. No horadrim could sink to the level of this base charlatan. Dispatching him was one of the few pleasures available in this nether realm of the Arcane Sanctuary..."

"... monuments to stand the test of the ages, man's vain attempts to secure immortality in death. A more sinister secret than mere vanity was concealed in the tombs, however. Were Baal's body actually concealed in the tomb, my fight perhaps would have ended there; an archdruid is a tremendous mental force, but of no concequence for the Lord of Destruction, his powers magnified by Tal Rasha's broken soul. In the stead of Baal, Duriel met my entrance to the chamber. Arctic Blast was perhaps the least effective spell in the druidic arsenal for defeating his bloated soul, and yet it proved the more effective, as the life was slowly drained from his manifestation..."

There you go. Duriel was a dangerous little sucker; how much more so when he gets cold immune in NM/Hell? Who knows. All I know is that I eventually got him pinned, (by getting MYSELF pinned, this may be the silliest tactical situation in the game) and ABed him to death.

"... and I was grateful to be offered a chance for such wonderful communion with nature. Only in the jungles of Kurast do a myriad creatures live in peace; Mephisto himself could not corrupt such a balance. Still, the mighty civilization was in ruins; the influence of the three is far too strong for the power of mere humans. The docks were guarded by a mysterious warlock, Ormus. His power was mighty, and were he an adventurer, he perhaps could have hastened my quest along a fair bit..."

"... drawing my strength from the teeming jungle around me. A thousand myriad creatures moved with me, as though asking my aid to rid the jungle of the intruding demonic forces. I was a druid in nature, and nature conformed to my will; nothing stood against me. Great caverns of spiders were cleansed by my chilling blast, great dungeons of flayers reduced to melting shards of ice..."

"... Khalim, a hero of days past. As a druid, I found the concept of such a weapon repulsive, and yet my strength was unable to destroy the Compelling Orb, imbued with the might of Mephisto without such an artifact. His eye came to me in a great cavern of spiders, his brain from a pit of flayerkin, his heart caged in a great sewer of the wretched dead..."

"... the true powers of Ormus, protector of Kurast. The Gidbinn was a simple blade, by druidic standards, but a powerful focus for the old mage's energies. His protective barrier increased by magnitudes of power, with the Gidbinn was returned. No doubt I could have protected the city with a barrier of equal strength, but my quest prevented me from exercising my powers in that way. Indeed, it would be difficult to explain to the grand druids my defending an outpost of civilization, even in times such as these..."

"... the powers of this simple spell were nearing their maximums. This is a valuable lesson to the young druid. A spell is a conduit for the powers of nature, and the force of the spell is restricted by the scope of the magic. The arctic winds will bear only so much strain, and, as an archdruid, I have strained them to their final point. Further mastery of this spell would require artifacts of incredible power. That my power is so limited, though, this far from the end of my journey, is troubling, to say the least..."

Here I've maxed Arctic Blast. With items, it's lv. 23, doing 154-161 cold damage, with 12.8 seconds cold duration, and 12.6 yard range. Hopefully I can get this up to 30 with items before hell difficulty. Without them, I'm going to be pretty strapped for damage.

"... the council of kurast, traitors to their own religion. Such is the way of light and dark, ever to turn to one another. Only beyond such folly can true enlightenment be reached, in harmony with self and in balance with nature. The powers of their conversion, however, had given them terrible demonic abilities. Not merely priests, they were wicked fighters, possessed of terrible blows and healing powers beyond the scope of mortals. With mind focused and magic steeled to the task, I set into them with the force of my magics. My life was saved by Roman; without his strength, my mortal self would have fallen to their demonic strengths. Toorc Icefist was especially difficult, being attuned to the element of cold, and thus very difficult to banish with my arctic blast. Perseverance and patience won the day, however, as he and his infernal comrades fell, leaving behind the flail of Khalim, allowing me to complete the final artifact..."

'... as befitted a lord of the underworld. Magic itself twisted in this place, and the durance, a cage for the power of Mephisto, became instead a prism, a focus for his infernal energies. Again I questioned Tyrael's judgement; all three of the greater fiends have not merely escaped their chains, but have twisted them to their own use. The council of druids must take action here, for the angels perhaps cannot be trusted any longer to act in accordance with nature..."

"... enduring cold as irony, I thought of the strength of the oak as I faced Mephisto. His laugh betrayed what he knew, that I was no mere adventurer come to strike him down, that his power was not so great in this place as he imagined it. Waves of cold assailed his body, having no apparent effect on the colossal devil. His retaliations were easily cast aside, for my mastery of the elements was sufficient to repulse any blow he could cast upon me. Such is the arrogance of the prime evils that they do not consider tactics, even when vulnerable, walking the ground of sanctuary. Slowly, his swirling cloud of magic began to freeze to his feet, shattering along with his essense. He redoubled his attempts to stop the chilling that drained his life away. He failed. Mephisto's soulstone fell to the ground, his dark shape banished to the hell of his birth. His essense was now in my hands, and it would not survive to fight me again..."

Mephisto bit the dust without complaint. His cold orb didn't do much more than half my ball of life worth. His minions were worthless. The chill effect of Arctic Blast is worth its weight in gold. Or, in diablo terms, Stones of Jordan. This will be my saving grace in nightmare and hell. The four seconds of chill makes the difference

"... I found myself in a plane of darkness. The forces that protected the Pandemonium Fortress were of the light. This gave me no comfort, for I found the light nearly as uncomfortable as the hell surrounding us. Still, this was my only home in this plane, the only place I could draw upon the energies without interference. Every person, every thing, pulsed with magical power in this place. I learned quickly that my spells could draw their forces from the fireplace, or from the waypoints. Even Halbu and Jamella contributed vast sums of divine power into this place, keeping it safe from the anarchy pressing at the gates, yet also allowing me to manipulate the magics so far away from any living thing..."

"... found Izual, whom Tyrael spoke of. What Tyrael failed to mention was that he was a powerful demon of ice, and well steeled against my assault. It never fails to amaze me, the powers of corruption. If the hells claim something from nature, there is an inevitable loss of power which must be replaced by sheer demonic energy. This leaves weaknesses that can be exploited. Not so with the angels; corrupting a divine force leaves a being warped, yes, but also posessed of a lethal force, somehow greater than the angelic power it left behind. So it was with Izual, withstanding whole minutes of a freezing force that would have felled Mephisto himself. His corrupt soul eventually bent to my will, however, releasing the pathetic creature within..."

"... It was not difficult to intuit what had happened with Izual, and yet Tyrael was surprised. This is the folly of divine wisdom: to percieve reality with great power is a sign of intelligence, but that is all. No, wisdom is a human trait, unattainable to demons and angels alike. Still, Tyrael gave a fraction of his power to Roman, a gift I was grateful for many times..."

"... a reminder that single minded creatures fall easily. The incredible might of Hephæsto the Armourer was scant defence against an opponent who outmaneuvered him at ever turn. Waves within waves of a limitless frozen storm wore his defenses to a pittance, his fierce hammer never touching me, and only once dispelling Roman's incarnation..."

"... guarded by the Angel Hadriel, who seemed an angel of reasonable existence, falling short of the enthralling (and ultimately deceptive) divine aura of Tyrael. He seemed relieved that a guardian of the light had come to relieve his task. Not wanting to quibble semantics, I did not correct him, preferring instead to accept the title of light in this abyss. One dispels darkness with light, after all..."

"... knights of the Oblivion order, traitors and black princes in life, ambassadors of the hells in death. Foul finger mages, the Vijezerei's bane, drained the life from limb and the magic from mind. The ponderous venom lords provided a safe harbour of sorts, for I could fight them on my own terms, with no chance of failure. Indeed, the Infector of Souls, so quick to attack, had little defence with which to shield himself. His army fell quickly, and he only slightly after..."

"... Grand Visier of Chaos, but he was overbred for his purpose. In his single minded devotion to destroying Mages, he made a fatal mistake. Fire mages are common, and his skill at destroying them is surely a terrible thing to behold. His arrogance, however, caused him to protect himself only minimally against the powers of cold. My arctic blast cut through is phantomlike form in seconds, reducing the mage slayer to a pile of ashes..."

"... the vile name of Lord de Seis echoed through the halls, whispered in unison by a thousand damned spirits. His legion of Oblivion Knights would have surely executed me, but that I was wise enough to engage them by luring them out one at a time. Again, the single minded obsessions of the demonic forces doomed them to defeat against a much weaker foe. They cannot adapt, and this is their downfall..."

"... the fifth seal released its power. Nothing stood between me and the Lord of Terror. Were I a younger druid, perhaps I would have boldy strode in and challenged him in the name of Nature and Harmony. Wisdom served me well, however, and I recognized that I faced an unknown quantity..."

I hadn't faced diablo in LoD yet, so I had no idea what to expect. People said that his fire ring was beefed up. I wasn't about to kill him off on what would have been a gimme encounter in CD2. What I found shocked me slightly...

"... his spells were of flame, his claws ice, and his most powerful skill a stream of lightning to rend the scales of a dragon. A dragon, however, cannot manipulate the elements as a druid. My items glowed with magical resistances, my mind racing with the ancient patterns which would forbid the hellfire from damaging me. I stood in the flame, unafraid. Unleashing the storms, he froze in his tracks, mustering his own energy to retaliate. Fearing his lightning, I abandoned my strong stand. Better to flee than die. Evading his attack, I could not avoid the final moments of his fury. My body emerged nearly unscarred; with Roman at my side, his attacks were too weak to destroy me. A prime evil in hell itself, defeated so easily by a mere druid..."

"... his final throes shook the Chaos Sanctuary, stealing away the life force of a myriad lost souls to save himself, all in vain. Power fades away, as surely for demons as men. Fiery magics poured from the very ether of the abyss, as unreal to mortals as a reflection, an emptiness felt by the damned at the fall of their lord and master..."

Diablo was hilarious. It was like fighting nothing at all. I had max resists and -3 MD. The fire ring was so bad it was impressive. The LBOD did absolutely nothing; only my defiant had an easier time here. His charge was amusingly slow when chilled, so his last method of inflicting damage was useless. In fact, I used this fight mostly to take good looking screenshots. I'll put one in here, just for kicks.

"... and Tyrael was unable to follow, for reasons I cannot comprehend. The barbarian wastelands of Mt. Arreat, so close to my home, would put me in full command of my abilities, yet I was filled with internal tension. The lords of Terror and Hatred were mighty opponents, but neither counted druids as the most loathsome of enemies. Not so Baal, for his very existence opposes the natural growth of things. No enemy could be so wholly devoted to annhilation, to sheer destruction as its lord. My order had long hunted the minions of Baal in times of danger, far more than the minions of Terror, or even the foul undead. The task was upon me, then, to hunt the lord himself. Possessed of his soulstone, he would be every bit the opponent Diablo was, and more, for his brothers' deaths surely have infused him with hatred unbound..."

"... stronghold of Harrogath, protected by a druidic magic so powerful it staggers me yet. The council of grand druids themselves could not hope to erect such a force, even for a small time. Nothing less than the blood sacrifice of a grand druid could attain such an immense effect as to shield an entire town from a Lord of the Hells. Nihlathak, the last remaining town elder, was living proof of what had transpired. The elders of the barbarian tribes had sacrificed their lives for the continued survival of Harrogath. Why Nihlathak lives still is a mystery; perhaps there is yet a flaw in the barrier, for surely such magics would require the cooperation of all the elders..."

"... the chill wind of the highlands cut my skin, giving me a shudder that would have troubled any not of the druidic order. I drew my strength from it, however, for I had finally reached the homeland of my magics, the north mountains. This perhaps slowed my progress, however, for the creatures here were hardened against the cold, particularly the fierce inhabitants of the caves of ice..."

"... the fierce overseer of the siege of Harrogath, Shenk, a loathsome creature, as lacking in intelligence as the catapults he commanded. I ended his life quickly and painfully, with nothing but the force of the arctic wind to ease his passing to the underworld..."

"... the poor fool, wandering back and forth, as though pondering the questions of life, yet brandishing his axe, clearly indicating that he's itching to kill something, yet failing dramatically to find anything to kill in his little two feet of territory. I questioned if Malah had any potions to cure obsessive compulsive disorder..."

(J/K. I don't know what AI glitch caused this moronbarian, but he was pretty funny to watch, pacing back and forth...)

"... hours of trying, I began to question if these barbarians had been brain damaged. It was as if their brains had been thrown in a centrifuge, and someone had hit "liquify". Standing there, fools in their own little kingdom, they were unable to notice that they had been freed..."

(J/K, again. There is no way a druid would know what a centrifuge is...)

Here is where I ran into the "if someone else frees the barbarians" bug. I had to redo this friggin' area twice. The first time, they did the same thing as before. The second time, I released the miscreant barbarians FIRST, which did the trick. The last barbarians I released, however, rather than being rescued (although I got quest credit), just wandered aimlessly across the highlands. They were my little highlanders, 'cause they never died, and they just kept wandering, looking like idiots with beatles haircuts...

"... one particular beast gave me great trials. Frozenstein was his name, and a mightier creature I had yet to see. His resistance to cold was so great my arctic blast did less to him than a gentle spring breeze. Roman suffered mightily as I struggled to find a weapon to slay the feind. Using the beast's limited intelligence against it, I pinned him on the other side of a river, relying on the limitations of its vision to keep it from the crossing. Roman was tireless, sacrificing further incarnations to prevent the creature from destroying me. Such was the devotion of the tree that it would yet answer my call, even after such blows. Slowly but surely, the great beast bled from my stings, and the insect slew the giant. That I never had to see such a colossus again gave me a profound peace..."

"... unthawed, Anya led me to the traitor Nihlathak. Shuddering at the concept of so great a sacrifice as the elders', I drove forward, leaving shattered undead in my wake. Surely nothing is so draining as destroying the same creature many times. I did as needed, though, for no less than complete cleansing would suffice for these broken lands. The great citadel of Nihlathak stood before me, the halls of pain, anguish and vaught. In here I would face a fierce challenge, for Nihlathak was both barbarian and wizard, an opponent to be reckoned with..."

"... slowly. No move out of place could be tolerated, lest I fall under the sway of Nihlathak's explosive magics. He was as patient as I, and the game continued for many minutes, I slowly luring his minions away, he waiting for me to make a mistake. Twice I failed to consider my tactics well enough, and his fires stung me for my mistakes. His withered corpse held a terrifying magical power, and he resisted for a great long time before his shell crumbled, and the demon inside was taken back to its own realm..."

"... triumphant return, Anya offered me a magical gift, allowing me to inscribe a weapon with my magical identity. How little the young understand. Vanity is a trait a druid forsakes early in his quest, and I had no desire to take it up again, so near to my goal..."

"... ancient's way felt of eternal magics, of forces primal and liquid, flowing through every wall, every creature. Baal had left his mark, indeed, with vile creatures inhabiting every cave, but I remained in awe. The area itself was uncorrupted, the ice as pure as the glacier it was spawned of, and as ancient. The guardians of Mt. Arreat are powerful indeed, and Baal fortunate Nihlathak was fool enough to betray his kind. The road was a pleasure to walk, though, and my stride lightened as I approached the Ancients..."

"... presence filled the chill air. Spirits of eternal vigilance entered into the statues, awaking the guardians. The Ancients fought bravely, their might nearly overcoming me on many occasions. Roman especially suffered here, yet treated this stoically, a great honour to be fought by such worthy opponents. I sensed, however, that the Ancients were not interested in stopping me, merely in testing that I truly was the Archdruid I claimed. My performance did not dissapoint..."

These guys are just awful. Thankfully, I had lots and lots of life.

"... realized that I was without portal magics, that I was stranded in the worldstone keep. I had not returned to Harrogath since before defeating the Ancients. My blood thickened to iron, and I pressed on, determined to survive, despite my lack of healing potions. I fought hard, and soon, a scroll of portal magic fell to the floor on a corpse, allowing me a reprive from my journey once again..."

(TIP: Don't play an iron man game when you're not trying to: Stock up on TPs when you go back to town!!!)

"... worldstone keep was filled with a myriad foul demons, each more savage than any in Hell itself. Surely the three have cast their dice, and left me to play as I can. I gladly took up their challenge, banishing yet more monsters, including the horrible Succubi. Somehow, I envisioned them as greater temptations..."

"... the final doorway. The aura emanating from the rooms below spoke of a Prime Evil, a force as terrible as any I had yet faced. Screwing my courage to the sticking place, I descended. The lowest level was populated with foul creatures, but none so powerful as to defy my arctic blasts. My methodic work had paid off, for there was none to oppose me as I confronted Baal on his throne. Arrogant as befits a devil of his stature, he merely laughed, summoning hordes of demons to best me. I had come too far, however, to be bested by mere minions..."

"... the worldstone fed my powers as it fed his. This battle would decide the fate of the world, for Baal's victory over my powers would surely give him the powers to strike down the barrier of Harrogath, destroying the last hope of resistance. Half expecting Tyræl to intervene, I set into Baal immediately, hoping my offense would perhaps neutralize his initial advantages. His name proved accurate, however, and he rebuffed me time and time again with attacks of cold and fire. Wearing him down slowly, with small strikes at tactical intervals, I once again used the tactic so effective against the devilkind, exploiting his arrogance and predictability. Eventually, however, he became serious, and unleashed the full account of his powers. Roman kept me alive through this difficult time, lending me whatever strength remained in the great oak of his birth. Finally, I took inspiriation from Roman's perseverance, changing my tactics. I stood my ground, as an oak itself, simply channelling my energy to slay the fiend. Arctic blast worked against demonic armour, wearing away at his energy, encapsulating his powers in a slow cage of ice. The delay in Baal's reactions spoke of the effectiveness of my strategy. Still, his destructive powers far outmatched my own, and I was forced to imbibe more potions of power in this fight than in any other. Roman was my strength, and my humble spell, my sword. Cutting him with the blade of cold, he bled frost, crumbling in a heap of ice. His damned soul fell back to the hells, to join his brothers in abyssal confinement. The world felt balance again; I could breathe the air without tension. The peace was temporary only, however. Tyræl, the eternal meddler, decended from whatever heaven he inhabits at the moment of my journey's end, declaring an end to the worldstone, the great artifact of balance. That he was an archangel did not prevent me from unleashing the full force of my powers on him; Tyræl, however, was subtler and better prepared than the archangels, and my powers were negated by his holy sword. Apparently unaffected by my outburst, both physically and intellectually, he merely congratulated me on my victory, waving his hand to banish me to a portal he created. That the heavens support his heavy hand in this affair is incredible; that they support the destruction of the worldstone, inconceivable. Surely Tyræl acts alone here..."

"... to the point of this journal. I am being torn through the portal Tyræl has created; something has gone impossibly wrong. Perhaps this is his treason, perhaps it is the last laugh of the Lord of Destruction, but this portal leads nowhere I wish to be. It has taken all the power of nature, with Roman's assistance, to prevent my complete loss this long. I write this testament that someone shall find it, and with it a way to return me to the mortal world. My enchantments of protection are wearing thin as I write this. Please, I beseech those who would read this journal. I am being taken to a world of horror, a world of nightmares, from which there may be no return."

The journal ends here, with the psychic seal of the Archdruid of Storms attached. A single drop of blood binds the seal to the journal, a reminder of the fate of the Archdruid StormChaser.

Fin.

Okay, boys and girls, that's the tale of StormChaser. His next adventure will be in his own mind, in a world of Nightmares, a revisiting of the foes he faced here in normal (strangely identical...) Perhaps there is even an adventure after that to be seen. Time will tell.

- Jester

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