|I once believed.
Others looked to me for strength, for my faith was a pillar in the house of the Elders. I once believed in something greater than myself; I believed that the faithful would be rewarded and the evil would be punished.
I believed the Prophecies of the Final Day to be mere superstitions—and that even if they had any credence at all, as our ancestors believed, the events they spoke of would never come to fruition in our time.
I was a fool.
The gods have not revealed their divine plan to me, nor have they blessed me with their countenance. But I am certain of one terrible fact—At long last, the prophecies have begun to fulfill themselves.
First, there was Tristam . . .
Diablo, the Lord of Terror, cast his shadow over the quiet hamlet and set his demonic minions loose across the countryside. A number of valiant heroes rose up to challenge Diablo’s wrath and hunted the demonlord into the bowels of the earth itself. Only by the grace of the Light did they vanquish Diablo’s mortal host and put and end to his nefarious schemes.
It seemed that the Lord of Terror had been defeated, and my heart took solace in this affirmation of my faith . . . but alas, the nightmare was only just beginning.
Somehow, Diablo’s terrible spirit survived and took root within the very hero who struck him down. Wearing the guise of the mysterious Wanderer, Diablo set out to free his brothers, Baal and Mephisto, from their imprisonment in the East.
Just as before, a new band of heroes arose to put a halt to Diablo’s dark quest. Though the Lord of Terror succeeded in freeing his brothers from bondage, their reunion would be short-lived. The mortal heroes managed to vanquish Mephisto and even hunted Diablo into the depths of Hell. Only Baal, the Lord of Destruction, was left unaccounted for.
Once again, it seemed that justice had been served. Blind as I was, I clung to the path of the righteous—believing that perhaps, finally, all was well . . . that the nightmare had given away to a dream of peace.
But the plague of evil persists, and I . . . grow weary.
For now, the nightmare has started once again.
Baal has resurfaced, and behind him marches the vast Army of Destruction. He has gathered a legion of demons that revel in mayhem and wanton chaos—and they are headed right towards us . . . right towards the holy mountain our ancestors swore to protect. It is obvious that Baal comes to assail Arreat, seeking the Heart of the World. And my faith, once unwavering, is now shaken to the very core.
The prophecies that spoke of this day have at last come true. Doom has come to our world.
As I have said, my brothers, I grow weary. I have no doubt that Evil exists. I have seen it with my own eyes; I have seen its cruelty. But is it not cruel for the gods to give hope, only to dash that hope again and again?
In my youth, I tried as best I could to prepare for such an event. It was, at one time, the very reason for my existence. But now that the moment is at hand, I feel old. I feel afraid. I feel that I have lost my strength.
I confess that my faith no longer guides my path. It is with a heavy heart that I take my leave of you, my brothers. I would say that I will pray for you, but I fear my prayers would fall on deaf ears.
May you someday find the truth, and may that truth finally give you freedom.
Yours in sorrow,
Diablo II: Lord of Destruction – History