#priest of rathma

[nightscreeching]

Portraits for wasps for a friend's fan fiction that she will write someday.Instead, we're burning through the evening in D4

[pebsterino]

another lil sketch as a treat 

Let me imagine that Rathma is a hopeless romantic whos also like smooth??? and idk im stupid but thank u for comming to my ted talk 

[firebastardextraordinaire]

Ngl the fact that apparently Rathma has been dead for literal years by the time Lilith gets inside his temple is honestly so sad?

Like she has no idea until she’s standing before his corpse that she was too late. She was always too late and there is absolutely nothing she could’ve done to get to him in time. He’s been dead for years and she’s only been back in sanctuary for a few weeks. Even if he would’ve let her save him, she never would’ve had the chance to.

It really puts the confrontation between Lilith and Inarius in the final act into perspective imo? Lilith is struggling with the fresh grief of her son’s death while Inarius has been applauding himself and patting himself on the back for it for years. Like no wonder he dismissed her words about Rathma so easily. He’s convinced himself he did the right thing years ago and you can’t overturn years of telling yourself you’re in the right with a single conversation.

It’s just. GAH. It makes me feel so much sympathy for Lilith, and hate Inarius even more.

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

large amount of the necro's quest journal asides are just 'wow, another person who's chill with having a necromancer around. wild.'

[west-tokyo-incidents]

It's quiet here.

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."

The wanderer stares at the Black Lake, but nods and begins to pack up, "I was nearly done anyway. Go on ahead, I'll meet you there."

[rage-claw]

"Once hailing from the far north of Khanduras, Zikeziel's harsh upbringing in its dangerous poverty-stricken swamps drove her to join the Priests of Rathma. A skilled necromancer corrupted against her will by the blood of Lilith, Zike appears to find herself struggling to reject the curse, believing it and Lilith may somehow be the key to restoring balance to Sanctuary." - From 'Observations on Deathspeaker Zikeziel', part of the Cathedral of Light's private records on active Priests of Rathma.

[necr0-mantix]

{{Major expansion spoilers under the cut.}}

We've been dabbling with the concept and chatting about it a lot on Discord, but after finishing the expansion and seeing Akarat ascended into a spirit guardian, I'm going to be extremely surprised if Rathma doesn't show up again at some point during one of the patches with a similar thing going on.

They've been drilling the death is a transformation thing for quite some time now, and also brought up the modified doomer version of Rathma's prophecy at the end of the campaign too.

The necropolis entrance is featured as a stronghold, with a dungeon beside the necropolis featuring an unnamed depiction of a massive draconic serpent. (click me for image) There's been discussion that Kepeleke - a Nahantu diety - is actually just Trag'oul, and Trag'oul does seem like he could be one of the OG, if not the OG, spirit guardian. There's also an NPC, whose name I've forgotten because it's 5am here, there to try and fix things up there as it's been seemingly abandoned since Malthael's genocide. (Which poses some other questions like how the Priests are even functioning right now without their base of operations, but this is stuff I'm going to dwell on later through RP.)

Necromancers draw from the same realm too in general.

We've seen Rathma's spirit already.

You can say I'm snorting hopium here, but I sincerely doubt they'd have released the animated short and comic right before the expansion if he wasn't going to play a role at some point.

I'm excited.

I actually love in RPGs when there's some heavy cross-over between class dynamics for world building, and as a necromancer main for life, yeah the focus is on the spiritborn right now, but there was a lot for us here too if you read between the lines and look at the details.

Something's being set up right now. I'm really hyped to see what it is.

[xjulixred45x]

This is just a question not a request. How would a Platonic Yandere Nanami react to having a Necromancer adopted child. Like the child was brought in the ways of the necromancer in a cult environment mind you this cult believes in maintaining the balance of the world and so they fight evil with their profane gifts sometimes at the cost of their own well being ( The child was raised by the priest of rathma aka the diablo necromancers) They don't know how to act " normal"

Mm... Dificult.

Nanami (yandere or not) tends to be a man who prioritizes the younger ones, so knowing that Reader's family raised them as necromancers at that point would definitely set off all the alarms and lead him to try to teach Reader certain "everyday" things so as not to leave them out.

He does not intervene in the reader's beliefs as long as they are not harmful, but he definitely does not want him to continue as a necromancer, and we already know what Nanami can do if you don't listen to him...

[transrathma]

playing d3 as the necromancer knowing that the priests of rathma are more or less against the idea of a great design/divine intervention is so. yeah

[lisa-and-shadow]

Or you can be me and go, "Oooooohhh big snake!!! Big snake!!!! 😍"

Seriously though, I feel like as a necromancer all this Rathma and Trag'Oul stuff should have been more meaningful to my Wanderer. Seeing an embodiment of Trag'Oul would be a religious experience if you're a Priest of Rathma. That's as close to a diety as you get in their religion. And don't even get me started about finding Rathma's body. Oh it's just, you know, our holy prophet and visionary. I'm gonna leave him here unattended and let him just lay sprawled on the floor forever. 😫 There's just a lot of necromancer specific lore woven into the plot and necro Wanderers don't get to so much as make a single comment about it. Worse, you have NPCs npc-splain it to you. 😤

Did Barbarians go through this during the Mount Arreat part of D2? If so you have my condolences. It's maddening.

[nightscreeching]

[pebsterino]

I have to keep these in mind when making Miel’s reference sheet qfasdfasfasdf

[firebastardextraordinaire]

You know, it’s insanely funny to me that out of all the various mage clans and organizations, the priests of rathma ABSOLUTELY are the ones having the least amount of sex considering they’re the ONLY one who can use their magic instead of Ye Old Fantasy Viagra

I mean, they’re the ones with blood magic! They can control the blood in other creatures bodies as well as their own! WHO needs a potion when you can consciously control the flow of your own blood!

Don’t tell the other mage clans, they might get pissed

[dangergrandpa]

🍄 [MUSHROOM]

For Cu

Thankfully, the Priests of Rathma teach their students to identify inedible and edible things - there's an entire mandatory class for it.

So yeah, he'd eat all the random things, but he knows what's safe at least!

[west-tokyo-incidents]

The Black Lake shimmers no more. The bridge of light… is gone.

The necromancer stands there. He isn't sure if it's grief or shock that holds him there, staring at the distant spot where he knows the entrance to Rathma’s Sanctum… now his grave… stands. Somewhere in that dark mist.

He would be the first to admit, there had been some hope in his hollow chest, to meet the first necromancer. Rathma himself.

Hope that had become butterflies at seeing the projection of him...

Offspring of an angel and a demon. The pinnacles of human desires, both flesh and spirit, come together in one. Of course he had been beautiful. 

Nothing to say of his work. The gorgeous, spanning necropolis, something he, himself, could only dream of. Its sculptures beautiful and the resting places of the dead in the sanctum so carefully placed… 

The sanctum. Those butterflies had become stinging locusts when he opened those doors. How long it had taken for him to kneel beside his body to see what the petals would show him.

The memory of Lilith finding his body. Her so gently moving his hands to place them on his chest, where his father had just left him to rot. Is it a mother’s grief that makes it all the harder to turn his back on the place? Was it her influence that urged him to gently fix a lock of hair on his cold face? Her blood still pulsing inside of him, making him boil alive with anger at his death?

He lifts a bony knuckle to his mouth and bites down on it, trying to relieve himself of some of the emotion. It's painful. It's supposed to be. Just… just a little catharsis. Such a valuable life lost. Such an awe-inspiring legacy left to collapse and crumble to dust across a lake to be abandoned.

Oh, that he could be the one to repair it, to restore it, to raise it from the dead–

One of his servants gently nudges him.

Right. He yanks his knuckle out of his mouth. He has an amulet to return and a demon to track down… 

He turns and glances over his servants. Only seven. He is young, a meager child of a necromancer. He would barely be able to clear out a single room, much less repair a whole city of dead. Much less that Rathma's servants would even bother with rising for him. A young necromancer with what to his name? Barely the title of 'Priest', seven skeletons, and a puppy dog’s admiration for someone not only dead but leagues more important than him. Someone who's in over their head and drowning in it.

He flexes his injured hand and walks towards the stairs. 

His blood drips into the water, mere wisps to dissipate in seconds in the flow.

Dissipate... But not disappear. Not truly. A piece of him would linger here for just a bit longer.

[natalieironside]

ヽ(✿ﾟ▽ﾟ)ノヽ(✿ﾟ▽ﾟ)ノヽ(✿ﾟ▽ﾟ)ノ just found your Diablo fanfiction today and while i already enjoyed your work i am thrilled to find you are a personage of refinement and good taste (priest of rathma enjoyer) in what is my first and oldest fandom (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

=D So happy to find another person of taste and refinement