Fan fiction:Bane The Writings of Sanett/Chapter 3

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Bane The Writings of Sanett is a fan fiction piece by Bane (Mark C. Dunstan), originally posted on the The Dark Library. The fiction series was the sequel of Bane Hero of the North which was also recovered on April 14th 2010. On September 17th 2010 the rest of the lost stories and books were found including artwork. You can find more information on Bane:The Writings of Sanett article.


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Note: The following events happen when Bane is around 50 years of age. The years are around 1250 to 1255 (approximately 18 years before the events portrayed in Diablo 2).


Chapter 3: Returning Home[edit]


From the Writings of Sanett, Chief Librarian of Lat Wahlin V.II


“The barbarian had to leave us though, as the heat was getting to him, although he would not admit to it. We held a party of sorts in his honour the night before he left Lat Wahlin, one in which only part of him was there. He would sit and smile at times, and talk only when spoken directly to and it dawned on me that perhaps he felt awkward here, in events such as these. He was returning back to his homeland, in the north high into the soaring mountains where cold winds blew and snow settled, away from the desert temperature. Lord knows why I followed him then, for I had started to keep a record of his adventures here in Aranoch. Part of me should have stayed at home for the sights we were too see still haunt me to this day.”




Bane sat quietly on the back of the truck looking at the fresh grass that now blew all around the travelling pair. A cool breeze brushed past Sanett who was sitting besides Warriv, the driver who had volunteered to return Bane North.


Like a painting, the scene in front of him was pictured beautifully, for he had never really seen grass before. Mountains loomed in the distance, too far though to make an accurate judgment of how far they were, but just the mere sight of them seemed to have an effect on the barbarian, and for an instant Sanett could have sworn he saw a tear roll down the barbarians cheek.


Sanett wrapped his robe around him, as he only wore the light silks of the desert. A shiver was sent down his spine. The sun was not visible in the sky, as clouds blocked it from view. He could not remember a time in his life when he could not see the sun during the day.


For hours they travelled, and Sanett tried to make conversation with Bane who would nod every now and then but keep his answers as short as possible.


“Where do you come from…if you don’t mind me asking. What tribe were you born into for I am thinking of making a book, detailing the tribes of the barbarians.


“I do not know if you will yet be welcome my friend. We are a hard people unaccustomed to making new friends from strange lands. They will see you as weak. I do not wish to talk about tribes, for I no longer belong to one.” The barbarian lowered his head as if in shame. What had Bane meant by not belonging to one? He pushed his thoughts aside though as the cart came to a halt. The day had been long, but seemed to have gone a lot faster than when they travelled from Lat Wahlin to the north. The night closed in, and they stopped to rest in a dell situated beside a valley spanning east.


A small fire was started by Sanett and with the help of Warriv, a fire that the barbarian stamped out almost immediately with his boot.


“If you want to tell people we are here, by all means light a fire, but I would suggest you face away from the moonlight and go further around the dell my friends, for I have rested there and lit them before without fear. Your smoke will not be seen, nor will the light.” With that the barbarian wandered off into the darkness, saying something about proper food.


The morning glare of the sun left Sanett dizzy as he snacked on the deer that Bane had killed last evening. Bane was sitting across from him, on a few logs, facing away from the sun. His axe was rested upon the cart but stayed no more than a foot away from him and would always be within his eyesight. The deer limb in his hands looked tiny compared to the size of his body.


“This has a very strange taste to it.” Bane smiled and let out a laugh that would have woken Baal himself.


“You will get used to the taste scribe, for you will be eating plenty more deer!” Sanett took a look at the cooked piece of meat in his hand and then took another chunk from it.


“This place is a lot different than the desert. It is more tolerant if you like.” It took them a full hour to get ready again, but this time the barbarian was walking ahead of the truck as if he was a skirmisher. Sanett watched Bane in amazement, watching him stoop to the ground and duck and weave from left to right. Bane was a strange man, no the word strange was not accurate, Bane was a different man than any he had met in his life. There was some charismatic power about him that forced people to like him.


After about half an hour down the road, they could see smoke rising from a farm situated on the hills ahead of them. Bane had rushed back to them with news of a filthy smell that clung to the air like shit to a boot. No one would have possibly kept up with the barbarian’s speed and pace as he ran towards the rising smoke.



Sanett arrived in time to see Bane tear an arm off of a creature no bigger than five foot. The farm the skirmish was taking place in was generally small as farms went. There were only four buildings and a few dens where slaughtered animals now lay. The farmer and his wife were no where to be seen, although Sanett thought it was more than likely they had locked themselves in their farmhouse. Bane was fighting besides a large barn that was being swept with fire. Behind him was a pile of already dead creatures. Warriv had already leapt from the cart, scimitar wailing and cutting through the enemy. Sanett recognized them now, they were the Fallen, a race of imp like creatures that dwelt where ever they could. Help them you fool! Was the thought threading across his tired mind, and his hands shook as he went for the same knife he had killed with in the tunnels when Bane dispatched of Melphine.


He looked up however, at the moment a blade slashed deep within the cart driver’s chest. Warriv screamed out in pain, his hands releasing the grip on his sword. Sanett shook his head but could still not find the strength and courage to face them.


Bane was making short work of what came his way, as he span and leapt, his axe moving with his body as if it was part of him. Warriv was stripped of what possessions he had by fleeing Fallen while he was mutilated as he lay there wounded.


Smoke was blown heavily into his face, and Sanett coughed. He could no longer see details of the fight but could still pick out the screams and moans of the dying and wounded. He would have to put that fire out or it would spread ruining the farm completely. Sanett clambered from the cart, part of his robe drawn over his face so that he would not breathe in all the smoke. His eyes stung and began to water as he neared the farmhouse. The farmhouse was now on fire, giving him more energy than he thought he had which he used to collapse the weak wooden frame of the door. He could hear Bane calling out challenges and the sudden clash of steel against steel and then flesh. No doubt he was cleaving his way through armour and weapons in one motion.


Smoke filled the living room of the farmhouse, and Sanett hit a few hard objects on his way to the stairs, where he could hear screaming.


The stairs creaked but felt as if they would hold and Sanett rushed up as fast as he could, tripping on the last step. Sharp numbing pains ran up his left arm and he was momentarily blinded. It must be broken! He thought as he raised off the floor. The screams were situated within the door in front of him, where huge spiralling black cloud spewed forth. Shaking his head he stood up with a groan, and wandered across the hall to the door.


He paused as he heard Bane call to him from the bottom of the stairs. What he said was not understandable though, as all he could hear was the crackling of the fire and screams of the people behind the door.


It was heavy and painted blue. He pushed on the oak door but could not make it open. Heavy footsteps came from behind him and he felt a large hand clasp his shoulder, pulling him away from the door.


The door fell apart from its hinges as the barbarian put his axe through it. What they viewed within put the fear of god into Sanett. They were burning, the family who worked on the farm had been tied to makeshift steaks in a large bedroom and had been set alight. As Bane walked into the room with Sanett following close behind they could feel the heat and smell the burning flesh.


“There is little we can do for them friend, save put them out of their misery.” Bane’s axe followed a low arch as it connected with the only living member of the family’s head, cleaving it from the body. Sanett turned from the scene battling to keep the first meal of deer in his life making an unwanted appearance. Bane walked at a fast pace from the room his words cold.


“Let us leave this place, for chaos has returned to the north…”


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