The Monk has joined the heroes who have gathered at New Tristram.
The monks. Holy warriors who believe that the madness and chaos of Sanctuary are destined to be brought into order, and that it is their sacred mission to assist their thousand and one gods in doing so. Arrayed in the fiery colors of Ytar, the fire god, monks draw from their years of intense training and meditation to become masters of melee combat. While proficient with many types of weapons‚ staves, blades, maces and spears, monks have no real need for such crude tools. Their discipline has honed both body and mind into living instruments of divine justice.
In the cold northern lands of Ivgorod, hidden amongst the peaks of the Kohl Mountains that run from the Sharval Wilds and up along the shadow of the Dreadlands, are the monasteries of the Veradani monks. Apart from housing a veritable army of fighters, teachers, and acolytes, these austere and remote locations contain the collective wisdom that the order has gathered over long centuries.
As the militant arm of the Sahptev faith, the Veradani monks are priest-warriors who follow the divine injunctions of their Patriarchs, the rulers of Ivgorod. Known as the “City of the Patriarchs,” Ivgorod is a religious oligarchy that, in ages past, held sway over a vast domain stretching to the deserts of Aranoch. The depredations of war and political turmoil have taken their toll since then, and now this holy city is all that remains of a once-great civilization.
The Monk’s short story is titled Unyielding written by Matt Burns.
“When the ill wind blows, the tree that bends will break.”
Zhota could not silence Akyev’s parting words. They had dogged his every step for the past weeks. By day, the memory of his master’s voice was only a whisper, but when night came, it reached a fever pitch.
Tonight was the same… Tonight he knew he would be tested again.
The winds had picked up, howling through the Gorgorra like the last icy breath of a dying god. The cold gnawed through his green, white, and blue sashes, biting bone deep. In years past he had endured slashing mountain gales outside the Floating Sky Monastery without so much as flinching, but this wind was different. There was an urgency to it that filled him with disquiet, as if the forest gods were roiling in fear.
Images, video, and text courtesy of Blizzard Entertainment.
Dynamic Flux 