Dawn was breaking. Sergeant Walters slumped idly at his position, sitting in a crude wooden chair over the gate to the city. His fellow sentry, Remie, had fallen asleep. Their replacements were an hour overdue. Walters was using his spear shaft to hold himself up, it being wedged against the base of the wall was all that stopped him falling flat on his face. "An hour late..."
Alarm bells. Church bells. Every damn bell imaginable was ringing. Walters jerked awake, his spear falling to the grimy, supposedly whitewashed stone floor of gatehouse with a dull thud. Why were these bells of Zamorak ringing! It was not seven in the morning, by his count. Had the gates of hell opened? Coming to, he scanned the horizon for a clue as to what had given cause to someone to raise such a cantankerous alarm. He didn't have to look too far; the dust which rose in waves halfway to the horizon was telling enough.
Walters glanced left, at his comrade, who then glanced right at Walters. Remie's face was pale, his generally rosy cheeks drained of colour by fear. The bells continued to toll; defeaning. Walters continued to stare; mouth agape. The storm on the horizon crept closer; the harbingers of death kept approaching; fearless.
"Five hours..."
Walters knew now why his replacements had never come. Every man was needed below, the tired were left in their stations. There was not much need for watchmen when the enemy was hard approaching and sighted. The swarm had begun to unfurl below the city walls. The Kinshra encampent hemmed the denizens in. Walters could hear the demons' bellows from his crude, wooden throne.
The Siege of Falador had begun.
19-Oct-2015 00:36:15
- Last edited on
19-Oct-2015 00:36:42
by
Melkarth
