RuneScape Forum Archive | The ScapeRune War

WolfLord7777

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“The ScapeRune people follow a different calendar to you. For you, it is 138 days from the end of the year. For them, it is 138 days from the beginning. They found out at the beginning of their year.”
The elf did a few calculations in his head.
“We’re almost five months behind them!” he groaned.
They all turned back to the oracle, but she was again muttering gibberish.
Again, they shared a glance, and rushed down the hill.
***
Five months earlier . . .
Six men trudged through the scorching sands of the great northern desert of ScapeRune.
They were the supreme rulers of the ScapeRune Empire. Whilst Runescape was still divided, ScapeRune had been unified millenia ago by these six men and their companions, now long deceased.
They were perfect warriors. They had the strength of a hundred men, the speed of a hundred snakes, the reflexes of a hundred deer and the blessings of a hundred gods.
They were also afraid.
The simple fact of the matter was that they had not won. Their best tactician’s estimates said that they should have conquered all of Runescape over a century ago. Instead, they were still trapped on the first continent they had found.
This was why they had adopted the same practice as the Runescape officials. Once a year, when their oracle was at his sanest, they would brave the harsh deserts to ask him if he had found a solution.
Finally, after a day of harsh sands, they reached the sacred oasis. They found him staring at the bright sun with wild eyes, muttering gibberish.
“Revered oracle, have you as of yet discovered the means that our enemies have used to thwart us?” The eldest of the nine asked resignedly.
The oracle stared at him.
“Yes!’ he cried.
Some of them raised their eyebrows and looked like they were about to speak. The eldest one silenced them with a glance.
“His name is Roal Atkins. He is a pilot in the Gnome Air Force 415th Company. He must die or you will fail. If he dies you shall succeed.”
The speaker replied immediately.

10-Jul-2009 12:47:49 - Last edited on 13-Jul-2011 11:04:18 by WolfLord7777

WolfLord7777

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"Where is he?"
“In the barracks at Ardougne. You must hold him prisoner for thirty days and thirty nights or you shall fail.” He replied, his eyes going wild.
“What do we do after that, revered oracle?”
One of the others asked. The eldest one glared at him, but when he glanced back the oracles eyes had rolled back into his head and he was again muttering incoherently.
The eldest of the nine turned back to the others.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “looks like we’ve got to go back to Runescape”
A grim smile slit his heavily scarred and burned face.

10-Jul-2009 12:47:56 - Last edited on 13-Jul-2011 11:04:35 by WolfLord7777

WolfLord7777

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Chapter 14: Council of War
They sat around the ornate mahogany table in beautifully lacquered and gilded chairs. There were thirteen of them: the Gno(ck Alliances second general, the first being away in the warzone. The Falador Defence Offices’ chief dignitary, flanked by two colonels in full battle attire. An Ardougne Army general seated next to his comrade, the Ardougne Air Forces chief commodore. An old elf noble, the current speaker for the Elf Council, flanked by three bodyguards. A heavily armed dwarf, their army’s chief tactician and advisor, accompanied by a frizzle-haired dwarf covered with soot from his head too his mismatched boots, who was apparently a dwarf engineer, whom nobody had, as yet, asked the obvious question of what he was doing there. And finally there was a man sitting at the foot of the table, wearing a long red cloak and a hood.
This man was the first to speak.
“Before you decide on what to do” he quoted from an old book sitting on the table in front of him, with what looked suspiciously like bloodstains on it, “know what you are doing. The military maxim which was the basis of Zamorak’s war ethic. So, what do we know about this mysterious Roal Atkins?” he asked the council, turning his head towards the Gno(ck Alliances general.
The general answered curtly. “We know that he was doing a drop mission deep into the warzone. However, he has not returned and several low-ranking officers have declared him rogue and have had his case transferred to the Falador Guard to deal with. I don’t know anything else about his movements.”
The robed man turned his head towards the Falador official.
The general replied quickly, clearly intimidated by the man, “I know nothing about any specific cases. I am told numbers only, how many rogue units, how many casualties, how many kills. I don’t have any time to trawl through individual reports. I delegate that to junior officers.”

10-Jul-2009 12:48:03 - Last edited on 11-Oct-2010 08:25:58 by WolfLord7777

WolfLord7777

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The hooded man blinked slowly. “And yet you have, in the current state of things, not decided to search all records for this mysterious person? That is most disappointing.”
“Well,” the general stammered, “I did know that there would be a need to, until now.*
*That does not excuse you for your laziness. Everyone, I thought I made this clear! The fate of Runescape hangs in the balance! They know where he is, they know what to do, they have several armies in the area and they have competent generals!” he said furiously, glancing at the Falador official. “I will not die because you incompetents don’t realise the gravity of the situation. If they get Roal Atkins, we all die. We’ve only got one chance!”
“Elf!” he yelled, glancing at the elf tactician, the only one in the room not shaken by his anger. “You are in charge of this council, as you, I believe, understand the situation.”
The elf bowed his head and asked, “Where are you going?”
The Zamorakian mage laughed maniacally. “I’m going to do what your entire military can’t!”
And with that, he strode out of the room.
***
The Zamorakian mage strode through the underground levels of the military complex. The pristine white walls seemed to darken as he passed, and even though he was underground and there was no wind, his cloak billowed as if in a baleful hurricane.
As he approached the armoured doors of the Gno(ck’s offices in the war offices of Ardougne, they slid open, seemingly for no reason, hydraulics hissing as they powered the heavy, metre-thick doors. He stormed forward, not slowing at all to look at the very surprise and alarmed faces of the offices inhabitants.
This attention was not unreasonable. Ever since his arrival three months earlier, storming out of the badlands to the west with 5 companions, he had hardly made a very good impression. More than 20 men had died at his orders, and at least another 5 by his hands. He had caused a lot of people to get sacked, and his magic was feared as witchcraft.

10-Jul-2009 12:48:10 - Last edited on 11-Oct-2010 08:27:34 by WolfLord7777

WolfLord7777

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Also, although Ardougne was primarily a trading state, everyone in the city followed saradomin, and it was obvious that he was a Zamorakian mage of considerable power.
He strode up to the curtained off section of office at the end, glaring at anyone in his way with eyes of fire and molten metal. He burst through the door and walked towards the desk of the colonel currently in charge of deployments in the area south-west of Yanille.
“Give me as many of your men you can spare. Preferably some with a reasonable amount of skill not the rookies you usually send out.” He hissed malevolently.
“But-“ stammered the man, his eyes drawn to the mage’s baleful stare, “we havn’t got anyone to spare at the moment!”
“Then get the best men you’ve got within three hours of her to come here NOW! I need them immediately!”
“But sir, we cannot spare them, they’re need where they are!” he cried as the mages baleful glare began to burn his mind as well as his eyes.
“I need them more! I need them now! If they’re not here within three hours I will have you executed.”
***
“That’s it!” the enraged Zamorakian said incredulously. “Forty soldiers!”
“Sir, they’re the only ones we have available at the pres-“ The colonel at the desk replied, before being cut off by the mage.
“Shut up!” his frown creased with thought. From what the reports from the TRS’s had said, there was a large concentration of forces scattered all around the south of Yanille. Roal and his friends were almost certainly captured. If they were captured, the logical place they would be was a large command base slightly west of Roal’s last known location. There were roughly 300 people at the base, although a good third were probably support staff, and another half of the remaining 200 soldiers would probably be out on patrol for most of the day.
But even with only 100 men guarding it, it would be difficult to get the prisoners out with his meager force of 70.

10-Jul-2009 12:48:17 - Last edited on 11-Oct-2010 08:28:06 by WolfLord7777

WolfLord7777

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He turned back to the colonel.
“What is the skill of these soldiers?”
“They’re some of the best we have sir. They’re highly mobile paratroopers, with some of the best fighting skills in our army. They’ve all been hand-selected by their leader, someone called Selvaria Solotov. Generally armed with the T-97, a short-barreled bolt-action rifle which fires large shells.” The colonel replied.
“That won’t be very good. Give them a couple of assault rifles too, the best we have. Raid the armories if you have to.”
“Very well sir.* The colonel replied timidly. It appeared that the mage had calmed down, and was therefore not going to through with his earlier threat, and he did*’t want to anger him again.

10-Jul-2009 12:48:22 - Last edited on 11-Nov-2010 04:07:26 by WolfLord7777

WolfLord7777

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Chapter 15: Persuasion
Dust blew wildly as the massive helicopter slowly eased down into landing. When it was still a metre off the ground three men opened the rear door and put down the rear ramp. Before the helicopter had even touched the ground the prisoners were being escorted down towards what they supposed must be the command tent, given its size, at a half jog.
Roal examined their captors closely. There had been little time before now to really look at them, given their confinement during the short trip.
They wore what Roal had thought at first to be black combat fatigues and armour, but it was actually a very dark shade of green. They were all roughly the same height, about 6 feet, and from what he could see from the parts of their faces not obscured by the visors on their helmets had they had a carven quality to their faces.
As they moved towards the command structure, Roal realised how bad the situation was for him and his men. They were in the middle of a large fortified camp with atleast 200 people with no way to call backup, and the only people who knew where they were was Connor and the men that couldn’t fit in the transports they had stolen from an old supply shortly before their capture. All in all, it wasn’t looking very good.
They reached the command structure, an imposing concrete block with a solid metal door. The door slid open as they reached it, and most of them were hustled off to a staircase to their right. Roal, Jack and several of the White Lions were taken further into the structure, to a simple concrete room with no windows and a drain in the floor. Ominously there was several red stains on the walls and the metal grate on the drain was badly rusted.
“I see you like my ‘persuasion’ room,” said a voice behind him.
***

10-Jul-2009 12:48:34 - Last edited on 30-Oct-2010 03:21:52 by WolfLord7777

WolfLord7777

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The sleek black planes looked out of place in the utilitarian hangar.
They had long, swept-back wings and their engines were so well integrated into the body it was almost impossible to see them. Even with the sliding doors open and several of the panels pulled off for maintenance they looked magnificent.
The Zamorakian mage turned towards the hangars main engineer.
“How long before they’re ready for flight?” he said in his harsh, crackly voice.
“Well, we have three of them completely ready. A further four still need a bit of work on the paneling and need to be refueled. Unfortunately, the other three have taken some serious damage. One of them needs an entirely new engine and a lot of the wiring to be redone. The other two need to be completely rewired and have most of the paneling replaced, plus one need a whole new wing, and we don’t have one.” The engineer replied, reading off a grubby piece of paper.
“I only need nine anyway. But I notice that you have failed to answer my question. How long will it take?”
“That’s the tricky part. The tech-heads in the wiring department need to remove the wires and put in new ones, then need to test it out, so it could take a while. The first three are ready now, and the other four will be finished either tomorrow or the day after. But I’ve got no idea about the last three.” The grubby engineer said gruffly. For some reason, he was completely unfased by the mage’s cold attitude, which normally sent people into a state of nervous shock.
“Get the first three to the hangar as soon as you can. Take as many men as you can spare off all other tasks. I need those last two planes by the end of the week.” The mage said slowly.
“Yes sir.* The engineer replied.
***

10-Jul-2009 12:50:16 - Last edited on 30-Oct-2010 03:22:37 by WolfLord7777

WolfLord7777

Posts: 1,881 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

The huge hangar bay doors rumbled open, and the three sleek black planes rolled out.
Inside two of them were ten members of the Nightwing. They were heavily armed, with their standard weapon, the T-97, several knives each, a pistol, and most of them had light machine guns. There was also their leader, Selevaria Solotov, armed with the standard weapons, as well as her own special pistol, a miniature version of the T-97.
Inside the other craft were the Zamorakian mages. They wore their standard red robes and wielded long metal-clad staves of mahogany.
“Hangar, this is Nightwing Three, requesting takeoff on runway A-13,” said the plane’s pilot, one of the Nightwing’s own pilots. His voice carried through the open section between the cockpit and the cargo bay, with a large drop-door in the floor.
“Nightwing Three, Nightwing’s One and Two are currently loading onto the catapults. Please hold your position,” said a crackly voice faintly over the microphone.
There was a long pause while the other two planes loaded onto the catapults, the runway being to short for a standard takeoff.
“Nightwing Three, you are clear for takeoff. Please load onto Catapult two,” said the crackling voice again.”
“Hangar, I read you. Loading now,* the pilot replied.
There was a second’s pause as the catapult hook caught onto the plane.
Then the plane accelerated violently and shot off into the air.
***
Roal dug his fingers deep into his ears, trying with all his might to block out the terrible screaming.
They had deliberately placed him in the room opposite the “persuasion room”, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t block out the screams, and there was no way to stop the trickle of blood leaking through the gap under the door.
But just as bad as the present horror was the horror in his mind. Every time he almost managed to block it out, his mind would drift back to the terrible time had spent in the torture chambers of the ScapeRune POW camps.

10-Jul-2009 12:50:23 - Last edited on 01-Nov-2010 04:11:35 by WolfLord7777

WolfLord7777

Posts: 1,881 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

The agonized screams of the current victim slowly began to fade into a whimper before finally disappearing.
He heard the squeal of rusty hinges as the old door to the persuasion room opened and several men came out, bearing a limp body between them. It was drenched in blood, and more blood was pouring out the gashes and cuts that covered his entire body. The guards dragged the emaciated corpse down the corridor, and Roal heard a soft thump as it fell in a heap onto a pile of the bodies of the previous victims.
Atleast they’re only killing one a day. Roal thought grimly.
A single tear leaked out from his left eye.

10-Jul-2009 12:50:30 - Last edited on 30-Oct-2010 03:23:17 by WolfLord7777

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The ScapeRune War