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Cicobe1

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Chapter 2.3: The Message

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Zamorak was in his realm, observing his surroundings. Deep in the abyss of the underworld, he sat on his demonic throne.

It was a large carving of fire, in the form of wood. It was the end of a huge room, with red pillars jutting out from the sides. The middle was full of red tiles, and there stood his evil beings, the Dragonkin.

“One of you fools go get Iban, I must speak to my son."

The Dragonkin looked about, trying to decide who would go fetch Zamorak’s son, Iban.

“Quickly, one of you go before I kill you all! My words are not to be taken lightly!” screamed Zamorak.

One of the Dragonkin, with a sturdy build spread its wings and flew into the air, soaring through the evil halls, and lofting away. The other Dragonkin stared at Zamorak, his reddish figure matching with his surroundings.

The Dragonkin was of a tough build, a human-like creature with huge, crimson wings sprouting out of its back. The back was a red-scarlet, the sun shimmering upon its scales.

The face was completely red, especially the eyes. The eyes were a deep enigma, completely blank with a blood-colored tone. The entire figure seemed to be a halo in the sky, soaring out of the underworld and appearing above.

The Dragonkin swooped down, hovering over the Wilderness. It recognized its surroundings, and flew in the direction of Ardougne, on its way to a vast new world to retrieve Zamorak’s wish.

The son of Zamorak, Iban, supposedly lived somewhere deep underground, beneath the trenches of the Underground Pass, located near Ardougne.
It made its way across the countryside, knowing it had quite a journey to make. With the fast flapping wings of the Dragonkin however, this flight should be quite easy.

The Dragonkin estimated the trip to be no more than about an hour, yet the journey dragged on.

09-Feb-2009 18:13:56 - Last edited on 19-Feb-2009 18:57:54 by Cicobe1

Cicobe1

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Page 29:

By then, the Dragonkin had sailed out of the Wilderness, the deep ditch becoming blocked by the puffy build of the clouds. The sky was a beauty today, majestically above the ground in a deep sea of blue. The clouds were another feature that added to the beautiful scenario.

They puffed out every so often, blocking the Dragonkin’s line of vision. When the endless trench of a cloud finally came to an end, the Dragonkin looked down to see he was above the vast fields of Taverley, observing the dark city of Burthorpe nearby.

The snow-capped mountain of wolves was a border between the druids of Taverley and the fast moving life in Catherby. One was a quiet country side, supposedly a sanctuary while the other had every single resource an adventurer could ever need.

There were perfectly placed yews, flax to string, honey to collect, and a gigantic spot for fishing. Flying straight over, the black dot of what seemed to be the Necromancer’s Tower seemed to break the beautiful scenery, transforming the landscape of the grassy fields into a black dead zone full of bats and dark magic.

The Dragonkin arched its wings and turned south, towards the direction of Ardougne and began its ascension once it had reached the Legend’s Guild. A small mining spot soon became in view as the Dragonkin had nearly touched the ground.

The rough road had enough friction with the Dragonkin’s landing that it was just enough to allow the Dragonkin not to go flying into the Ardougne walls.

The Dragonkin thought in its native tongue, “Now I have followed Zamorak’s orders, yet I must go through the chaos of the many adventurers having eyes on me.”

The tall, 20-foot Dragonkin made its way through Ardougne square, feeling the odd sensation of being watched.

Thieves stopped thieving, attackers stopped attacking, sellers stopped selling, and the entire life of Ardougne was sapped away on the entrance by the Dragonkin.

09-Feb-2009 18:13:57 - Last edited on 19-Feb-2009 18:58:15 by Cicobe1

Cicobe1

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Page 30:

Finally, one bold adventurer stepped forward, out of the crowd and into the Dragonkin’s line of vision. “Thou are not welcome here! Stay out of our town, or I will have to force you out.”

The Dragonkin hissed, clearly not able to decipher the words that the adventurer spoke. Still, despite the threats, the adventurer stepped forward.

“I said go away! Worshipers of the evil god Zamorak such as you monstrous being, are not welcomed in this paradise!”

Yet again the Dragonkin hissed, but to no prevail. The adventurer withdrew a shield and sword, and they seemed to be of very high class.

The Dragonkin unsheathed its retractable claws, and stood still as if petrified by the brave adventurer’s gaze. The adventurer didn't back off however, and stood his ground. The Dragonkin widened its stance, getting in ready position for an attack.

The adventurer flinched, and in an instant the Dragonkin was by his side, grabbing him by the throat. The Dragonkin roared in satisfaction, and completed its grasp, making the adventurer’s head explode in a barrage of crimson liquid.

The other adventurers ran away screaming, and all left the entire city of Ardougne vacant. The Dragonkin proceeded to West Ardougne, pushing the gates aside with ease.

The guards at the top of the towers attempted to shoot, but the Dragonkin took notice and it slashed at the tower, sending smithereens of the tower shooting about, making the guards fall a height of about thirty feet, falling to the ground in a mess of splinters and scarlet blood.

The Dragonkin ripped apart the gate, proceeding on its way to tell the message to Iban. It crawled into the Underground Pass with much effort, and was at last in the deep, dark cavern.

It proceeded to fly through the passageways, avoiding traps at all cost. The stalagmites and stalactites threatened to puncture the Dragonkin’s wings, making it fall helplessly into a bath of lava, but the Dragonkin continued forward.

09-Feb-2009 18:13:57 - Last edited on 19-Feb-2009 18:59:15 by Cicobe1

Cicobe1

Posts: 4,823 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Page 31:

Wounds from rough cavern walls and small passageways left the Dragonkin in much pain, but its determination kept it to proceed.

At last, it made it to the giant doors of Iban, the metal doors creeping open as if Iban were expecting the Dragonkin. The Dragonkin walked forth, approaching the tall chair of Iban.

Iban sat in the chair in a thinking position, as if predicting the Dragonkin's next move. Iban had a black cloak and pale skin, but the features of his face were not visible under his hood.

His entire cloak was black, with an odd purple symbol in the middle. The Dragonkin approached, and said in its native tongue, “Zamorak desires your attention my liege. He asks that you come with him to his lair, where he will tell you something very urgent.”

“Ah yes, I’ve been expecting you. I’ve heard word of you coming from my soldiers, they noticed a commotion occurring in Ardougne square.

Let us go, and I’ll save you the trip back. Oh! You seem to be injured. Allow me to heal you,” said Iban, in a cold raspy voice, speaking in Dragonkin tongue, from which he had practiced so many times before.

Iban walked over to the Dragonkin, and placed his hand on his forehead. The Dragonkin flinched as Iban placed his cold, icy hand atop the Dragonkin’s forehead. Veins popped their way through, making an imprint on Iban’s forehead from the amount of effort.

The process was quite tiresome to Iban, yet he was persistent. He let purple magic flow through his hand, seeping into the wings of the Dragonkin, slowly healing the gaping wounds in the Dragonkin’s wing.

The healing was finished, and Iban took a bit of time to recover. When he was ready, he grabbed the Dragonkin’s shoulders, and took two Runestones, smashed them together, and in an instant they were in the deep, dark room of Zamorak’s throne room.

09-Feb-2009 18:13:58 - Last edited on 19-Feb-2009 18:59:37 by Cicobe1

Cicobe1

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Page 32:

At first Iban was a bit uneasy due to the frightening designs and numerous eyes watching him as he went in, but soon succumbed to the ominous scenario.

“Father, I have gotten news that you must tell me something. By all means, please do tell me what you have waited so long to say.”

“Ah yes, I’ve been expecting you,” said Zamorak.

“Then by all means, allow me to listen,” said Iban.

“Here it goes. As you probably know, I am on uneasy ground with my mortal enemy, Saradomin. Saradomin refuses to allow any of my followers in his realm, forcing me to deal with a limited space.

With my army, how dare he limit my realm! I have plans for the future, but for now we must discuss another matter. I have recently gotten hold of the adventurer I have been telling you about for so long.

The person proves to be a worthy solider, and will make a great leader in our division. His name goes by 'The Grim Reaper.’ He underwent the transformation…”

“The transformation! You made him go through that?” asked Iban.

“Yes, I did what deemed necessary. Please allow me to continue. He is doing a wonderful job as a Reaper, and I will continue to use him. He doesn’t know what I am actually using him for, however.”

“You don’t mean…”

“Yes I do! Do not interrupt me again, my son. He went into the mansion, and my Dragonkin have spotted him, and he has found an elf.

The elf is quite famous; he goes by the name of Cëril. I will have to speak to him however about the elf’s history, he still does not know. Come closer son,” said Zamorak.

Iban did as told, and walked towards Zamorak. Zamorak leaned over his throne and whispered in Iban’s ear.
After a short while, Zamorak asked, “Do you understand my orders, son?”

“Don’t worry, I understand perfectly,” said Iban with a devious smile.

“To affirm that you do, please do tell me what your orders are,” said Zamorak.

“Kill The Grim Reaper.”

END OF CHAPTER 2.3

09-Feb-2009 18:13:59 - Last edited on 19-Feb-2009 19:00:10 by Cicobe1

Cicobe1

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Chapter 2.4: Elven History

Page 33:

Cëril and you walked out of the wretched dungeon and on into the twilight. The shimmering sky punctured the fluffy build of the clouds, and the whole dawn view-point of the perspective of Lumbridge seemed quiet spectacular.

You reach out into the depths of your mind with the help of the Death Scythe and branch out into the world, feeling for the depths of the inner world.

You feel the hollow room of Zamorak’s lair, and reach out towards Zamorak’s mind. He feels the slight tinge, and quickly takes the form of a ghostly-like creature, and floats above to you, and enters the inner sanctuary of your mind.

Zamorak then spoke in his usual voice and said, “Really? Done so soon? I do expect that you found the adventurer, yes?”

“No! As a matter of fact I didn't! I went on a desperate attempt to try to find the adventurer, and no one was there. I had to walk down to see quite a desolate sight, to see every single soul there bitten by the soul of Count Draynor.
I had to fight him off and parry blow after blow, and I’m partially hurt. Luckily, I was restive on death when a fellow elf soul helped me, his name is Cëril. I know you are of the devious type Zamorak, and I refuse to talk to you with any sort of respect when you make me go through something as pitiful as that!
I am on uneasy ground with you Zamorak, and I will allow no sort of escape from this question. Answer this now or I will quit as your official Reaper.”

“I do see your point, and I ask you to calm down. Let’s take this step by step before this becomes a choleric situation. Calm your nerves and relax, just relax…”

You feel sleepy, and your mind starts to drift away. You hear Cëril swearing in the background, but you can’t decipher what he is screaming. He looks at you wide-eyed, and starts to yell but everything starts to become a vivid, blurred out perspective.

09-Feb-2009 18:23:18 - Last edited on 19-Feb-2009 19:00:48 by Cicobe1

Cicobe1

Posts: 4,823 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Page 34:

The many colors of the background start to fade and sink away with the rest of your mind, and the thought process stopped, making your entire brain shut down. You start to feel uneasy, and lose footing. You stumble backwards over your cloak, hit your head on the sheep pen stile, and fall away into a deep, deep sleep…

You wake up to see yourself in Zamorak’s room, the enormous extent becoming a daunting, perplexing, and vast span. Zamorak sat upon his throne, and his figure was very luminous under the dark shading of the candles.

He had a long, red cloak which covered most of his body, and the entire enigma of his facial features were shrouded under the lava-colored hood. He stood up, revealing the emblem of himself hanging about on his chest.

You look to your right, and see long, crimson columns stretching all the way up to the rocky roof which looked much like a cavern would. Lined across the room where soldiers of red armor, with an odd, fire-shaped emblem engraved in the middle of their Zamorakian armor.

The red chain mail glittered against the flare of the candle, along with their rough armor covering the majority of their legs. The boots were yet another reddish color, adding to the giant figure. A hood was placed upon the head likewise to Zamorak, also covering the majority of their facial features.

You look to your left and see the long line of soldiers, nearly identical to your rightmost side. There was one exception however, in the fact that the green elf that appeared to be Cëril had his head down, as if in shame.

He was chained to the cavern wall, and his face and visible skin was blackened by dust and soot. You look directly forward, and start to panic. You breathe heavily, when noticing the biggest change of all. You look down and see that your hands aren’t what they used to be. The pallid former hands now a light skin tone.

09-Feb-2009 18:23:19 - Last edited on 19-Feb-2009 19:01:12 by Cicobe1

Cicobe1

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Page 35:

Your legs were now the original, covering up the bulk of your emerald pants. You were back to your human form! You look up to see Zamorak standing up, now looking directly at you.

The soldiers all looked up anonymously when Zamorak began speaking. He said, “I have brought you to my lair to expose this filthy liar Cëril for who he really is. He is a deceiver, and should be killed immediately.”

You then respond by pleading, “But why? What did he ever do?”

“Ah, this is where you are unfortunate enough to not know about the poor elf’s history.”

“What history? What has he ever committed?” you ask.

“This is something I call show, don’t tell. I won’t tell you what he has done in the past, but I will show you.”

“How will you show me?”

Your question was immediately answered when Zamorak flung his arm out, and a wave of memories lined your eyes. Your eyelids became heavy, and you started to drift out and away into the sunken memories of your mentality.

You fell to the floor, a rush of memories thundering through your mind. You started to feel lightheaded, and everything became white.

You wake up to see yourself in a human form, but slightly transparent. You see a forest land, rich of trees and fertile soil. Much grass filled the entire area, and there were elves looming about the vacant lot. You then realized what Zamorak had done. You had been sent into a flashback, showing you the true past of Cëril.

You found yourself being tugged towards a large building, with a similar build to a coliseum. You were dragged inside, but no one appeared to pay any attention to you.

You were supposedly trapped here in the middle of a rewind of an elf’s life, with no recognition by anyone who was there. Then you thought to yourself, “Maybe no one can see me!”

You were brought into a large room, with strong, mightily built oak chairs that were carved and shaved down for only the finest of elves to sit upon.

09-Feb-2009 18:23:20 - Last edited on 19-Feb-2009 19:01:30 by Cicobe1

Cicobe1

Posts: 4,823 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Page 36:

There sat twelve council members, all with similar looks on their face. You look about, examining each one carefully, when you stumbled upon the face of Cëril.

You then heard Zamorak whisper, “This is a flashback of Cëril’s memories, and you have no clue of why he is not welcome in my lair. I have long wanted him to be found, and you shall explore why he is one of my dreaded enemies. Right here, he may not have told you, but he was a part of the Elvish council. There were twelve, and he happened to be a great political ambassador who helped rule all of the Elvish lands. Now watch here, and see what he says.”

Then one of the elves stood with a pale face, and spoke, “Cëril, we are trusting you to go on this mission.”

“I understand,” said Cëril.

“To make an overview of the mission, I shall elaborate. You obviously know that we are in bad relations with some of the races in Gielnor, I should expect.
However, to come from our race, that is just despicable! One of the main rules, the first rule in fact, is the biggest sin of all Elvish code.
Treason is not taken lightly here Cëril, and I do expect that you know that. Glendol has long tortured our race, and we have never completely trusted him. However, for a council member… He was loyal, but he did arouse suspensions among us. When he was getting food for his family, he did something that will be put down in our textbooks for years to come.
He did something so horrific, and under his authority it was quite a disappointment. He whipped out a bow and arrow, and shot one of our fishermen.
He went on a complete rampage and shot and killed nearly thirty of our people like a lunatic, and ran off into the mountains.
He is a traitor in our midst, and your mission is to retrieve him, and we will sentence him to the worse sentence possible. Please retrieve him, he is heard to be found somewhere deep within the Arandar path.

09-Feb-2009 18:23:20 - Last edited on 19-Feb-2009 19:01:52 by Cicobe1

Cicobe1

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Do you understand your mission?”

“Understood. I will get right to it.”

With that, Cëril walked out and walked to his home in Lletya, and grabbed his belongings, including some food for the trip, a small canteen of water, and his quiver along with his bow. He dashed out of the camp and ran along to the inner gates of the Arandar path, and ran through.

He ran along the rocky floor, avoiding any boulders that may slow him down or deter him from his path. He searched to and fro, looking for any traces of Glendol. He climbed up a steep cliff, and walked atop to see a heap of a body, laying there, quivering. The body shook and was curled up into a ball, breathing abnormally.

Cëril walked up and laid his hand on the body, and it shook with tremendous force. It wheeled around to show the face of Glendol, his face roughed up from days of thirst and hunger. Cuts made their way across his body, and spread all the way down to his rags of a shirt.

He stared wide-eyed at Cëril and said, “They’re all crazy! They drove me out of town! An arrow slipped and woops! I accidentally hit one of those loony fishermen that always come by. They all loony! They all angry and mad! They all chase me out of city, and drive me into mountains! I scared… I hungry…. I thirsty… I mad!”

“No need to be mad, just come with me,” said Cëril.

“No! You another one of those retrievers. I won’t go back with you, I won’t!”

At that, Cëril whipped out a bow and knocked down the arrow, and held the bow directly at Glendol and said, “Come with me or die.”

"Not... without… a fight.”

Glendol leaped up and thrashed about like a madman, struggling to stand up. At long last he was on two feet, and ran closer to Cëril.

He walked about like a crazed maniac, looming from side to side. He nearly stumbled twice, and as if drunk, waved his hands about. He let his arm fly into Cëril’s cheekbone, and he fell because of the force.

09-Feb-2009 18:23:21 - Last edited on 19-Feb-2009 19:02:10 by Cicobe1

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