RuneScape Forum Archive | Lunar Eclipse

Yrolg

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Chapter III.

Darkness everywhere; sable stars upon black sky; atramentaceous walls on an imperceptible floor. That’s all there was, that’s all there would ever be. A small boy, huddled in the centre of the entourage, the feature presentation of this dreary show. He did not know where he was, where he was did not know him. He was simply existent, and that was enough for both parties.
How he got there, no one quite knew—not that anyone was present for him to know. Only darkness. Though, in such sability, the darkness is almost tangible—an onyx stone, waiting, demanding to be touched, and experienced, loved and nurtured. And even still, it was only darkness.
Slowly, the boy climbed to a sitting position, staring around him into the impenetrable gloom. With a great sigh, he hefted himself to his feet, and marched on; following the direction he had started over four days previous. He was starving; he was dehydrated, still he moved onwards. Already the small knapsack and canteen characteristic of a hunt were empty, but he did not notice. He had one goal, and only one goal: to move on.
Slowly he had managed to traverse quite a distance, though the lack of light and perception did not allow the boy to realize it. He had no knowledge as to why he was there, nor did he know where ‘there’ was. He simply moved on. The land was not flat, nor was it asperitous. It was not barren, nor was it lifeless. It simply was.
He moved on, and, when tired, he sat. He sat for only a moment, contemplating the predicament in which he found himself, before, at last, presenting himself to the one world he *was* familiar with, the one world he *did* still have access to: the world of dreams.

21-Dec-2008 19:08:03

Yrolg

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The world can be a harsh place, and the realm of dreams is no different. The boy, at each rest, found himself able to sleep, but unable to rest; his troubles haunting him with almost violent demonstrations of his plight—a world, come crashing down, throwing about the populations, leaving only the boy alive, free to roam the lifeless world until death, the ultimate record-keeper, took tally, or even worse: darkness, endless, persistent, it pressed upon him, until it was almost tangible, suffocating the boy with its sheer power and fury, until, at last, he died. These were the dreams the boy fought every night, and it was against these dreams that he lost.
This pattern continued for each day; the boy rising from his sleep, staring about him in the vain hope that some light — some symbol of hope and life — might present itself, before starting again in a seemingly vain attempt to relocate; if the world would not find him, he would find the world.
It was not until the fourth or fifth day (who could count in such circumstances?) that something finally changed. The daily nightmare was not of darkness, nor of apocalyptic disasters; in fact, it was not a nightmare at all. In this dream, there was utter darkness, save one small pond, lit by the iridescence of luminous fungi and organic glows. This pond was bare, save four ducks in it, one on one side of the pond, three on the other. The ducks were swimming around the periphery in what appeared to be an attempt at tag, each chasing the other, but never reaching them, for just as one duck would swim around the edge, so would the other.

21-Dec-2008 19:08:20 - Last edited on 03-Jun-2009 03:43:35 by Yrolg

Yrolg

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The boy—sole witness to this extravaganza—was perplexed as to what this could mean, and continued staring until, finally, one duck stopped. The largest, this duck simply swam to the middle of the pool, and sat upon the water, watching as the remaining three swam after each other. After this duck had quit, the second smallest duck began to advance upon the now largest remaining duck. Just as the duck was about to ‘tag’ the larger duck, the latter dove under the water, disappearing from view for a short time. The remaining two ducks simply swam after each other, before, nearing exhaustion, the remaining ducks stopped, and, leaving the smallest duck behind, the duck which had played instigator to the game approached the side of the pond nearest the boy.
The boy, not realizing what he was doing, picked up the duck, and held him close, calming him when, at first, the beast was frightened. Smoothing ruffled feathers, and appreciating the beautiful contrast between this group of ducks and the nightmares he was so accustomed to, the boy amicably played with the animal. After growing bored, the boy set the small duck back into the pond, where he rejoined his playmates, the duck which had dived under being with the large duck in the middle, in the centre.
Only the smallest of the ducks remained separate. It paddled away on the outskirts of the pond, admiring itself and its wake with a most singular interest and gaiety.
When the boy awoke that day, he did not proceed to look around. He, instead, sat upon the ground, contemplating this new change in the circumstances of his imprisonment. He did not sit for long, however, and when, as it did every morning, his stomach vociferated its hunger, he changed his train of thought—shifting from dream-duck to a perhaps more edible endeavor.

21-Dec-2008 19:08:36 - Last edited on 02-Jan-2009 22:45:01 by Yrolg

Yrolg

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After searching around for quite some time, the boy at last located something which might have been food: at the base of a hill, or what was most likely a hill, the boy found a small plant which, when pulled from the ground, gave off a most dull glow. From it, he could discern that he was indeed at the base of a hill, and that, to his absolute good fortune, the root of the plant was, with some difficulty, edible.
After eating what could only be his fair share of the vegetable, the boy packed his bag with them, and plucked a few extra for what might only have been the great comfort their severely limited light gave. Using these plants as a light source, the boy was able to discern that he was at the base of a small mound whose other side hosted a levy to a stream, which, though stagnant, offered a great deal of opportunity for the boy. Removing himself to the other side of the mound, he drank from the paludal water before, earlier than his body was wont to, he fell asleep.
For the second time in a row, the boy’s patterns were changed, and, for the first time in almost a week, the boy fell asleep with not a dream to disturb him.
~Cawing. Is that a sound? Wait—a sound? What is that? Maybe—no, it’s not; couldn’t be. But it must be. It has to be. It is. What’s the word. People use it a lot; something weird. What was it? I think it was naz. No, that’s not right, something like it though. Maybe nose; no, that’s not right. Nosey—Noisy—Noise! That’s it; though I don’t know for sure.
Boy doesn’t that sound cool: noise. Noise, noise, noise. Boom, cackle, splash, bang, yes, no, whoopee! Noise. It’s beautiful.~

21-Dec-2008 19:09:08 - Last edited on 02-Jan-2009 22:46:46 by Yrolg

Yrolg

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The boy awoke to something new, something wonderful: sounds. First he heard the singing of birds, then the cackling of the autumn leaves, dancing about in the slight breeze, then something more. It amazed the boy—noise, everywhere.
He sat up, looking about, searching for what might be causing such an eerie sensation. Seeing nothing, he just smiled blissfully—whatever it was that was causing these things, it must have been amazing to be causing such wonder, such beauty, such majesty. As he at last stood, the boy looked—heard about in wonder.
Entranced by the absolute wonders offered by the new world of sound, the boy simply stood, impassive, and ignorant to all but sound. He did not notice that by infinitesimal increments the glow was becoming brighter, nor did he notice the general change in the atmosphere of the small area in which he found himself; the boy simply found wonder in the area of sound, the presence of music, his ability to hear.
As the elation of sound began to take its toll, and the adrenaline which had powered his earlier standing began to fade, the boy slumped, sat, and collapsed upon the ground, falling asleep to the entrancing lullaby of a crow’s serenade. As he sat there, thinking about the new possibilities of the world, dreaming of the different outcomes of this newfound component of the world, the world began to blur, and, for what have been a pattern, the boy slept—dreamless.
The boy slept for an unprecedented amount of time, never once stirring in the deeply inebriated slumber. He did not wake when all of a sudden the birds ceased their songs, nor when a slight wind began, stirring leaves and branches. He did not wake when the first light the area had seen in days approached, and he did not utter the slightest protest from within his slumber when the source of such light, a group of people dressed in unfamiliar clothes, and led by a rather apathetic manager, surrounded him, talking confusedly amongst themselves.

21-Dec-2008 19:09:24 - Last edited on 07-Feb-2009 05:19:02 by Yrolg

Yrolg

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Confused, they faced their leader, wondering what to do in such a curious circumstance. Just as confused, the commander could only struggle for orders. “Get him-get him into a bond, and we’ll take it back to Him, and see what He wants. I want the ones who aren’t getting that kid to start picking; we don’t have all day: this lamp is going to burn out any second.”
Following the orders dutifully, a group set about tying up the small boy, tying his wrists to a rope connected with his feet, and gagging him. They did this while the others set about the field, ravenously picking up plants (most looking eerily similar to the plant the boy had eaten earlier), and stuffing them within bags which had previously been concealed. Once this job was done, the group regathered about their leader, and set off with their plants and unconscious prisoner to whence they had come.
The trek was long, arduous, and uneventful. The group, which consisted of roughly twenty persons, all of whom, save the boy, wore the outlandish clothing, and none of whom, save the commander, spoke during this arduous trek. After the leader’s last direction to move onwards, neither a word nor sound was spread, save the continued serenade of the crows.

21-Dec-2008 19:09:37 - Last edited on 03-Jun-2009 03:41:01 by Yrolg

Yrolg

Posts: 25,296 Sapphire Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Chapter IV.
The manor at Usha Place was in disgrace; the parlor had endless bounds of refuse and garbage upon its surfaces, and the entryway to the main dining quarters had what might have been decaying food upon the walls. Chairs stood in heaps upon the floor, and a chandelier swayed precariously above the front door, some of its crystals shattered upon the terrazzo floor. A man lay supine upon the ground, surrounded by the shattered fragments of a goblet of some sort, perhaps glass.
Maids and servants were busy in other sections of the house, so the man continued to lay there, surrounded by this unconventional fortress. As those cleaning busied themselves, he was so busying himself, too: cleaning his body of the inebriating alcohol of the night before. Oh what a job it was; though unconscious for most of the previous evening and night, the form had sought to rid itself of the dehydration and alcohol during the morning and noontide. Even when these latter efforts failed, he had continued his former duty faithfully, ridding himself of the alcohol in a fashion both abled and lent**udinous.
His efforts were not going unrewarded; already the searing pain within his head waned, and, through more tedious efforts, he was now able to drift into consciousness now and again. The rewards of such feats were clearly audible in the continued groans and complaints of the supine mass, as with each new application for sobriety, a trip to consciousness, there were conjoined groans and gutturals accompanying every such trip. But still the man persevered, struggling through the agonizing pain, thinking that ‘surely this pain could not be caused simply by the alcohol.’

21-Dec-2008 19:15:20 - Last edited on 23-Jun-2010 09:31:25 by Yrolg

Yrolg

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Eventually the maids finished with their work in other rooms, and they slowly conglomerated in the area most stricken by whatever disease plagued the house: the dining room. Slowly traversing the periphery of the room, they started at the far end, scraping whatever it was upon the walls off, repainting it in some instances, and collecting all of the miscellaneous refuse which was upon the ground, either disposing of it, or, if the item was of quality enough, simply tossing it into the enormous pile which was to be taken to a charity. Their work drained them of energy, and their din drained them of chatter; each maid simply did her job, and left—this was the last room of the house needing resurrection today, and most were eagerly awaiting their voyage home. Though the anguished cries of the main grew ever louder, vociferously announcing his plight to the world, and to his maids, his call was left unheeded, as it had been for approaching thirty hours.
“Ooohhh,” he would cry, instilling an almost eerily orgastic hue to the call, but each time a shattered goblet clanking against other fragments, or the howling winds of fury and rain outside would drown him out. Indeed, it seemed that he was drowning in his own putrescence and filth before someone at last laid courage enough to visit the entrance, following the trail of either blood or wine, dutifully extracting the stains from the atramentaceous floor. The servant slowly followed the trail, revolted by the sheer amount of whatever it was she was cleaning.
“Ooohhh,” he cried, another of his countless proclamations. Slowly it dawned upon the young woman that these moans and calls were not coming from the room she’d just left, nor were these originating from the endless storm raging outside. Looking about, she at least realized the collapsed form in the corner.

21-Dec-2008 19:15:35 - Last edited on 07-Feb-2009 05:21:36 by Yrolg

Yrolg

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“Mr. Usha!” she cried, not quite aware of the reason for his unconsciousness*****. Usha, are you alright? Here, now, you listen t’ me, I’ll get you someone who knows what they’re doin’.” She consoled, unsure who would be aware at that uncanny hour in the night.
Still not fully knowing either what was going on, or what she was doing to help it, she called into the dining room, “Iveas, Trista, Janelle, come quick! Something’s not quite right with Mr. Usha; he’s laying on the floor by the entryway, moaning and unconscious. Please, come quick!” her sharp and piercing voice easily penetrating into the noise-filled chamber. As she hurried back to the body, the three addressed maids abruptly stopped their work, and approached the entrance, not quite sure what had happened, but curious nevertheless to hear news for gossip.
“It’s Mr. Usha,* the maid quickly explained. *I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but he’s moaning, and it looks like he’s been here for a while.”
Janelle, the oldest of the three, and having had hangovers herself, curtly identified the problem. “He’s drunk, or ‘least, he was drunk last night. Probably tanked past what he could take, and passed out. Sure beats me what got into ‘im. Never seemed the type that would drink himself full, ta me at least.” She quickly walked in front of the other three girls, and started searching around the ground near Mr. Usha, not stopping until she had at last procured a small flask, depleted, and smelling deeply of whiskey. She showed it to the other maids, commanding an implied, “See, I was right,” before setting the flask down, and giving treatment to Mr. Usha, who had begun to moan with more intensity, strictly following his orders, that he should force himself into consciousness.
After quite possibly ten full minutes of Janelle*s urging****. Usha was able to produce consciousness. “Wha—I don’t—Where am I?” he stuttered, fluttering his eyes, and bunching his eyebrows, confused and disoriented.

21-Dec-2008 19:15:52 - Last edited on 07-Feb-2009 05:19:52 by Yrolg

Yrolg

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“Mr. Usha****. Usha! Listen to me, alright?” Janelle addressed him as if he were a small child, lost in a zoo. “You were very drunk last night, and now you’re undergoing a hangover. Your head will hurt for a while, and you will feel dizzy and sick. You have to drink a lot of water****. Usha.” she cooed further, treating him infantile, slowly drawling out each word in enunciate phonetics. “Do you understand?”
For a moment, the man was silent, and immobile, not even his eyes blinking, until, when the three women in the back were unsure as to whether or not he was still conscious, he stirred, resisting Janelle** vain attempts to keep him still. “Let me—Let me go. Stop it, let me go. I want to go. Let me go.” He argued, slowly forming a crescendo in the battle between him, his conscious, and Janelle.
“No****. Usha. You are sick, and you need to stay still for a little while****. Usha, you’ll have ta stop fighting me now, or I’ll have ta get help from these three ladies behind me. You were drunk last night, and now you have a hangover. You need to sleep, and stay still.” She said to him, pressing his restless hands down upon his chest, and sitting upon his floundering legs.
“No, I want to go. Let me go, I need to go.” He continued, resisting any attempts at consolation and fighting back with increasing frenzy, mandating that Janelle enlist the help of the three bystanding women.
“Trista, grab his legs, and hold his feet together. I don’* want him hurting himself, or anything in here. There’s mess enough in the dining room.” She commanded, not quite sure of what else to do. “Iveas, I want you to grab his arms, and keep them on his chest. Trust me, that’s the most comfortable way, and he’s less likely to fight or hurt himself that way.”
“What about me?” the girl who had found the body asked, unsure as to whether or not she really even wanted a job.

21-Dec-2008 19:16:18

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