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Old Gnomish
Jul Member 2023

Old Gnomish

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- Returning the Message -
This originally was going to be my entry to the Wintumber contest, but I decided it wasn't the style I wanted to write for a Christmas-themed contest, so instead I finished it and turned it into a dark story that holds moral value over vengeance.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Ladarius had come to a conclusion: Christmas wasn’t coming this year.
He stared down hopelessly at the piece of paper in his hands. He had read it several times, but still he struggled to register what was written on it. Like an impossible puzzle that caused one’s brain to freeze, thaw and melt into nothingness, the words were of such demoralisation that Ladarius could not help but weep as once again, he read aloud the contents of the paper.
Lazarius,
Before you judge me on what you are about to read, I want you to know something. I am sorry. I truly am. I know how much he meant to you, and it causes me such unimaginable pain to stress that what I did was right and was the situation different, I would not have made the same choice. I know my love for him means nothing compared to how close you two were, but I do not exaggerate when I say he was like a brother to me. I did it.
I killed him.
I beg of you, please read the rest before you choose to launch a vengeance-fuelled assault against me. It was the three of us: your father, me and the Fremennik. I just could not stand it. The pain of seeing the captive in the state she was in was too much. You have to understand, it was my heart that acted, not my conscience. Foolishly, I did it. Foolishly, I brought down my sword onto your father as he began to bring down the axe that would inevitably separate the head from the neck. But you have to listen...she was crying so much...begging for mercy. Your father was brought up this way, Ladarius, and as your godfather it is my duty
Snow
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Guildmaster - The Novelists' Guild

11-Oct-2011 16:15:10 - Last edited on 08-Dec-2011 19:31:49 by Old Gnomish

Old Gnomish
Jul Member 2023

Old Gnomish

Posts: 2,569 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
to protect you from becoming corrupted like him. He was my closest friend, but this was an act too far.
I will end this letter now, Ladarius. I know you will probably want my head in return for your father’s, which is why I am leaving Gielinor. I will not be coming back.
Corvus
The words burned before Ladarius’ eyes. He could not think: his eyes bulged unnaturally, hands and feet went numb; his brain hollow. For a while, Ladarius simply stood still, his eyes staring intently at nothing. Then, a series of emotions took hold of him.
At first he cried; a wave of tears crashing down his face as the realisation of death hit him...hard.
Then, he simply fell to his knees, whimpering sounds not of sorrow but of utter hopelessness.
But it was the final emotion, omnipotent in all its beastly glory, which really captivated Ladarius, turning his heart to stone. The fire which had remained locked within him was released; burning all goodness in his heart before engulfing his mind.
Ladarius no longer felt upset, hopeless or betrayed. He felt vengeful.
And so it was with utmost retribution that Ladarius had hastily left his hut in search of his want-away godfather.
No water, no food but crucially, no sleep, was vital to hunting down his godfather before he had time to escape the lands. Besides, through determination and vengeance, Ladarius had no need for such necessities, which is probably why within two days of his journey he had found his godfather in the dead of night, asleep by a small river, south of Nardah.
Calmly yet swiftly, he had dismounted his horse, withdrawn his battle axe and now he stood looming over the body of his hated enemy. But that was the easy part. As he glared at the wrinkled skin of his godfather, dehydrated from his journey, he contemplated whether or not to kill him as he lie dreaming. Impatience getting the better of him, he decided it would be sufficient to kill him in his sleep.
Snow
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Guildmaster - The Novelists' Guild

11-Oct-2011 16:15:22 - Last edited on 05-Dec-2011 19:13:06 by Old Gnomish

Old Gnomish
Jul Member 2023

Old Gnomish

Posts: 2,569 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
It was with discontent that his godfather awoke as Ladarius prepared to lift his sword above his head. With little time to think, his godfather rolled over on his side, escaping the blow of the sword as it came crashing to the ground.
“Treacherous villain! I shall slay you here, in the hope that my father can finally rest,” spat Ladarius as his godfather struggled to his feet, withdrawing his own blade.
“I did*’t expect you to catch me so soon,” sighed his godfather, “but more importantly, I had thought better of you, hoping you would not follow the footsteps of your late father.”
Ladarius began to stride towards his godfather, each stride increasing in confidence before strides soon turned into a run. His godfather, standing motionless as the confident prince came closer and closer towards him, merely let out another sigh before quickly raising his own sword in a defensive stance. The two metals clashed, creating a loud screech of scraping metal. Ladarius’ confidence soared above that of his godfather, resulting in his attacks proving quicker, more accurate, more successful.
More deadly.
Blow after blow was parried by Ladarius’ godfather, but each with less strength. He was quickly tiring; with his age his physical strength was no match for that of the angry prince that dealt constant blows.
It proved to be a lacklustre parry by his godfather that allowed Ladarius to briefly poke the tip of his sword just beneath his foe’s chest. His godfather gasped aloud in agony and fell to the floor, dropping his sword as he did so. He let out a rasp scream before Ladarius dealt the final blow, severing the head from the body. He peered down at the mess that lie in front of him.
He had thought Christmas wasn’t coming this year. But he had received an unwelcome gift from his godfather in the form of a letter and only now, as the tears began to stream down his cheek, did he realise that the gift was more than just that – it was a warning.
Snow
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Guildmaster - The Novelists' Guild

11-Oct-2011 16:15:32 - Last edited on 05-Dec-2011 19:14:03 by Old Gnomish

Old Gnomish
Jul Member 2023

Old Gnomish

Posts: 2,569 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
- 'The King is Dead!' Contest Entry May 2012 -
This was my entry to one of a series of player-run contests, hosted by Cozmic. It placed me fourth out of thirteen contestants.
_____________________________________________________________________
I often recall the image of his body hanging lifeless in my nightmares.
Odd, isn’t it? No hamartia for me, no ecstasy of success or sweet taste of victory on the tip of my tongue. No, the only thing I ever taste is the cold iron of blood. Spit into the sink and watch the crimson fluid trickle down the plughole. Of course it’s always there.
You can never hide the bloodstains of a perpetrator.
The idea sometimes enters my mind that if I tell my story, I am partially free of this curse. It’s not true, of course. But I like to think that. I remember something my father once told me, that if you “ever do something shameful, your guilt will be relieved if you confess*. Perhaps there is some truth in his statement, but it did*’t help me. It appears it did*’t help anyone else, either, as I lay in my cell, the setting-up of the gallows clearly audible outside the small slit of a window.
Death by execution. Somewhat befitting, I think to myself.
Thin rays of sunlight enter my cell, thrusting the eerie shadow of my own figure against the wall. I haven’t seen myself in weeks, but the shadow is enough to tell. I may as well be dead now, for it appears my body has already succumbed to thinning into nothing more than a skeleton protected by the thinnest layers of flesh.
A corpse slowly rotting.
Outside, a raven caws. Even nature is mocking me now. I am more than just a guilty man preparing for his end, and yet look at what I’ve become. Deep down, perhaps I always knew someday, fate would catch me. I stole the lead but fell at the last hurdle.
I hear the echoing jingle of keys approach the door to my cell.
Snow
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Guildmaster - The Novelists' Guild

11-Oct-2011 16:15:42 - Last edited on 29-Jun-2012 16:45:05 by Old Gnomish

Old Gnomish
Jul Member 2023

Old Gnomish

Posts: 2,569 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
“Get up,” a bald, brute guard orders. I stand, slowly fraying side to side, my legs struggling to support even my pathetic body. “Your turn,” he smirks.
I am led out of the cell, through a narrow winding of passages. Identical cells to mine are located either side of me. They are all empty, although the horrid smell of ****** and rot lingers in the air about them. In some cells, bodies still remain there; the brown, decayed colour of old blood sometimes seen smeared against the walls. Flies hover above the corpses. I shiver.
We continue through several passages before we enter a clearing, a large, portcullis-like gate showing the exit. If only it was to freedom.
“Name?” a thin, freckled man asks, eyebrow raising, voice quivering.
“Harold,” I reply.
“Harold?” he sniggers. “Odd name for a killer, ain't it?”
I say nothing, and after the irritating man scratches something on a piece of paper, I am led through the gate and into the open air.
It is sunrise, and my eyes struggle to adapt to the intense light of the low sun. I had been used to the darkness of the cell: even the rays that had occasionally entered it had seemed dim, but now it was almost too intense, like my eyes were burning away.
I can’t make out faces, only seeing the tall silhouettes of about a dozen people. I am shoved from behind, the chains bound to my ankles rattling as I tumble over. Quickly, I am lifted to my feet by someone, their nails digging into my shoulder. I wish it would end now, but it seems the more you want it to end, the longer it takes. I am tugged forward a few metres, before someone from behind applies pressure to my shoulder blades, causing me to fall to my knees.
“Harold Cuthbert,” a deep, thunderous voice reads out. “You are here today, presented to the magistrates, parish priests, lords and earls, by appointment of His Royal Highness. You are to be executed for treason of the highest kind. Regicide.”
Snow
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Guildmaster - The Novelists' Guild

11-Oct-2011 16:15:54 - Last edited on 29-Jun-2012 16:45:32 by Old Gnomish

Old Gnomish
Jul Member 2023

Old Gnomish

Posts: 2,569 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
The word sent tingles down my spine. I hated it. Though the very nature of what it meant was true to every extent, the mere thought that such a word existed was death itself. O, end it now! I thought.
“Up!” a voice spat into my ear. Still straining to see, I am lifted to my feet once again, pushed forward a few feet, then gripped firmly by two hands.
“Step,” a voice says. I lift my left foot up, move it forward a little, then step down. I repeat the motion with my right foot until soon, I am slightly elevated from ground level. I am pushed once more from behind, walking slowly forward until I feel my feet step on a slightly rickety floorboard, square in shape where it has been cut separate from the rest of the wooden structure. I look up; see the imperfect circular shape of rope. My heart quickens.
Glancing briefly to my left, I see a large man take his place a few feet away from me. He is standing next to a large, iron lever which he places both hands on. His veins bulge slightly as he tightens his grip on it. He is smiling.
“When you are ready, Lucien.”
Snow
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Guildmaster - The Novelists' Guild

11-Oct-2011 16:16:05 - Last edited on 29-Jun-2012 16:46:16 by Old Gnomish

Old Gnomish
Jul Member 2023

Old Gnomish

Posts: 2,569 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
A burly man with grey stubble and sweaty face approaches me. He holds out a hand as if he is going to hit me and I duck, but he doesn’t and instead grabs hold of the rope and, with one hand crushing my jaw, slips it over my head and down to my neck. He pulls a knot and it tightens, the fibres of the rope feeling prickly against my skin. He breathes heavily through gritted teeth, and I catch the odorous smell of garlic. I can’t help but chuckle to myself. Too bad he’ll have the last laugh.
The man walks away a few paces, turns, and stands still, his eyes staring directly toward my neck. Watchful eyes, all glistening with excitement, fear, wonder. I am the centre of attention.
I close my eyes. Like an incessant nightmare that never leaves, the image returns to my head once more. I see him, yet this time, he looks like me. The noose is worn where it’s been used too many times, yet still it is fumbled around his neck, the rope quickly tautened for there is little time to spare. Like me, there is a person by the lever, both hands clasped around the cold iron.
But in this image, it is me on the lever, pulling it to the floor in a quick movement of strength.
I see the diamond-encrusted gold of the crown fall to the floor.
Hear the hellish “crack!” of bone snapping.
See the lifeless body suspended, twisting and turning, twisting and turning, twisting and turning...
And I open my eyes and for a moment everything is vivid. Is it a dream? Perhaps I am still in my cell. Had I fallen into some horrible nightmare?
But then I realise none of it is synthetic. Because in the corner of my eye, I see the man to my left tensing; hear the devilish laughs of redemption; see the lever fall to the floor; feel the floorboards beneath me opening...
Snow
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Guildmaster - The Novelists' Guild

11-Oct-2011 16:17:22 - Last edited on 29-Jun-2012 16:46:43 by Old Gnomish

Old Gnomish
Jul Member 2023

Old Gnomish

Posts: 2,569 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
"The Scarecrow Mask"
This short story gave me a win in the first week of Risk Wizard's "Reldo's Collected Tales", a weekly writing prompt competition.
_______________________________________________________________________
Trepidation had often got the better of me, no more so than now, as I stood holding some exotic mask, the cruel cold biting my sagged face. A harsh wind whirled through the air and the crisp, autumnal leaves coasted briskly along the ground, casting the illusion that the ground itself was moving; trembling before the cooling climate. Elsewhere, the collective chirping of fieldfares was the only noise that accompanied the otherwise mute forest.
I held the mask at eye level, examining it for the first time. From this angle, it cast the impression of an oil painting: the foreboding black of the mask prominent against the dying grey of the background clouds. But it was the eyes that captivated me most. As I stared longingly at them, their spectral glower stared into me, and for a long while (or so it felt; though perhaps it was merely seconds) an overwhelming surge of emptiness seized hold of me; I was quite inanimate, and indeed felt destitute of life.
I was brought back to sentience by the firm clasp of an old hand upon my shoulder.
“Look into it no further! The mask is a curse: relieve yourself of its iniquitous look!”
I spun round immediately to the figure standing behind me: I was uneasy on my feet – I felt drugged, as though I had woken from a deep slumber, and it took a moment for my eyes to focus on the old man’s face. He was bald but a dark blue crown-shaped hat sat atop his head; semi-lunar spectacles perched at the end of his rounded nose. Long, ceremonial robes hung at length to the feet, adorned with a Saradomin crest centred in the lower, shaded grey area of his outfit. Withered and worn, his face was profound and unchanged; the thin creases that lined his forehead were like scars of his past – he looked a man of many stories
Snow
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Guildmaster - The Novelists' Guild

11-Oct-2011 16:17:50 - Last edited on 31-Oct-2012 17:01:53 by Old Gnomish

Old Gnomish
Jul Member 2023

Old Gnomish

Posts: 2,569 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
(cont.) and much wisdom, yet cast a look that suggested such relics were ridden by some strange, underlying regret.
The Old Man stood there, unabashed, his philosophical stare still held by my watery eyes. He smiled uneasily, then cast his gaze to the mask I still held.
“Peculiar thing, is it not?” his voice was harsh and resonant. “But it is not safe in your possession, nor anyone else’s, for that matter.” He extended a hand. His anonymity and frozen expression were as sinister as the silent woodland we stood in, and I felt obliged to hand him the mask.
“What is it?”
The Old Man looked up. There was a tremendous aura of patience in him: I reasoned that this was a man who had seen and done it all; he was enervated of urgency, and thus took each day as it came.
The rhythmic patter of droplets hitting the ground signalled the coming of rain.
“An unholy artefact of sorts. Do you not recognize what its visage resembles?” he questioned. Admittedly, too quickly had I indulged myself in the eyes of the mask that I had paid little attention to its other features. It was then that I noticed the patterned lines on the mask: thin, abundant etchings had been scratched on to the wooden surface of the mask. I realized it cast the appearance of straw – the mask of a scarecrow.
Snow
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Guildmaster - The Novelists' Guild

11-Oct-2011 16:18:05 - Last edited on 31-Oct-2012 17:02:55 by Old Gnomish

Old Gnomish
Jul Member 2023

Old Gnomish

Posts: 2,569 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
The Old Man nodded knowingly, having read my mind.
“Indeed. But not the mask of your typical scarecrow,” he chuckled wryly. It was then that I heard a distant cawing. “The crow’s call as the rain falls. Oh god.”
As if suddenly struck by a bolt of vigour, the Old Man stood upright.
“We need to leave now,” he said. But no quickly had we taken a few swift steps than we heard the slow, heavy sound of footsteps emerge from behind. The Old Man stopped dead, as did I. In the short moments of having heard the pursuer, my breathing had intensified; beads of sweat trickled down my forehead; my eyes widened, gaping blankly into the distance. The Old Man still faced ahead, motionless. Engulfed by a curiosity that was amplified by my growing fear, I slowly twisted about my feet.
And there I saw a tall figure made of straw.
And saw its crimson slits for eyes, dark and satanic.
And saw thin, red lips curve into a smile. Except they weren’t lips, not quite: they had the shape of lips but were more like strands of rope.
And then it started to speak.
Snow
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Guildmaster - The Novelists' Guild

11-Oct-2011 16:18:43 - Last edited on 31-Oct-2012 17:03:21 by Old Gnomish

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