RuneScape Forum Archive | Fall From Grace

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2020

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Achernar returned as he were, standing straight but with a bowed head. "Come, my lady," he requested of his queen. "We'll need to be as discreet as possible during your escort."

With a subtle nod, she went along with Achernar and the other Loyal Knights. Achernar armoured himself once again, pulling his coif of chains back on, followed by his great helm. Becoming a complete Loyal Knight once more, Achernar and his fellow knights turned towards the door. Lucia and her knights then began to depart, encasing her like a steel-clad egg shell. A ring formation, with Achernar himself leading the pack.

Before he completely vanished from sight, Lucia's head turned back to take one final, desperate look upon her brother. She found him where he stood, gazing upon her whilst fighting a losing war against his own tears. This hard-to-sway smile upon his face far too easy to break, but he knew this was the best decision he could hope to make.

Balor then disappeared from her view, a grief-stricken moment indeed. A number of questions swirled around in Lucia's head, the highest of all being, "Will I ever get to see you again?"

With his wondrous sister being out-of-sight, Balor was torn down. His legs which he had built up with his courage quivered, the ground ripped out from under him. He felt thoroughly sick, a malady brought by his own sadness. He had to quickly sit himself down, lest he'd crumble entirely.

Gallows stood idly by to support his lord, but there hung a thought, something he had to tell Balor. With their departure confirmed by the door's closure, the blue-eyed general turned to his king. He peered upon a man so utterly distraught, bearing an ache unlikely any other.

"My lord," Gallows named, not gaining the attention that he warranted. "There's more to report."

"...What is it?" Balor muttered.
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09-Mar-2016 16:53:51

Jul

2020

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"I didn't wish to inform you of this while Queen Lucia was present for fear that it might upset her, but..." the general explained, grabbing his king's attention. "With the influx of refugees arriving, I wanted to get a better understanding of what exactly occurred, so I interviewed multiple people. Though reliable details of what transpired were few and far between, I did manage to come up with a vague description of the alleged leader of these supposed "shadows.""

It felt as though he almost knew exactly where this was going, Balor's eyes lifting up and climbing his tall, loyal general. "Although some gave me unusual details, most managed to give me the exact same account of his appearance, right to the tee," Gallows went on. "They claimed him a young man with purple eyes and silver hair."

"And if it's someone else?" the king questioned.

Gallows shook his head. "I am uncertain of that," he returned. "Of all the details related to their leader's appearance, there was one bit that each found easiest to recollect: this leader had a large scar across his throat."

Balor simply stared in disbelief, trying his very best to process this situation entirely. A futile effort for the most part, he was unable to truly come up with an answer to this strange puzzle before him. "How?" Balor uttered, dumbfounded. "Lucia took his life... I gazed upon him with my very own eyes, he drew breath no longer!"

"My lord, calm yourself," the scarred general urged his king, his voice and body language low-key. "It does us no good if we lose ourselves to coincidental depictions, even if they seem to match up with people of our past. For all we know, we might be dealing with some sort of crazy fanatic impersonating him."
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09-Mar-2016 16:55:35

Jul

2020

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Balor inhaled and then exhaled, a deep breath as though letting go of a ton of anxiety. He then smirked very subtly, emitting a very light chuckle. "Quite strange," he thought in the midst of his chuckling. "It's typically my task to advise calm between us. Since when did you become so even-tempered?"

"I've had... quite a lot of time to think to myself, sire," he easily professed his secret. "Much of my family channel their anger in terrible ways, ugly ways. Upon thought, I came to realize that I was no different. If I wish to be unlike them, I must to be something better, something... more."

The two found themselves locked in each other's gazes, a certain static being discharged upon Gallows' conclusion. A jolt, a vibe which sprung a negative feeling in Balor's own mind. To be something different, something more... There was an earnest look about Gallows, almost as though he were trying to tell his king something without demeaning it with words.

"...That is good, Sergius," Balor quietly admitted, simply attempting to avoid his mind wandering too far upon this subject. He just didn't want to believe the terrible things his own thoughts were producing, the crossbreed of the demons born from recent events and Balor's very own fears. Loyalty was amongst the highest held beliefs to a Solasúian, what would become of them without it?

Balor then very slowly rose from his chair as though the seat were the bringer of these horrible imaginings, at war with himself every inch of the way. His glowing sapphire eyes unleashed, falling upon the formerly nice, clean table he used to support his ascension to his feet. Damaged by the king's wrath, inked by the golden-brown liquid free to roam.

Gallows happened to take notice of the poor condition of the table, unfit for someone such as His Majesty. "Ah, I suppose a replacement is required," the general mentioned.

"Go," the king ordered, a command which brought fuel to Gallows' legs. "...I need time to think."
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09-Mar-2016 16:57:54

Jul

2020

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"At once, sire," the general acknowledged, saluting his king. Without any unnecessary expenditure of time, Gallows made his way out. His pace relentless, until he found himself at the door. He took a quick look back at his lord, concerned over his well being after what just occurred. He found Balor in his usual place, his eyes fanned out upon his city, his mind adrift upon his thoughts.

Darkness had nestled down upon Balor and his world, watching his grand plans fall apart before his very own eyes. As frantically as he could put these pieces back together, they simply crumble into even more pieces in his hand. This darkness just like the night, the night in which those of the former Resistance and Desert Assassins were dealing with currently.

Indeed, darkness had too nestled down in these overgrown ruins, turning another page in their long, forgotten history. The night had grown full, but the harsh mountain air whipped and whirled. Its gruesomely stinging, piercing chill digging into them like a whirlwind of furious hornets. But a few souls solidly held their ground, finding safety around a shield to combat the cold.

The flame was so utterly precious, enveloping all in its tender warmth. It rose up like blades, fighting the frigid, monstrous gale as a knight. The group of the former Resistance and the Desert Assassins huddled around the firepit, the sun in the night. They kept close to one another, desperate to keep warm.

But warmth was not on the mind of some, but rather this... this man, this man once thought dead. Malik Poena: former leader of the Lumbridge Resistance and mentor of its current leader. He sat there by the fire, unreal to the eyes of several. Raphael still couldn't believe it, so very tempted were his fingers to pinch his skin.
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09-Mar-2016 16:58:23

Jul

2020

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Over the course of an hour or two, Raphael sat down with his master and explained everything. It was quite a long story, but Malik appeared more than willing to weather the shower of words. He learned of Elena's true identity -- one of which he didn't seem surprised to hear -- and of the Governanti Resistance's fall, the arrival of Daevarro and the betrayal of Telvern. But worse of yet, the former leader learned of the terrible loss of all those people he once inspired.

They had lost everything at that point, a situation impossible to recover from. But there was still hope dwelling deeply inside, a small but defiant string which guided them out of this labyrinth of despair. It was a momentous accomplishment, making this old master smile with pride just one more time.

But Raphael's words finally ceased, disclosing the events which transpired afterwards: their trip to Solasúila and the Neheztelian goddess Lamia's return, their attack upon Ormemel and their plans now. Raphael had come to the end, allowing Malik a moment to process through this massive tale told to him.

"I see..." he mumbled thoughtfully, absorbing this information. "Quite a lot has happened since my departure."

As Malik continued to try his best to down this knowledge, the hooded old man tended to that large portion of meat he had been working at. He had finally gotten it in the fire, making jealous stomachs grumble and growl like beasts. The air smelt so delicious that it was good enough to eat, salivating mouths across the board.

"And what about you?" Raphael then quickly questioned, drawing his master's attention. "After what happened in Governanti, we thought you were dead."

"And so I would be if someone hadn't broken me out," Malik explained without any needed thought.

"Somebody rescued you?" the heir repeated his master's statement.
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09-Mar-2016 16:59:13

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2020

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"Indeed," his master responded, then closing his eyes as he recollected everything that had happened. "After all which occurred, Balor ultimately spared my life, preferring my execution be held more publicly. I was thrown into the dungeons, awaiting my inevitable death within a prison cell. One day after another passed, but among that time would see a knight come before my cell. He offered me a strange message, telling me that he was going to get me out, but I'd first have to "play along for a little while." Then... I'm not certain of the details, but... suddenly I was transferred from Governanti to Ormemel. They kept addressing me as Collin, Collin Derris. Upon my arrival to Ormemel, I was tossed into its mines, forced to work out and repent for this Collin's crime. Through my labors, I became a free man. I stepped out of my imprisonment and I found a young man awaiting me, standing just outside. We spoke briefly, but it was him who did most of the talking. He told me that I had to hide, for too many enemies knew me by my face. He offered to guide me to a place where I could hide, so I followed him until we came here... to Taverley."

"Why didn't you come back to Lumbridge?" Raphael asked in earnest, actively seeking the truth. "We needed you, more than anyone else."

Malik shook his head. "...I couldn't," he answered somberly. "It was by dumb luck that I managed to pass off as a different man without anyone recognizing me. But to travel from Ormemel to Lumbridge would tempt too much, anyone with even the slightest suspicion would report me in an instant."

Raphael turned his head away, dissatisfied. A swirling hurricane of questions and what-ifs swept him up, whipping him around in a vehement vortex. Past questions, doubts, and regrets once buried rose up from the grave, becoming malformed with Raphael's experience as leader. How would things be if Malik were still leader? Would everyone in Lumbridge still be alive?
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09-Mar-2016 17:00:08 - Last edited on 31-May-2016 20:26:48 by Serene End

Jul

2020

Serene End

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"I'm genuinely curious as to the identity of your rescuer," the genius Telvern suddenly confessed his interest. "Did he ever... address himself by a name, by chance?"

Hearing Telvern's question, Malik immediately turned to him. "No, but he did claim himself a member of the Resistance," the master candidly responded.

Telvern's head lowered, clenching his chin with his right hand. "Hmm, how intriguing..." he thought quietly, locking himself away in the confines of his own mind.

"Why weren't we told?" Raphael then wondered in a demanding tone. "There was no word of any rescue operation."

"Aw, would ya guys cut 'im sum slack?" the loud, obnoxious voice of a certain hard-speaking assassin suddenly cropped out. "Obviously he didn't wanna say anythin' 'cause he didn't wanna arouse s'spicion! C'mon, he saved ya boss!"

Telvern then sighed heavily. "I suppose concerning oneself with motives and objectives without a basis would be merely fruitless guesswork," the genius begrudgingly concurred. "Even still, his true affiliations elude capture..."

"Nah, we can worry 'bout dat later," Calvin casually pushed off, then turning to that strange, stern-faced old man beside Malik. "So 'ey, ya willin' ta share sum-a dat meat over 'ere, ol' man?"

Once more did he not say a word to the pleads of another, his glowing blue eyes staring deeply into the fire. His mind remained stagnant, void of all thought but one... A nervous chill crawled down Calvin's back like a thousand tiny insects under his skin, seeing as the old man just ignored him completely.

Silence overcame the air, only was the crackle and pop of the fire to be heard. But suddenly was there movement, seeing that strange, hooded old man given life. He carefully yanked the large chuck of meat out of the fire, placing it on an old piece of wood he had laying on the ground. He then pulled that boorish, makeshift plate up on his lap.
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09-Mar-2016 17:02:41 - Last edited on 31-May-2016 20:27:28 by Serene End

Jul

2020

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With his knife, he began carving up the meat, such crude, uneven slices would leave a perfectionist utterly grief-stricken. The old man then momentarily ceased his cutting, clenching a freshly-carved piece of meat with his wrinkled, dirty fingers. He then slowly pulled his hand forward, reaching out to Calvin.

Calvin's eyes flashed with delight, his body rejuvenated, taking that piece of cooked meat from the stern-faced old man. "Well, ain't ya a nice fella!" the assassin exclaimed.

He looked down to examine this slice, one that was just teetering on the side of burnt. But it was a hearty, well done looking piece of meat, brown and juicy like a steak. Unable to hold back his appetite any longer, Calvin let loose the floodgates in his mouth. He sunk his teeth into it as quick as he could, his canines digging into an almost jerky-esque, but flavorful piece of meat.

The old man then took another slice into his hands, handing it out to the young man beside Calvin. Daevarro was in his sights, the young man able to see a lot of history in those ancient, callous eyes. Quite intimidating, a man who had lost everything. Just what would bring him to such a place as this?

Daevarro cautiously grabbed hold of that slice from the hooded old man, pulling in closer. "Uh, thank you..." the young man anxiously expressed, but a question hung on the tip of his tongue. "S-so what's your name?"

The hooded old man returned to the meat on his lap, getting back to his rough cutting job. "Neeson," he would then respond in his gruff voice.

"O-oh," spoke a startled Daevarro, then attempting to rebuild himself. "Well, it's nice to meet you. I'm Daevarro..."

The stern-faced man calling himself Neeson had no other words for the young man, plainly ignoring his polite introduction. He simply looked back down at the meat upon his lap, continuing his cutting spree. He sliced up that portion of meat quite well, even as he was burdened with the challenge of a very worn-down knife
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09-Mar-2016 17:03:45

Jul

2020

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Calvin wrestled with the rough meat in his mouth, bringing his teeth down upon it. "Huh," said the assassin with his mouth full, giving his jaws quite the workout. "What's dis any'ow? Ain't never tasted nuthin' like it!"

"Troll," the old man Neeson answered, not looking at all upon those in his presence.

A large question mark rose above Calvin's head, unable to understand just what a 'troll' was. "Eh?" he muttered, his voice muffled under that slab of meat in his mouth. "What's dat? Sum kinda funny creature?"

"I've read that they're massive creatures that take refuge up in the mountains," the dark-robed young man Daevarro came back into the conversation, addressing Calvin's confusion. "They're supposedly really strong, but their intelligence... is a bit lackluster."

Daevarro then shifted his gaze to the large slab of meat sitting on Neeson's lap, a rather massive capture. Quite impressive to see such a portion of meat almost absent of fat entirely, piquing his young, inquisitive mind. Finally did he get to see this world with his own two eyes, a world he had only seen in the words of books.

"But aren't mountain trolls supposed to be made primarily of fat?" he questioned, thinking for a moment. "I thought they needed it in order to survive up in the mountains."

Calvin's jaw immediately froze upon hearing Daevarro mention the words "primarily made of fat," thinking about just what made this food in his mouth really chewy. "F-fat...?" he nervously spoke just one of Daevarro's words, his mouth still filled with the meat.

The famished old Malik then looked upon Daevarro, shaking his head in a agreeable manner. "You're true," Malik confirmed Daevarro's information. "The fat of a troll makes for quite good insulation. But this bounty isn't one from a mountain troll, but a land troll."

""Land troll"?" the young man repeated this term used by Malik.
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09-Mar-2016 17:04:54

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2020

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"Indeed," the old master responded. "To our north is the ruins of a city, known formerly as Burthorpe. All throughout, there's evidence that there was some sort of human army, one which seemed to have struggled with the trolls everyday. But since the fall of humanity, the trolls have claimed the territory as their own. I would imagine the bodies of those who came down have adapted to the conditions, a much less punishing environment compared to the mountains."

"Master, we need to get past that mountain," Raphael then came forward, proceeding to change the topic to something a little more important. "Is there any place where we might find some spare clothing?"

Taking in his pupil's question, the elderly master pondered for a moment. "Perhaps," he said in the midst of his thought. "There are sections of Burthorpe which have remained largely untouched, so there's a possibility of extra coats and blankets still to be salvaged."

Upon the closure of Malik's words, Telvern suddenly rose up from the ground. "Very good, then we'll leave tomorrow to retrieve them," the genius formulated without counsel, turning away from the fire.

Raphael immediately jumped on whatever Telvern was up to, his eyes dashing straight into his back. "Where are you going?" the heir questioned with high alert.

Telvern ceased in his motion, having walked just a couple of steps before drawing his nephew's suspicion. "I've come across quite a few peculiar accounts of the Solasúian Invasion, soldiers which have professed strange tales ripe with fiction and over-exaggeration," the genius explained. "But of these supposedly historical documentaries lies the account of the band of Solasúian knights who came here, referring to Taverley's former summoners and one of them which "bore a moving mountain-man made of pure steel, a being which stood as high as ten of our tallest knights.""

"Isn't that your titan?" said Daevarro, trying to answer this mystery.
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09-Mar-2016 17:06:12

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