RuneScape Forum Archive | Fall From Grace

Jul

2020

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Finally, after a gruesome seven day travel, they stood before the mouth of this Ardougne, its teeth an opened, rusty iron portcullis. The outsiders got their firsthand account of Ardougne... and it truly was as every bit as horrible as their imagination believed.

These outsiders took their first step inside of this festering body. A beaten, cobblestone wide-open street, humming with activity. These decrepit streets wore puddles of rainwater like patchwork, filling up old potholes and uneven spots of bare dirt. Run-down buildings with timber framing lined the streets, each looking to have seen better days.

A plethora of characters filled the streets, some walked to a destination, others openly engaged in their even more shady, criminal practices. Distant echoes whispered loudly, depicting a violent beatdown taking shape. Their clearly foreign appearance drew critics, making them the receivers of some menacing looks.

But moreso than anything, there was one particular place which many such folks flocked to. Warriors brandishing massive weapons, rogues with overcoats and sticky fingers, even landworkers stubbed with green thumbs drew to it like metal to a magnet. They stood before this large makeshift made board of multiple wooden planks nailed together. On top of this board hung a crude sign, the words "The Wall" painted upon it. Upon its rotting face was a copious amount of papyrus, promoted job opportunities from all Alverra, ranging from the simplest of duties to hard, manual labor, even some protection details, perfect for the eager mercenary.

Going beyond this, reflections of the state of the world could be found. They saw then the deplorable state of the human rabble. Some held onto the hope that Alverra would treat the lesser ilk differently, but such was hopelessly futile. This was reality, the real world, no matter where you went, humans were slaves.
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17-Mar-2017 18:41:22

Jul

2020

Serene End

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They passed by a group of such, a single-file group of five led by a heavily armed band of Solasúians. Their necks collared and linked together by a long chain, their hands and ankles bound. Stranger yet, one of these slaves bore faintly glowing eyes, implying that even half-Solasúians could be a slave to this pure-blooded supremacy.

Daevarro's hazel eyes followed them, their horribly malnourished, lifeless appearances permanently residing within his grieving heart. The young man then turned his gaze onto the very front, upon the back of the silver-haired heir Raphael Barn. Daevarro found his hands fastened into fists, Raphael's anger clearly, quietly ignited by these sights.

They then entered a booming and very unforgiving environment. A round, open sprawl of ramshackled shops, businesses and stalls nigh of collapse. The air bubbling up like water in a hot kettle, that water the deals and bargains being shouted forth. The atmosphere was completely deafening, from the sound of chatter and bartering, to the pompous guffaw of a deal done right, to the gruesome beatdown of a scammer, a thief, or slave. Those gods relished in this busy day, cherishing the joyous jiggle of coin like they were their own children.

Cutting through the thick, rancid stink of filth and heaven-only-knows-what, there stood a stall of fruits and vegetable of a slightly unpleasant status and a very... familiar face. Some of the group couldn't help but to notice him, that average-looking fellow from the pub last week. He pleasantly greeted the stall owner, clutching an apple in his hand.

"Would you mind if I had this for free?" he requested casually.

"Sure, go ahead," the stall owner then agreed to his request, quite an odd happening, considering how rough-neck, no-nonsense the owner appeared. To have gotten it for free, rather than at a reduced price? Very unusual, indeed.
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17-Mar-2017 18:42:32 - Last edited on 17-Mar-2017 18:43:15 by Serene End

Jul

2020

Serene End

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To the left, there stood a handful of chained-up humans upon small plinths. A sign tied around their neck, carried by an old cotton rope. There was even a halfling among the merchandise, although they were only available to those with the deepest pockets. Several Solasúians scrupulously examined every inch of these slaves. These starved beings resigned themselves to their fate, having accepted this as their life.

Those of this group painfully turned their cheek the other way, arguably the hardest thing they've had to do in quite some time. They grimaced, the images haunting them in their mind. A grim, dark mindset engulfed many, finding this place no different than Governanti.

Just on the street adjacent to that slave-selling ring was a joint of a provocative nature. A two-story, wide-spanning building sporting elegant patterns, and its business practices were quite simple. Humans -- both female and male -- dressed in scantily clad garments stood at the front, beckoning customers over and tempting them with promises of "a good time".

They peered upon those outsiders, offering them a free visual sample of what could be. But as if mannequins, they possessed empty-faced gazes, plastic and false smiles, their exhilaration and seductive words coming out through their teeth. Internally, they hysterically begged for release from this terrible existence.

They turned their cheek just like before. "We're going to change all of this," they'd recite more times than they could count on hand and foot, acting as if a prayer.

Yet this horror was repeated everywhere, forcing their cheek the other way again and again and again and again. A terribly unfair, unjust world, cruel beyond understanding.

The red-headed archer was in utter disgust. "Tch, scumbags," thought Shinon in the safety of his mind. "They're all the same..."
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17-Mar-2017 18:43:55 - Last edited on 17-Mar-2017 18:46:11 by Serene End

Jul

2020

Serene End

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"Mind your thoughts, Shinon," Telvern then suddenly warned him, startling the archer. "It's best you not forget, we're in a city of gods. We know nothing of what sort of capabilities they possess."

A storm built up from within Raphael, a truly sickening resentment. Even Lamia herself was surprised, turning curiously upon her vessel. His hands clenched so viciously tight, his nails embedding in his palms. Although his face appeared as stern as usual, his presence erupted with deep hatred and indignation.

This place wasn't like Governanti... No, it's worse.

Concerned for his pupil, Malik turned to him. Set off by his internal rage and rancor, Raphael's irises shone a striking, commanding purple, revealing his Solasúian lineage. A first for him to lay witness to this magnificent light, but he knew that he had to quell this ire before it was given chance to grow.

"Raphael, ease yourself. This is no time to allow your emotions to get the best of you." Malik told him.

And Raphael knew, he knew his master was undoubtedly right. They were to speak with the one who promoted this anarchy, this clear lack of empathy, this subjugation. To allow all gods to reign free of law, even of their own Natural Laws, was beyond deplorable. Quite the meeting this was to be, two champions of two remarkably different ideologies.

Raphael took a moment to breathe, recomposing himself. He went on a killing spree, expunging all of those horrific images from his mind. But he realized that such a task was impossible, so he merely bottled up these emotions inside a small little box inside of his heart.

This ethereal glow of Raphael's eyes disappeared, and Lamia examined this change, much alike the time a week ago with the archer at the tavern. Quite an influential force that Malik was, a fortunate turn of events to have him at their side once again. He settled his solemn eyes upon the ruined castle ahead of them, temporarily ridding himself of all feeling.
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17-Mar-2017 18:45:10

Jul

2020

Serene End

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They then find themselves in a sort of residential district. This place was clearly the higher class district, arranged with tall, elegant, timber-framed buildings of decent status. Although the streets were mostly vacant of life, there did wander a few souls. These so-called 'nobles' were even more rough-neck than those of the past. These were the people who earned such status, not by building a business empire, not by inheriting a fortune, but by fighting tooth and nail for it.

And still, not authority figures could be found. It truly was a dominion of freedom, the only law to be known were these four words: "survival of the fittest". Such inspiring anarchy created a world of subjective taste, the beautiful, ugly child of its 'king' Silas Alverra.

However, this meeting between two juggernauts of completely different outlooks was drawing near. The group found themselves before a large arch bridge crossing over a river which ostracized a small portion of Ardougne from the rest of the city. Without hesitation, they settled a foot upon its weathered stone, beginning to cross.

A wind blew in from their right as they crossed, many among the flock were then utterly overpowered by its revolting, nauseating nature. Their very nose hairs burnt, their faces shrunk as if having eaten something horribly sour. They looked over the bridge's railing to locate its source, taking all but a second to find a river turned into a landfill.

Trying their best to cope, the group walked across this ancient bridge, revitalized by the refreshing scent of rain upon stone. They then walked into a three-sided courtyard, surrounded by towering walls of this decrepit castle. Its scale absolutely glorious, its design bore a simplified form of Gothic-style architecture.
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17-Mar-2017 18:48:57

Jul

2020

Serene End

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Finally, the group found a type of authority. There were several posted around the courtyard, knights of some type, but unlike the Loyal Knights, they did not possess any sort of uniform. It was like a do-it-yourself on how to look like a knight, their armour seemingly from a pile of rubbish.

They each wore mix-matched armour entirely of their own making, varying between soldiers encased in armour to others merely wearing some chainmail and some plain leather. However, there was one unity in their appearances. Draped upon them was a long, thread-bare cape that was once lustrously red which has long since faded away.

The wall of the castle which held the door wore a single banner in its center, a great banner of black and yellow. At its tattered heart laid the image of a flower in its entirety, a yellow rose. Passing under a gaping lancet arch, the group find a massive wooden double door. At its sides were two knights, and despite the foreigners' sudden appearance, the knights gave them entry without opposition.

They opened the doors, allowing the group to enter inside. This act truly as if a door, opening a feeling inside each person among this merged following. With about a dozen questions they could ask, they set foot inside the castle, cautious and nervous.

They resided now within a fairly small, torchlit room with four tables at each of its corners. Each bearing a small, ceramic pot on top of them. Inside of these pots was a bloom of yellow roses. The true symbol of Alverra, whoever planned out this room's decoration clearly wanted to make that known.

Their feet began climbing up aged, cracked steps. They then found the next room, the throne room. A long, but not particularly wide room appeared before them, its walls adorned with 'knights' and banners of the same variety as the one outside. Its simplified version of Gothic-style architecture staying well and true here, the throne room's ceiling ran with a series of ribbed vaults, speaking its age.
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17-Mar-2017 18:50:53

Jul

2020

Serene End

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Going up this frayed, crimson red carpet and ascending more steps before reaching the other end of the room was it, sitting atop its highly-prized pedestal. An old, tall, illustrious throne of stone, and whomever sat upon it was comforted a cushion of red. Yet claim to this throne was permanently had, for a banner of black and yellow was draped upon its back.

He who declared this his for all eternity was there, seated comfortably upon his throne. His glowing, icy-cold gaze fell upon those strangers who approached his throne, the crown jewel of his empire, his world.

The group finally got a glimpse of he who presided over this mad world, a god who appeared in his seventies at least. His figure wasn't terribly built, but it wasn't terribly thin neither. His skin fairly pale, his hair silvery-gray, a little slicked back, and somewhat short. His face wore a thick, full beard. His facial construction possessed some very fine characteristics and keen, steely eyes. Like his brothers and sisters, he was the ideal image of what a human should look like. And despite his age, he still embodied the image of the perfect being.

His clothing was what one could expect for someone of his status. Although he wore no crown, he wore quite a lot of jewelry to make up for it, from rings to jeweled bands to adamas bracers encrusted with flawless gems. Upon his shoulders, he wore a fine mantle of fur and a long, thick, embroidered cape of black, a cape which seemed to favor his left side more than his right.

Upon his torso, he wore a white linen shirt beneath a dark green, beautifully embroidered doublet, both of which he had casually unbuttoned to a slight degree, revealing the top half of his chest. His legs were dressed in a pair of black trousers and knee-length, cuffed-up boots.
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17-Mar-2017 18:52:22

Jul

2020

Serene End

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The group continued to step fearlessly onward, but Raphael had already begun to conflict with he who sat upon the throne, conversing with him in a way that hung not upon meager word. Halfway in, one of the guards suddenly sprung into duty. But she appeared as no ordinary guard, but as the personal guard of he who resided upon the throne.

She suddenly came into a defensive position, but not in her own defense, but in her lord's. She held a massive claymore out as if to block the path to her lord, halting most of the group's stead. At the front of the group, Raphael's stern gaze side-glanced upon her, finding a set of hazel eyes glaring vehemently back at him.

She was a tall, fairly well-built Solasúian, though given the subtle glow and unusual color of her eyes, she may actually be a halfling. Her hair was auburn-red, a tad untidy, and reached to the top of her back. Her facial structure bore some strong characteristics, one could argue that they bordered very slightly on the masculine side. Alike the one she loyally stood beside, her eyes were as sharp as daggers, as cold as steel.

Much like her fellow guards, she wore a long cape of red. But unlike theirs, her cape was much more alive, its texture more rich and detailed. Also unlike them, she wore chainmail underneath a full set of actual armour, albeit its somewhat ornate steel wore the experience of many battles. She did not currently wear her helmet, opting to wear it only in combat to avoid overheating. But she did keep it beneath her arm, ready to strap it on at a moment's notice.

"Halt," she demanded, a command more specifically directed at Raphael, who then finally stayed his step. "What business do you have with Lord Silas?"

"Disarm, Verinn," Silas himself ordered with his deep, resonant voice, peering with intrigue upon Raphael. "They will do me no harm. They need me."
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17-Mar-2017 18:53:28

Jul

2020

Serene End

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This knight labelled Verinn acknowledged Silas's order, withdrawing her claymore to her side. Silas then leaned back in his chair, expanding his arms whilst keeping his elbows bound to the arms of his throne. "As he who represents all Alverrians, allow me to welcome you into my marvelous country, Barn," he then greeted, surprising everyone by immediately calling out Raphael's lineage. "It's perhaps not as fancy as what you're accustomed to in Governanti, but my people are independent and passionate about what they do -- qualities that are seldom found in the east."

Raphael had no words for Silas, just continuing to peer -- almost glare -- sternly at he who resided upon the throne. Silas returned his right hand to the underneath of his jaw, undaunted by Raphael's perpetual, piercing staredown. In fact, he was quite proactive in meeting it.

"Verinn," named Silas once more, drawing her ear. "I'm quite parched. Go fetch me a drink."

Hearing this demeaning command issued to her, Verinn walked away from her post, almost rolling her eyes as she stepped away. This left Silas wide open for an attack, a realization which Raphael was surely tempted by. Yet even still, Silas just sat there, unopposed, uncontested.

Despite what he'd personally like to believe, Raphael needed Silas, or at least what his word could do for his rebellion... and this need, Silas knew it, he felt it. But Raphael's mouth did not move, so caught up in this anger which only beckoned him further. The group behind Raphael looked to him as he was lost in the silence, garnering the concerns of the many. Worried for his pupil and his still tongue, Malik stepped forward. "How do—?" the old master spoke.

"—Silence, lowbreed," Silas angrily denied Malik's very breath, keeping his eyes solely upon Raphael. "I am not speaking to you. I want him to speak."
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17-Mar-2017 18:55:58

Jul

2020

Serene End

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Even after his master got shot down, Raphael just continued to look onward. He was unable to find a question to ask, unable to find the words to say. A minute came and past, then another minute, then another... Even Silas's personal guard Verinn returned before him, bearing a goblet full of red wine in her hand.

She presented the goblet to her lord, who plucked it from her grasp. To remedy his dry throat, Silas immediately put it up to his lips, draining it of its delectable liquid. But as swiftly as he threw it back, he spat it out even quicker. He thoroughly rejected its flavor, a taste which made him feel like he might as well be drinking sewage water.

As quick and as furious as a strike of lightning, Silas's eyes bolted at his guard Verinn, viciously ripping into her face. "This isn't the right wine, you useless mongrel," Silas spitefully declared, baring his teeth. "Go fetch me the right kind now instead of making me waste my time with this swill."

"As you command, Lord Silas," Verinn would return, her voice just as irritated and sarcastic as the previous time. She retrieved the goblet, retracing her steps back from whence she came. Disgruntled, she sighed, reopening this door which led into the wine cellar.

His focus upon Verinn disappearing like his patience for her, Silas returned his callous, frigid eyes upon Raphael. Beside the young man, the Neheztelian goddess Lamia studied this absolute bitterness, his unwillingness to speak. Raphael then felt an unusual feeling behind him as if someone had put a hand upon his bare back, yet there was no warmth, nor was his armour actually affected.

"Ease yourself," she quietly, kindly told him, much alike a mother encouraging her child. "Come, you must speak now."
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17-Mar-2017 18:58:18

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