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The Level

The Level

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Old School Runescape!? I'm writing again!? I saw a noob story!?

This must be the 2007 effect everyone is talking about! I'll ride it as long as I can, and I will put the contents of my work here. I'm not a great writer, but if you're entertained, and I can finish this thing, I'll consider it a victory. Feel free to drop a comment, I'll always read them. Corrections are also welcome, though I ask that you edit them out after I've made them.

So sit back, get comfy, and start reading!

~ Table of Contents ~

Chapter I: Pg. 1
Chapter II: Pg. 1,2

Story Posts: 12

04-Mar-2013 04:04:58 - Last edited on 06-Mar-2013 15:02:49 by The Level

The Level

The Level

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"Dreams begin...dreams end...that is why you keep coming back. That is why we all keep coming back...to dream just a little bit longer."

~ Chapter I ~

“I am here, Oracle!” Ben’s voice drifted rather than echoed through the air, as if it had to force its way through a thick liquid hanging in the air. He tried again, but the old mountainside temple gave no reply. Grunting irritably, Ben slung the heavy back he brought with him up the mountain over his shoulder and trudged deeper into the temple.

As the blackness swallowed him, the anguished howls of the winter storm outside faded, and the temple took on a soft bluish glow. Ben could hear soft whispering around him, and every once in a while something would brush his face or hand. He was not worried though. The spirits here were friendly, or at least not dangerous. The Oracle would not allow a malicious or disgruntled spirit to reside in his temple.

He stopped at a sudden widening of the temple corridor. He knew the path in front of him was laden with deadly traps of all types, and that he could not hope to traverse it alone. He closed his eyes and let his arms fall to his side. He felt the air stir slightly, and then a pressure on his hand, as if something insubstantial was trying to clutch it. He swallowed hard and his heart beat loudly in his chest as the spirit tugged him gently forward. Not because of the danger, but because he knew the identity of the spirit. He tried to grip the feminine hand tighter. He was dismayed when it gave way instead.

He kept his eyes closed as they deliberately made their way down the hallway, but suddenly, the air around Ben was empty. In panic Ben opened his eyes and frantically grasped at the air, looking for someone that was no longer there.

He had to find her. Needed…to find her.

04-Mar-2013 04:05:14 - Last edited on 05-Mar-2013 02:31:01 by The Level

The Level

The Level

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He leaned against the damp stone walls, collecting himself, desperately trying to keep at bay the stormy depression that for two years now relentlessly tried to envelope him and never let go. The glow of the walls reminded him where he was, and he felt his resolve strengthen.

After a moment, Ben pushed himself up and onward. He emerged into an expansive cavern after several more minutes of walking. It seemed to stretch as far as he could see, extending deep into the mountain. The massive room was punctuated by great stone pillars adorned with intricate paintings that dated back to the God Wars. The blue light was more pronounced here and rather than whispering, the voices of the spirits combined in a melodic hum, which no mere mortal could ever hope to decipher. But through his many visits to the temple, he had learned to discern the high, mournful sobs of the younger spirits from the deeper, more resigned tones of the ancient ones.

“I am here now," Ben said quietly, reluctant to interrupt the heartbreaking hymn of the temple’s ghosts.

“Yes, I heard you!” snapped the Oracle, materializing in front of Ben and startling him thoroughly. “I wish you wouldn’t shout so loudly. It quite upsets the spirits.”

“My—”

“Pipe down, will you!” the Oracle yelled at the ceiling. Instantly all noise retreated from the cavern, and the room significantly dimmed.

“Why did you do that?” Ben asked. “I always enjoy their songs.”

“Hmpf!” the Oracle spat. “Most of them are free to leave Gielinor whenever they fancy, so I don’t know why they go on and on about how horrible it is to be a spirit. The lyrics aren’t exactly pick-me-ups either.”

The two sat down on the stone floor and Ben passed the food he kept in his pack over to the Oracle, who quickly began scarfing it down. Ben watched silently, amused by the voracious appetite of the old man.

04-Mar-2013 04:06:00 - Last edited on 04-Mar-2013 14:30:06 by The Level

The Level

The Level

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And he was old. Judging by his appearance, the Oracle had long ago passed the bounds of a normal human lifespan. He was so thin that at first glance one could mistake him for a necromancer’s skeleton, and his dirty white beard only partially covered the deep lines that crossed his face. He painted his entire body white, which cracked and only accentuated his age more. Ben had once asked about his age but the Oracle had waved his question away with the explanation that age is of no consequence to an oracle, only the number of prophecies an oracle has left.

“She’s still here, you know,” said Ben, breaking the silence. The Oracle paused in his feasting and set the food down.

“Of course she’s still here,” the Oracle hissed. *Why would she leave? If you’re here she’s here.”

“She would be happier…departed, wouldn’t she? Is that the best for her?"

The Oracle threw up his hands. “Don’t try to act like that is what you want. You know as well as I do that she is the only thing tethering you to this world just as you are the only thing tethering her.” Ben looked down, ashamed. The Oracle quickly softened is tone. “My dear Ben,” he said, placing a frail hand on Ben’s knee, “I have seen you on the edge of the very blackest pits of human feeling. You would be there again if she departs. She will leave when this is no longer so. Not to mention she’s probably the only reason you keep coming to visit me.”

04-Mar-2013 04:06:28 - Last edited on 04-Mar-2013 14:32:45 by The Level

The Level

The Level

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Ben smiled at the attempt at humor by the old man, but couldn’t help but feel guilty at the truth in the statement. Only one year ago the Oracle had rescued him from fiery battle that Ben had intended to be suicide. “I would have left you for dead,” the Oracle would often tell him, “but I sensed that the eyes of Saradomin himself had rested on you, and you were given a purpose that has not yet been fulfilled.” As Ben recovered from his wounds, which left disfiguring scars on his back, chest, and shoulders, the Oracle summoned and repaired the shattered spirit of his late wife. Ben was soon strong again, and chose to exile himself down the mountain where he could frequently visit the temple, gathering food for the Oracle as an excuse to have fleeting contact with his lost wife.

The Oracle finished eating and sat back contentedly. Ben began to gather the empty pans and dishes into his bag.

“It was a satisfying last meal, my dear Ben,” said the Oracle with a sad knowing smile. Ben looked up quickly, his piercing blue eyes meeting the Oracle’s unflinching brown ones.

"What?”

A small leather satchel appeared in the Oracle’s hand, and he began to talk as he rummaged through the contents of the bag. “There is hope for you, Ben. For happiness and peace from a troubled mind and past. That is my last prophesy.” He pulled out a small piece of dirtied parchment, and handed it to Ben. “You must seek this out. It is a key, my dear Ben. You must find what it unlocks, and then you will be at peace.” On the paper the Oracle had scrawled a hasty sketch of a long, thin, leaf-bladed weapon.

04-Mar-2013 04:06:46 - Last edited on 04-Mar-2013 04:09:49 by The Level

The Level

The Level

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“Your last prophesy? Wait.” Ben began to become flustered. “A key? Where do I start looking? Oracle, I don’t understand. Are you dying?”

The Oracle chuckled. “No, dear boy. Creatures like me do not die, we move on. I shall fast until the prophesy is fulfilled, and then I shall…move on.”

“I can’t,” Ben said furiously. He stood up and began pacing. “The world out there is full of evil. I have learned that. I am part of the evil. I will not go back to the world that despises me, and rightly should. I am happy here on the mountain.”

“You are a fool to think you have found happiness here. That you ever will on this mountain. The death of your wife is blood on your own hands, and now you must atone for her death and the others you have taken. Now go!”

“Wait!” Ben cried, but he was too late. Rather than looking at the hunched figure of the Oracle, he was outside the temple. He turned around and looked with misty eyes out at the land below him, obscured by snow and fog.

He felt something tenderly brush his cheek, a lover’s touch. She kissed him, and then she was gone. And he was alone.

~ End Chapter I ~

04-Mar-2013 04:07:14 - Last edited on 04-Mar-2013 14:46:26 by The Level

Azigarath

Azigarath

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Well, I finished the five posts. I remember the Oracle being this bald guy with white skin and wearing brown tattered clothing. Your sentences have nice descriptions and usage of words, but the story didn’t feel like much new. The theme of “the innocent emotional hero fulfilling the prophesy he feels he cannot do” is a somewhat overdone thing in fiction, but it can *till be done I suppose.

That’s all for now.

04-Mar-2013 18:54:13

The Level

The Level

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~ Chapter II ~

The hot afternoon sun beat mercilessly down on the bustling desert city of Al Kharid. The day’s last tournament ended with a roar from the crowd, which then flooded the streets in search of something to occupy the rest of the day. The Duel Arena lay silent and abandoned, save four people.

One of the four sat silently in the Arena’s shaded hospital ward, which was cleared of all patients some hours ago. He was young, perhaps in his early to mid-twenties, and it was evident by the cracked steel armor he wore as well as by the dirt and dried blood caking his face that he was a tournament contestant. His complete exhaustion was obvious from his sagging shoulders and the faraway expression on his tanned, handsome face. His eyes were markedly active though, dancing back and forth with dizzying rapidity. A glimpse into the warrior’s head would show the viewer one of the day’s previous fights that the fighter had chosen to relive.

Ben had always been a methodical fighter, analytically. After every fight for as long as he could remember he would find some secluded area, and reflect—and learn—from his mistakes. His father told him often to throw away his pride, to take advice and change when change was required. It was better to learn and live to fight another day than to go down in a blaze of glory.

He had earned fifth in the tournament, a place that would satisfy most fighters, especially given the prestige of the knights and adventurers that were in attendance. Ben felt fury, however. Both of his losses had ended in the same, humiliating way: a feint with the shield hand followed by a swift uppercut with the sword. Now he ran through the motion again and again. He practiced in his mind the precise movements and intricate swordplay required to check the feint, while still managing to parry the uppercut. He would not be fooled again.

06-Mar-2013 04:25:16 - Last edited on 06-Mar-2013 15:04:00 by The Level

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