Rushing into the castle that was kept in the back of the city of Avdima, Moriah hasted as fast as she could. She rushed towards the staircase that led up into the room in which the Prince and Princess had last been seen in.
Knights guarding the stairway try blocking Moriah from access to the heavenly staircase. These men were equipped in heavy steel plated armour from head to toe. She nimbly ducks under their sweeping arms that attempted to latch onto her. She sped faster to the quarters with completely hasted footsteps.
Her motion echoed heavily across the entire castle halls, bouncing from wall to wall. The knights chased after her, their armour clanked like a massive thunderstorm. They weren't nearly as fast as Moriah - it was like a turtle racing a lion. Moriah breezed up the stairs, she quickly made it up to the fifth floor within a few minutes.
Two knights guarded the door into the room in which held the last of the royal bloodline. Moriah halted in her hasted steps as soon as she gazed upon the gilded wooden doors into the Prince and Princess's Quarters.
Her hands reached down to her knees, panting heavily as she was utterly exhausted. Tears of sweat slithered down her forehead as if they were small snakes. Her crystal blue eyes looked over to the two knights that stood next to the door's shoulders.
They quickly drew their claymores and pointed them toward Moriah's throat. Like the knights guarding the staircase, they were equip in heavy steel plated armour from head to toe. Difference is that their armour is gold trimmed. They seemed angered by Moriah's presence. "Who do you DARE think you are?!" angrily demanded the knight to the left.
"Look here..." she replied, her voice under breath and drained. "The plague is back!"
"Ha, nice try peasant." taunted the knight to the right. "The plague can't past through here. After all, we DO have protection."
"Yeah, and I was the one who created that "protection"." Moriah stated, her voice starting to spring back into the normality of life. "However, I've just witnessed a man - one of your own in fact, die right in front of me!"
"'Course you did." replied the knight, completely brushing off Moriah's warning.
"Let her in." commanded a voice within the walls of the room the knights protected. His voice strong and bold as like the face of a rock. They recoil their claymores and tied her arms under theirs. They push open the door gently and reveal Moriah to the Prince.
Moriah's facial expression tired and uncertain, her breath still a bit heavy. Her face gazed upon the last man of the lineage of the royal family of Avdima. Allister's indigo purple irises take glance upon Moriah, his eyes full of pride and power. "Release her." ordered the prince, his voice fierce.
"But Your Majesty-!"
"Now." he thunderously riposted, interrupting the knight's voice just as soon as he could. The knights just couldn't ignore a direct command from the one they serve as his arm. They quickly release Moriah from their restraint.
She walks forward, closer to the prince. A grin cloaked her face. "Thanks Allister." she happily thanked.
"Anytime." he replied. His indigo purple irises shot back over to the knights. "Leave."
The knights bow, their grumbling held close under their helmets. "As you wish," they angrily acknowledged. "Sir..."
Allister quickly threw the door closed, slamming it in the faces of the knights. His face gazed apathetically at the door, his right hand still tightly clenched onto the door. His head ran through the thoughts of the plague like a marathon. "The blight has returned..." he murmured. "Correct?"
"Yes..." she sorrowfully confirmed.
"Then we need to hurry." he said, his face turning to his left. "If we don't...then..."
Moriah's feet moved over to Allister. Her tall boots touch the regal carpet of blues and purples below her. Her left hand latches onto Allister's plated right shoulder. "That's not going to happen." she encouraged. "I WILL make sure that won't happen."
Allister closed his eyes, a drop of saliva rolls down his esophagus. He let out a huge breath of air out of his lungs, turning over to Moriah. His shy indigo purple irises open up to face Moriah. Her face marked by a confident smile, shaking her head up-and-down once. A small grin of assurance and hope glittered on Allister's face. "Thank you." he thanked.
"So, where's your sister?" wondered Moriah. "I was pretty sure she was with you."
"She is." he calmly confirmed. "She's-"
"Allister..." silently called Alena in the background, her voice crawled in pain. She slowly walked up to him, her hands shook like earthquakes. Allister spun around to face his sister and his heart quickly sank down into his stomach. Her eyes appeared pink, bloodshot and drooled with red liquid. "What's happening to me?"
Moriah gazed upon Alena's face and her hands masked her mouth. Her eyes became as wide as a cat's eyes. "No!" she yelled out, rushing over to her as fast as she could. Alena wailed, her coughs sounded fragile and easily breakable. She dropped onto her knees, her strength quickly vanishing.
Moriah slid down on her knees. Her pale skinned hands quickly rushed into the color green. Allister was just utterly frozen like a block of ice, a intense fear ran down his spine. Moriah pressed her hands against Alena's snow white skin. "It's going to be alright..." she tried assuring. But she can't help but to believe that it won't.
Allister's frightened irises looked down at Alena, the one and only person he could ever care for. He just couldn't believe what he was seeing. He began to feel sick to his stomach, beats of sweat rushed down his entire body. "Alena?..." the prince fearfully mumbled.
Back when the world was at it's true worst. Thousands of years before the devastating blight that conquered the land of Gielinor. There was another time in this fragile world's history that nearly took the world into it's deathly grasp. The Third Age, otherwise known to the people of the future as the God Wars.
It was a frostbitten and empty night. And lost in a land cloaked under the white powder and frozen tundra laid a fortress of gray stone. Inside the large fortress of stone and archers on the top was a town of brick and log cabin buildings. To the north of the city was a large castle of hard limestone. Giant hills of snow caped the rooftops of each building.
Inside the large kingdom, the red hooded boy known as Zion gazed outside his bedroom. His emerald green irises watched as the snowflakes waltzed down from the heavens that rained down millions of these very same flakes.
Zion's face turned behind him, looking upon the silent and unacknowledged Modello. He sat in a corner near the fire, quiet and hollow. Zion turned his head back into the looking glass. "You appear to have something on your mind." he casually said, his voice a calm ocean "Care to distribute your thoughts?"
Modello didn't reply back to Zion for just a minute. His emerald green irises look onto the fire, images of people pointing at him flicker in his mind. Voices shout, screaming many different things. All of which end up under one single category: judgment. "No." he silently answered, his voice but a murmur.
"If you're bothered by something, I'd like to assist." he replied. "After all, you are my descendant."
"You're the bother." he angrily whispered.
"Cold, I see..." he disappointingly acknowledged. "That isn't going to help you or me."
"I don't care."
"I understand how you feel, Modello." he stated. "Fate has a twisted sense of humor."
"Her..." he whispered. His left index finger pointed out like an arrow towards a brown haired young girl walking silently by herself outside in the snow. She froze in place, looking up at the darkened sky above her head. A gentle but warm smirk graced her face. "Her name is Alicia. She is the one thing I ever truly care about."
From the sky like heaven-sent angels, the silent snowflakes softly touchdowns on top of it's brothers and sisters that embrace each other for a huge family reunion. The orbs of white cuddle onto the gentle skinned face of Alicia. The snow is enveloped in the warmth of her breath of life. It swiftly converts into droplets of water that glide down her rosy-red cheeks.
Alicia noticed Zion at the corner of her right eye. She turned her head over to that direction and gazed on him. Her face grew a rather large smile as her indigo purple irises stared upon the hooded Zion. The red hooded boy grew a smile, his emerald green irises looked gently upon Alicia. It seemed like a trade of words that lasted forever.
Modello continued to gaze into the fires that was like the hands of hell reaching out from underneath. The raging flames reflected off of his eyes, casting back an image of pain and suffering. The world around Modello mutes, but voices scream in his head. They tell him that he's guilty of everything.
"Worthless piece of trash!" angrily screaming an older man's voice, pushing Modello down onto the ground. "You let our beautiful Alyssa die!? YOU killed her! Alyssa was indeed foolish to trust herself with YOU!!"
One was an older man and another an older woman. They both had jet black hair and were bathed in clothing that those with a lot of money would wear. Their arms crossed and their eyes glared like daggers at Modello.
Just outside the doors of a beautiful mansion in the city of Falador, Modello was on his knees before the two beings passing judgment upon the young Modello. He was pleading, tears flowing down his eyes. "I'm so sorry..." he hysterically apologized. "There was nothing I could do..."
"You're not the victim here!" stated the older woman, pointing her left index finger at Modello. "You are a monster! A worthless fool!"
Modello looked up at the older woman. "I..." silently mumbled Modello, his head falling down. His eyes down like empty soup bowls. He was unable to gather an army of words to send back to the parents.
The older man pointed his right index finger straight at Modello like a gun. "You monster..." said the older man, his eyes began to fill with tears. He dropped onto his knees as he began pounding the ground with his fist like a smith forging a blade. "Bring her back!"
"I'm..." mumbled Modello, silent and lost. "...So sorry..."
"There's no way your apologies can bring her back to us..." cried out the older woman, her voice began to crack. "You took her from us...you criminal...!"
"It's ALL your fault!" painfully screamed the father, his eyes glare straight into Modello's eyes like staring straight into his soul. "It's ALL YOUR FAULT!!!"
"Modello..." a child's voice called his name, pulling him from the wreckage of the purgatory of his memories. His conscious returns back into the gelid world of the Third Age. His hollow emerald green irises slowly rotate over to the back of the Zion. The hooded boy turns his head to his left. "It is your right to live, not your punishment. What was done to Alyssa was not your fault."
"Are you so sure?" silently asked Modello, his eyes turning away from Zion. "People seem to think otherwise..."
"Are you going to let what people think be what you think?" Zion quickly bolted back, his voice sharper than a knife. "People are indeed fools, Modello. They pin the blame on others to make themselves feel better. They think it's alright to make someone else feel worse so that they feel more complete. Humans, elves, gods or any being can be nothing more but a selfish fool and they may not ever know it."
Modello's hollow and dead-like irises rotate back over the raging flames camped under the chimney. The mask of his face bears apathy and haunt. "..." he sighed, his voice missing due to a lack of ability to reply back to the young hooded Zion.
Zion turned his face back towards the looking glass that gazed upon the tranquil and white-blanketed world. "It's not your fault..." he said, his voice was a much lower tone than his previous brigade of words. Zion's eyes turn into half-moons, his eyelids lowering down to close the curtains on half of his eyes. "Alicia will die in my arms...after I kill her with my own two hands..."
"Zin?" Modello softly asked, his eyes turning back over to the red hooded Zion.
"Indeed..." he answered, his voice crackling and hushed. "Approximately ten years from now, Zin will gain enough strength to take hold of this body. He possesses it to cause the cataclysm of all living beings. He ends the rebel forces against the tyrant god, Zamorak and kills many others. Human kind and all other races would officially consider my name a terrible affliction."
"He needs to be stopped..."
"That kismet lays on the shoulders of your comrades at Avdima." replied Zion, looking back at Modello. "There's only one man that knows of the way."
"Who?"
"Uzal Babak Mercer."
Modello's hands suddenly tighten strongly, turning into what appeared to be small leather black balls. His eyes turn over back into the grasp of the dancing flames that waltzed under the roof of the small chimney kingdom. His eyes intense. "Father..." mumbled Modello silently to himself.
Back into the blight born world of the Fifth Age. The darkness of the plague smothered the world, both the air and the people below. People hid inside their houses, all openings from the outside into their homes were plugged by cloth from towels or shirts. They tried going on with their routine lives but for obvious reasons, a darkening thought diseased their minds.
Inside the castle, Allister anxiously waited outside his sister's room. His arms were crossed and his eyes staring blankly at the floor. One thousand deathly thoughts blacken the once calm and cool mind of the prince of the city of loss. Bullets of sweat surf down his forehead. His legs swayed like trees, his hands shaken.
His heart bounced swiftly in his chest, faster than a marathon runner's heart. Just as the time waiting began to feel like a long stretch of eternity, the door that held all his true nightmares and concerns opened it's way.
His indigo-purple irises jerk over to the doorway as quickly as a bolt of lightning. Moriah slowly stepped out of the room, her head rotating to her left where Allister waited apprehensively. She wore a mask that whirled with hundreds of different feelings clenched on her face. Her body turned at Allister's direction. She gently pulled the door closed just as she walked all the way out.
Allister turned his body to face Moriah. His eyes a wildfire of hysterical emotions. "How is she?" he quickly asked, his voice cracked and broken.
Moriah captured the breath of life and pulled it into her lungs. She pushes it back out, sighing as she tries putting the pieces of a reasonable sentence together. "I don't know..." she frustratedly answered, shaking her head side-to-side.
Allister grew a puzzled look on his face. All the darkest thoughts wash away from his mind. "You...don't know?" he questioned. Moriah's eyes turned away from the prince, her eyes looked like a deep ocean of uncertainty. Allister became thirsty for answers. "Is she alright or not!?"
"I don't know!" she quickly riposted, her voice louder than her last spoken words. Moriah latches her left hand onto the doorknob into Alena's room. She walks backwards, pulling the doorway open. The disconsolate prince rushes into the room as fast as he could. His frightened eyes glance upon his still sister.
She laid silent and almost lifeless upon her purple caped bed. Her eyelids close like the night closes out the day. Her skin pale as snow and her breath was sluggish. From her closed eyes to her jaw cried dried blood. Her body hidden in stealth under the regal purple cloth. Her gelid face looked towards Allister, motionless and without any radiance of life.
Allister gazed upon his seemingly comatose sister. His jaw hung open, his eyes as big as a cat's. The sorrow began to eclipse his irises, streaming a river of tears down his cheeks. He collapsed on his knees just as he immediately placed his eyes upon his sister's once compassionate face.
The young magic user stood beside Allister, her arms crossed and her right shoulder leaning on the doorway. "I don't know what the prognosis is..." she said, her voice soft and lost of tension. "But she's still alive."
Saliva dropped down the prince's throat, his shaken hands climb up to in front of his face. His face slowly looks up at Moriah, his face a mask of sorrow and lament. But solace embraced Allister with a warm and comforting feeling. His eyes look up at Moriah's face. Her eyes scroll down to look down at him. The life began to come back into him. "You..." his voice gently muttered out from his lips. "Thank you..."
Moriah shook her head once. "Of course." she replied. Allister stood back on his feet and walked over to the bedside of his sister. When he gets to her side, he gets down on his knees as if he were before an altar. He launched his left hand underneath her blanket and latched onto her left hand. He pulls her hand out from under the covers and clenches his right hand on her hand as well.
A gentle smile graced the face of Moriah as she turned away from Allister. She walks out of the room and closes the door behind her. Allister presses his face against the cold and still hand of his sister. "Thank Saradomin..." he weakly whispered.
As the life quickly turned into a hiding game for those among the city of loss, Avdima. The darkness of the blight has brought a tide of calamity upon those of the city of Iericho. Lively streets that once blared with voices of the usual day have disappeared like a ghost. What was left was the wreckage of corpses and no life left in this ghost town.
Buildings left barely standing on their own, dinners felt cold and forsaken. Doors left open flapped careless with the current, causing an eerie noise of doors banging against walls. And banners of full moons that were once important and meant pride among the people were left ripped and lost. They flattered with the winds that carried death of it's wings.
Inside the city's castle that hid lies and evil from the ignorant civilians of the city of the full moon, Richard stood before the giant old wooden doors that led into the throne room. His eyes locked closed, his breath quivered nervously. His lungs grasped upon the air that surrounded all around Richard. They then release the air back into the world.
His hands clenched the door's latches, pulling them open slowly. The narcissistic Richard gazed upon a hooded phantom that sat silent upon the throne once claimed by Tamir Thymos. The hooded man wore a long black robe, covering his legs and feet. At the bottom of his robe was all torn. He wore red long, spiked shoulder pads that looked much like the spikes on Mystic robes. Piercing red eyes glared out from the shadow under his hood where his face would be.
