A gentle smile formed on my face as I watched the sun set over Edgeville, a dot in the distance. The Battle of Falador, as it might be called when it goes down in history, went all through the night, and almost all through the day. But it wasn’t over yet. Shrouded by the dusk, all followers of the Big-High-War-God had assembled west of Falador. As the forces of Zamorak betrayed us in the battle of Ardougne, we had sat by in watch as Zamorak’s army crumbled under the onslaught of Guthixian and saradomian troops. Now the followers of Guthix had departed for their own home, and Falador was open to another attack. Déjà vu to a certain extent, but with everything flipped around.
As I saw that most of the troops were more than ready to spill some blood, I motioned them in to attack. To simply run into Falador via the crumbling part in the west wall and start killing people. Battle plans are for the weak.
A chorus of battle cries from goblins and Orcs alike was released, creating a symphony along with the clanging of their armor.
“Saradomin! Your city of Falador has prevailed over the forces of Zamorak, but they were weak!” I yell this at such volume that it could be heard all throughout the city, and undoubtedly by Saradomin himself. “We, the followers of Bandos, The-Big-High-War-God, will show you how a real battle is fought, we will destroy you!”
I sprinted to the center of the battle field, toppling a statue of Saradomin in one strike of my godsword. These followers of law, the pitiful people believing that the gaze of Saradomin will protect them from every harm… I sneered, and chopped the head from a nearing temple knight clean off. I pulled my hand into a fist, thinking “I will crush them.”
“ATTACK!” Armadyl yelled, signaling all followers of the god of peace to stream in through Falador’s south gate and join the frenzy. They were late for the party, yet just in time.
The men of Brimhaven were in it with them, replacing the men lost to Zamorak. But the skin of an orc does not cut easily. They were in for a battle of hardship.
The Malevolent One watched as the village of Gunnarsgrunn was burnt to the ground. His lips parted, showing a glimpse of a smile. Guthix had interfered with everything, and this was what he deserved. But then the general remembered something. Guthix himself warranted more than having a simple forest camp burnt to the ground, his decisive muddling was more than suffeciently bothersome.
The Malevolent One walked through the once-humble-abode-of-Guthix peacefully, with the worst of intentions. He entered the grand hall, indifferent to the fact that it was burning, and hefted his mace up to his torso. The general neared the once great door that lead to a dimension not of Gielinor. It lead to the actual residence of Guthix. And The Malevolent One made sure that it would be his permanent residence.
The oak doors creaked and moaned in anticipation for what was to come. The Malevolent One rose one of his duo of maces up over his unholy head, and struck. Struck with so much force, that the orb in the center was completely crushed, obliterated. He had destroyed the Edicts of Guthix, and not only eliminated Guthix from the wars, but it was revenge. Not on Guthix, but on his chaotic master, Lord Zamorak.
“You’ll pay for that.” The Malevolent One turned to face a figure in the doorway. His body was completely shadowed, but his sword glew a brilliant green. He charged, and the general sneered. Flames were fun, but blood was better.
The goblin looked at Armadyl’s oncoming troops and smiled.
“Big birdy boys h” his taunt was cut short as he was impaled in the chest by a longsword. Idria, captain of the Armadyl guard, flung the creature off to the side, where it landed with a shriek.
Orcs and goblins and trolls swarmed the streets of Falador, and the Winged Guard, the pirates of Brimhaven, the guards of East Ardougne, and the Temple Knights rushed to meet them.
And they did meet alright. Swords and maces met with a resounding clang, screams of man and goblin rang through the city, and all sense was lost in the hubbub of battle.
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Chapter 3, part 1. Finally.
“Watch out! Ourg!” Idria screamed, but it was too late. The Guardian of Armadyl, known as Chestnut, was rising above the ground, being held up by the sinister sword through his chest.
The Ourg swung his sword downwards, so it was diagonally facing the ground, and Chestnut’s body tore on the blade’s intricate designs, leaving his body on the ground and mutilating his stomach.
“David!” Shadow choked, his voice filled with grief at his death as he ran towards the corpse. But a battle was going on, and this was no time for mourning. The Ourg thrust the blood-covered blade downwards, hoping to impale yet another pitiful human.
Shadow looked up to see the godsword descending upon him, and hastily exerted a surge of wind from his palm to the ground. It sent him flying and then rolling across the center plaza of Falador, until he finally crushed into a building.
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The Malevolent One swiped one of his maces to the right, sending the warrior’s sword out of his grasp and through the wall of the burning hall. The look on his face was of utter fright, and The Malevolent One loved it. But there was something about it… The warrior pulled a knife from his belt and stabbed it into The Malevolent One, but it barely wedged through his plate and made no skin contact. The general smiled, and the pushed his attacker down, making him land on the ground with a violent “Whump!”
The Malevolent One stared down at the warrior’s face, illuminated by the flames of the burning hall, and recognized it. It was the face of the Guthixian who had disarmed him at Falador.
Zamorak’s general smiled once more, putting stress on the burnt tendons of his visage, snapping them even. He was oblivious to the pain; he had one thing in mind. The Malevolent One never lost. He pulled the warrior’s knife from his plate, and leaned in…
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Shadow struggled to get up, and chunks of his sacred clay armor fell from his figure. His helmet disintegrated into worthless pieces of clay, and every part of his being hurt.
“Shadow, are you alright?” Jade was above him, down on one knee, his crossbow off to the side.
“I’m fine. It’s just… Chestnut…” The Guardian of Armadyl, crumpled back onto the ground.
“Look, I’m really sorry, but we need to leave now* Jade spoke, “Armadyl’s orders.”
Shadow looked up at his fellow guardian and nodded. “I can’t get out on my own.” Jade set Shadow up on his shoulder and hobbled out of the battle-torn city of Falador as fast as he could.
A snarling goblin emerged from an alleyway illuminated by a lamp half desecrated in the undoing of Saradomin’s holy city, eager to slay yet another enemy. It laid its eyes on Shadow’* buttress, ready to kill. Jade was its next target.
The Winged Guardian fired a bolt from his runite crossbow in helter-skelter haste, forcing a rod through the nozzle to eject it rather than using the bolt nut.
The goblin’s grubby fingers released its dagger as the rune bolt penetrated its mail, and Jade shoved the perishing goblin into a wall as he rushed by, bolstering Shadow with his shoulder.
The cries of man and shrieks of goblin were at an ever peaking crescendo, accompanied by sword slashes, flying arrows and quarrels, and the unmistakable sound of laceration of flesh.
Jade and Shadow spied their chief, Idria, sparring with an Ork, the metal of her silver long sword locked in a niche in the brute’s war axe.
“Chestnut is dead!” Jade yelled over to her, firing a rune bolt her way. The Ork howled in anguish as the quarrel embeds itself into its hand. Idria flipped her sword around with her wrist, and directed a horizontal slice to the Ork’s neck, toppling it over.
“The battle is lost” could be read from her lips, as the clamor of war blocked out any sound. Her solid blue eyes were harsh, nearly covered by the profusion of blood pouring from a **** above her eye.
A man fell in-between the two on his knees, his green eyes open wide with worry. He let out a scream before his throat was wrenched open by a hobgoblins scythe.
Shadow yelled in fury, launching a wave of wind at the monster, propelling it into the air, watching as its limbs span like a cyclone until it crashed unto a brick chimney.
No cries of pain and anguish were heard as the great hall’s roof caved in, crushing the warriors within.
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One of Zamorak’s warriors shifted his weight from leg to leg in calm dismay. “We’re screwed.”
It was the rock paper scissors game (or rock papyrus dagger game) to end all rock paper scissors games outside of Zamroak’s chamber
“Atuka, you lost. Now go into the chamber and tell our lord the news.”
Atuka, who was a grown man, shivered under his armour, ready to cry. Surely, this would not be happy news to the lord of Choas’s ears. In fact, it was so bad, that Atuka is currently burning in hellfire, in the corner of Zamorak’s hall.
The Mahjarrat looked down at his skeletal hand, glistening with his trademark dark flames. He could use his godly powers again! But no, this was no good occurrence, a scowl of fright wavered onto his face, and a thunderstorm gathered in his eyes. He had been despairing this moment for millennia.
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To the east, the sky of a clear sunny day turned dark, and the sky became empty. A figure in yellow robes crept from the rocky lands near Zamorak’s city of Varrock, holding a steel bar, and atop the steel bar was the purple insignia, of…
Zaros. The sky of all Asgarnia, Kandarin, and some of the lands beyond became dark with a new prescence.
**
And there it is, chapter 3 part 2/2!
