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The Cookie55

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eg**hh
it's so long

eggggghhhhhhh
__________________________

INTRODUCTION

I don't know how I should finally start this off.

Well, as an introduction, my name’s Peil (sounds like “pail”, as in a closed bucket with holes in its lid that you use to water flowers, but please don’t start associating me with flowers) and I used to work for my uncle in his smithy. I mostly refer to myself as The Apprentice on the Road Down to Ardougne Market, though.

I’ve grown really comfortable with the phrase, “The Apprentice on the Road Down to Ardougne Market”, because it’s what I’ve always signed my name as. My master – my uncle, as I introduced him initially – drilled the habit into me at a very early age (he was contractually expected to educate me in the arts of reading and writing alongside my trade). There was, of course, a reason to all of this: in the Ardougne census of many years back, Master’s residence was described as “The Smithy on the Road Down to Ardougne Market”. He was from that point legally obligated to write his signature on official documents as “Artisan of the Smithy on the Road Down to Ardougne Market”. I can imagine it gave the poor man cramps at times.

Around the time of perception, I also picked up the habit of substituting the title “The Apprentice on the Road Down to Ardougne Market” as my name itself in select scenarios. Unfortunately, even to this day the response I usually get for that kind of introduction is, “Ye live where, lad?” It’s absolute madness that nearly everybody I meet manages to connect the words “apprentice” and “lad”, and it is incredibly patronizing, not to mention annoying. I wonder if I’ll have to deal with it my entire life, even if I live to be an old man.

11-Mar-2013 18:07:38

The Cookie55

Posts: 22 Bronze Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

That phrase proposes a question, though, and I don’t want to leave it stale. “The Road Down to Ardougne Market” has always been a subject of confusion for my peers and otherwise. To elaborate, that road runs off the east side of the Ardougne market, splits a mine in half along its way (which by funny coincidence my uncle’s smithy is located next to) and peaks at the Legends’ Guild. If you’re still confused, pick up a blasted map.

There’s another order of business to establish. Master is dead. It is why I still consider myself an apprentice. And no, I never ran away or anything like that. I never fulfilled my apprenticeship because some marrentill-incensed monk with political connections decided to discreetly redefine familial bonds by adding the necessity of living connections. Hence, with the absence of my father (who experienced death in – and off of – his own fishing boat), I was not this deceased man’s nephew and therefore was not the heir of any of his assets. Even with my being an apprentice, I was cheated by the deal.

The workshop was inherited by Master’s sister, my aunt (though evidently not legally). That’s not to say I bear any sort of positive relationship with this woman, who managed to destroy the shop’s legacy with a blunderbuss of a quill, a contract and a signature. In the following days the smithy I’d come to cherish as my home was pawned off to a tyrannical monopoly dynast and in the following weeks was flooded with cheap labor, the stench of hard drinkers and iron which as a rule was not fit for working with – just to name a few.

THEN I ran. I figured I had enough know-how and that there was nothing more to earn from the place.

11-Mar-2013 18:07:55 - Last edited on 11-Mar-2013 18:14:22 by The Cookie55

The Cookie55

Posts: 22 Bronze Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

There is one thing especially awful about Master’s death – that is, I’m not totally sure how he died. After many fruitless hours I never managed to find his body, or even what I would ****ider a hint. The general opinion of that small community on the road of my childhood home was that he had been eaten by bears on the path to the market. This might seem reasonable to you if you’re unfamiliar with that locale. If you aren’t, well, I give you my sincere kudos because most people are. Either way, if it weren’t for the traffic bear hunting vectors there would have been virtually no customers at my uncle’s shop when I worked there, meaning that place is known for bears – so anybody unprepared for an attack would have had to have been incredibly stupid. This being said, how can such a large population of bears exist without a food source? My uncle was not a stupid man, though, and of course he was very strong and fit for fighting off a bear or two.

I’ve decided to attribute Master’s death to banditry. I agree with you that a bandit usually wants to set up his camp somewhere with traffic (and potential victims), and not a woody road teeming with bears and young trees. However, after Master’s death I did some research in Ardougne’s marketplace and discovered from a connection of my uncle’s that Master had agreed to discuss business with a Karamjan mining enterprise. Tell me if it is coincidence that I never met the man who was sent to negotiate the terms of the deal with my uncle.

11-Mar-2013 18:08:04 - Last edited on 11-Mar-2013 18:14:54 by The Cookie55

The Cookie55

Posts: 22 Bronze Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Now it’s time I picked up where I left off after I said I had fled. The days preceding my departure involved lots of planning. I knew Master had kept a chest which I assumed was for his coins, sentimental items and valuable merchandise. I wasn’t certain if my aunt or employer knew about it. I was comforted to know, however, that the location of its key was very well hidden.

The following day, when I was pretending to search for my hammer (but was actually taking a break from the endless work doled out by my manager), I heard a porcelain crash. I remember the events lucidly because of the levels of adrenaline coursing through me on that day. I listened as Mort, who was nearly at the top of the food chain and always managed to miraculously dodge any form of manual labor, shouted something obscene about our janitor. Before that I hadn’t been aware anybody else in the workshop knew how to clean, because it certainly didn’t show.

“Clean it up, you idiot!” I heard Mort order. There was no response to this. The transgressor was probably correcting his mistake. As I focused I thought I heard the sound of a broom’s nestles sliding back and forth along the floor.

“Wait. Stop. I told you to stop, listen to me!” The scraping stopped immediately.

“Open your hand,” Mort commanded. There was an unmistakable pause. “You know if I have to force it from you things will be worse.”

11-Mar-2013 18:08:13 - Last edited on 11-Mar-2013 18:36:16 by The Cookie55

The Cookie55

Posts: 22 Bronze Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Then I heard another crash. My imagination told me Mort had slammed the offender against the stone-brick wall. This was attested by the anguished cry coming from the display room through the door in front of me. In the turmoil I almost couldn’t hear the resonating ring of brass on impact with something equally hard.

“You’re an amazing idiot. I can’t believe you were stupid enough to have tried hiding this from me. Where’s it go?”

I heard a dull thud. An amplified wail, too.

“Where’s it go? Where does this key go?”

I could finally tell who the other party was by the voice that responded. It was Stin, a journeyman a few years older than me but not bright enough to keep away from the drink. “I don’t know! I really don’t know – no, please don’t kick me!” I could hear Mort kick him. “I swear I don’t know!”

“Yes, you do. I’m not as stupid as you.” Mort kicked him again, but this time there was silence.

I was afraid Mort was going to kill Stin.

As I tore the door open, it turned out my hypothesis may have been correct. Mort was still taking his frustration out on the bloody, mutilated mess he’d transformed a relatively good-looking young man into.

“Wait! Wait! I know where the key goes!” It sounded almost pleading. That was one of the scariest moments of my life. I knew from the look Mort gave me that he wanted to do exactly what he’d done to Stin to me. He showed no surprise by my presence, though.

“Guide me, then,” he said. He started to walk in front of me but paused.

“Actually, you lead,” Mort said decisively. There was no arguing now, of course.

11-Mar-2013 18:08:22 - Last edited on 11-Mar-2013 18:40:11 by The Cookie55

The Cookie55

Posts: 22 Bronze Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

I took him to Master’s old quarters (which was now occupied by the manager, Oril, who was jaunting on one of his excursions he took the frequent liberty of having). The room was a standard space – shaped like a rectangle in dimensions with the roof being maybe eight feet tall, there was an iron bed and a set of curtained wooden shutters to let in (or out) air during the summer. I walked to the bed with the sturdy iron frame and pushed it, revealing a trapdoor. This led down a set of stone stairs into a cramped hallway with a small bend in a cellar dangerously close to the nearby coal mine. I had a plan to put this bend to a greater purpose.

I rushed down the stairs, feigning impatience. As I rounded the bend I shouted to Mort, “Hurry up!”

“Slow down, or I’ll ha-“

Unfortunately we’ll most likely never know how his sentence was supposed to end. Mort’s great nose met my clutched fist and was pushed back with the rest of Mort onto the ground, no longer remembering how to do anything but spout a fountain of blood.

As much as he deserved it, I pitied him a little. I took the key from his slack hand, finished the run to the chest and unlocked it. I was dazzled by the splendor of a city of gold and silver.

Actually, that was a joke. I found four leather purses, a cumbersome ceremonial dagger (and its equally showy sheath), a handful of aging wine-skins and a silver ring. I slipped the ring on my finger, grabbed the purses and tied the sheath with its dagger onto my belt. I was going so fast I almost missed the bundled roll of papyrus lying innocuously on the bottom.

11-Mar-2013 18:08:36 - Last edited on 11-Mar-2013 18:23:44 by The Cookie55

The Cookie55

Posts: 22 Bronze Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

I picked the papyrus up, unrolled it and read it. I knew what it was immediately, of course, and was flooded with all sorts of emotions. Do you know how strange it is to hold your childhood in your hands once it’s been destroyed?

The roll was my contract. It was the piece of papyrus and the signature that had secured my life in my uncle’s hands, only a few months before my mother succumbed to the illness that had swept much of the kingdom of Kandarin into a pile of corpses.

Sentimental value aside, I knew I couldn’t afford any sort of identification if I was going to run away successfully. I put the roll back in its container and locked the chest with the brass key just in time to hear footsteps.

I froze. Oril couldn’t have chosen a worse time to return.

Now he was walking down the stone steps which I’d neglected to conceal. As Oril came to the bend he prodded Mort with his foot, as if expecting Saradomin to vector his healing grace through Oril’s heavy, big toe and into Mort’s bloodstream.

Despite my best wishes to disappear, Oril, who was over six feet tall, noticed me. And he obviously wasn’t pleased.

“You… I can’t believe anybody… I can’t believe that you would do this! You’re a monster!” His voice rose to a shrill accusation, especially when he noticed I was clutching a dagger sheath.

I paled considerably as I realized the implications of what he had said. Oril had of course noticed the blood-drenched body near the corner of the display room. He thought I’d attacked Stin. There was nothing I could do, though, because Oril took immediate flight up the stairs.

11-Mar-2013 18:08:43 - Last edited on 11-Mar-2013 18:25:19 by The Cookie55

The Cookie55

Posts: 22 Bronze Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Escaping the workshop was a relatively basic matter. I only had to plow through a human barricade in the front door leading out of the display room. Once that had been disestablished, I took a shortcut to Ardougne’s harbor. This was one of the few parts of my plan that went right. I appealed to a certain slave driver named Captain’s entrepreneurial senses by offering twice the rate of a “regular” transport (he defined the word, not me, but I had to stay ahead of the way news travels like lightning and any halfwit could tell) and I enjoyed the recreation of the next several months throwing up, experiencing constant bowel disruption and wondering if maybe the next time these sailors went on an expedition perhaps they could invest more in medicine than rum (which only seemed to attract flies and more puking). To give you an idea of how much that cost me, I had two-and-a-half full purses of coin left after the transaction.

Not to complain.

I mean, at least I wasn’t robbed on that boat. Okay, besides the half-filled purse that disappeared from inside my dresser – but that must have been a coincidence. (After that I slept with my coins tucked into the space between my pants and my knees.)

When the ship moored at Brimhaven I indulged in some tourism. I found a vendor bartering off many pounds of papyrus. The material was for sale at a price way lower than anything you’d find in Ardougne, so I gave him the contents of one of the purses I had left and a gold piece from the other one for twenty-one sheets of papyrus and two charcoal scraping utensils used for writing (which require a sort of precision I still haven’t mastered).

I figured if I fell on hard times because of this particular investment I could just as easily pawn it all off and make a healthy profit.

11-Mar-2013 18:08:59 - Last edited on 11-Mar-2013 18:32:47 by The Cookie55

The Cookie55

Posts: 22 Bronze Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

From Brimhaven, I hired a migrant tribesman to take me to Musa Point. At Musa Point I labored in a banana plantation for lodge while waiting for affordable passage to Port Sarim. By the time a price-efficient vessel had appeared, two months had passed and the plantation owner had used every opportunity to rack me up in debt. He had also covertly offered a premium to anybody who stole my dagger, so I don’t think I slept much in those two months either.

And now I’m writing to pass the time on the boat to Port Sarim. This introduction used up quite a bit more papyrus than I’m comfortable with, so I’ll close off here.

11-Mar-2013 18:09:09 - Last edited on 11-Mar-2013 18:28:06 by The Cookie55

The Cookie55

Posts: 22 Bronze Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

reserved

11-Mar-2013 18:09:29

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