RuneScape Forum Archive | "The Warrior's purpose."

Oct

2023

Ghondor

Posts: 3,764 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Hello fellow wastes to society--- Er, I mean, Runescape Players!!

A few nights ago I was reading the Runewiki, and read about the little books you got from the God Wars bosses. Nex's books told short little exerts about Torva, Pernix and Virtus and I thought they were really thought-provoking.

Anyways, the God Wars have always been my 'soft spot' in Runescape lore, and I always thought the whole thing was pretty, as you kids would say, 'Spiffy'.

So, intrigued by the short stories of Torva and the others, I decided to write some short(long) stories concerning their backgrounds and how they came to be under Nex's 'care'.

The first one I chose to write about was Torva, detailing his fight against the Zarosian demons, leading up to the attacks by the ripper demons that destroyed his village and family, to where Nex offered him a spot under her.

I just sort of like to 'flesh out' simple stories like that (I've wrote a bunch of 'Really cool' and 'not stupid' stories concerning stuff like Warcraft lore, but that's a story with so many things written for it that it's impossible to find a subject that isn't already in book/comic/short story/whatever format, so looking instead to the story of Runescape, with so much of it still unexplored, is kind of cool).

I plan to write similar tales for Pernix and Virtus after this, and if my EPIC RUNESCAPE FANFIXZZZ!!!1111 get enough fanfare, I'll probably write more here and there.

So, yeah. The only other thing is, my story (I'm just finishing it up) is currently 53,521 characters long (with spaces). Because each post only allots 2,000 characters, I'm going to have to, you know, reserve a -ton- of posts, so do enjoy the pages of '.'s while I complete the story and post it in butchered chunks onto the forum.

Just making this thread ahead of time, since I'm nearly done and will post soon.

Edit: Reserved posts are made. Feel free to post about how you're reporting me for spam and stuff now. Thanks.

02-Apr-2013 13:02:13 - Last edited on 02-Apr-2013 13:16:32 by Ghondor

Oct

2023

Ghondor

Posts: 3,764 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Author's Notes-

As of writing this, I've completed the story and will begin posting it (If you're reading this AFTER I posted it, just use a handy memory-wiper to wipe this bit from your memory). I have NO idea what posting it from Microsoft Word to the forum will do to the formatting or any of the quotations or italics or etc etc, or if any words will be randomly censored by the 'good' and 'well made' forum censor. I apologize for any of that and will fix it up as I post to the best that I can.

Also, I left names of lots of characters out. Only 'key' characters were named. The sort of reason for this is, this is sort of like you're reading it thousands of years after it happened (otherwise known as today), and parts of the story have become 'lost' to time, with only the prominent characters retaining their identity, the rest have been lost to time.

I also have a habit of either not writing something so well the first time around, or hating what I wrote, so tiny revisions to wording/paragraph structure are likely to come in the future.

Also I have no doubt that even after proof-reading a few times, this is going to be INFESTED with typos. I will slay them with great prejudice as I come across them.

Other than that, enjoi the sh0w.

02-Apr-2013 13:02:35 - Last edited on 02-Apr-2013 15:50:18 by Ghondor

Oct

2023

Ghondor

Posts: 3,764 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Battle. The smell that assaulted the senses of every body that clashed on the field of war. Every body that stood, pushing on against their foe. Every body that lay dying on the crushed, yellowing grass and trampled, upheaved dirt.
Battle. The unmistakable cocktail of fear, anger, sweat, blood, flesh that mingled and twisted together with the acrid stench of decay that came from the bodies of those slain days ago. The brutalized corpses slashed open by the blade and trampled by the feet of the soldiers above them who still fought on, until their own bodies were added to the growing count of the fallen.

Battle. The grip that had taken this world, choking its peace out in a violent hold, holding down those who once called that peace their own; holding them in war. Constant war. War that seemed to have no real end, no real goals or cause. War that took lives, destroyed land and left nothing in return. War the very Gods reigned down in dark glee on the world.

Battle. What those caught in the middle of the titanic, shattering struggle of Gods had been forced to adapt to for the sole reason of survival in a struggle that never concerned them to begin with.

Battle. It had become his purpose. His purpose to fight, to kill. To win. To protect. His purpose to herald the men left with him to drive back the roving armies of the Gods. His purpose to see his family and friends live for another season.

Battle was Torva’s purpose.

02-Apr-2013 13:02:42 - Last edited on 02-Apr-2013 15:49:46 by Ghondor

Oct

2023

Ghondor

Posts: 3,764 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

***
“For the empty God, for Zaros!” came a shrill, loud cry from within the ranks before Torva. Torva and the men among him had no real idea what the voice was saying, the words lost to them all as they were spoken in some sick, cruel language foreign to their ears. But they had heard the cry often enough to know it as a battle cry; a verbal warning that the ranks pushing into them would redouble their efforts as the task-masters at their hinds turned their own blades on their brethren to motivate an increased push forward.

“Front company, buckle!” Torva shouted in response. He and the men on his line instantly fell to their knees, placing their short swords and maces to the side in order to make use of their lengthy, sharpened spears. Almost one hundred men still stood on Torva’s frontline, and now almost one hundred men had become almost one hundred sharp, out-pointed pikes. A human barricade.

No sooner had they taken position than the cracks of bowstrings, and the ear-clenching chorus of arrows whizzing off to flight sounded like sharp thunder behind them. Their archers shot directly over the kneeling infantry, each archer’s arrow burying deep into the oncoming ranks.

The ranks pushing into them were now meant with the dilemma of walking forwards into the pikes while taking arrow fire from the front, and the cruel steel of the task-masters behind them.

Demons died in droves.

After intense moments, the oncoming ranks suddenly dispersed as heavy horns sounded from far off, their low, humming howls signaling a retreat. Once, this would have sounded cheers of victory and success from Torva and his men. Once, they would have given the retreating enemies chase, cutting them down in grim pleasure. Once, this would have been seen as a major turning point, as a sign maybe their war was coming close to an end.

02-Apr-2013 13:02:48 - Last edited on 02-Apr-2013 15:51:28 by Ghondor

Oct

2023

Ghondor

Posts: 3,764 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Torva’s gaze scanned the retreating demons, as his own men wearily pulled back. Torva watched as the other-worldly armor of the demonic soldiers glistened grossly in the high-noon sun, their red bodies disappearing back into the black, foggy trees of the forests.

Torva and his men had learned better in their years of fighting to take the retreat as anything other than a very momentary reprieve in battle.

In loose ranks they trudged home, leaving the dead behind to rot on the open earth. Their feet sinking into the ground with each step, as blood had turned large amounts of the open field into slick mud, the grass long since torn away under feet.

Once, they would have marched proudly back to their villages. Once, they would have made certain to carry each and every fallen brethren back with them for proper burials. Once, they would have been meant with celebration and open arms to families.

They had all learned better.

The marches back to the villages grew shorter and shorter with each battle, as the forces of their enemy overcame more and more land, pushing further into the homeland Torva once found himself able to walk freely with his family and friends. Forests he grew up in, felt safe in.

Forests that were now constantly patrolled by ghastly, dark creatures that ripped apart anyone foolish enough to be out in the forests by themselves.
The fact they were slowly but surely losing was one they all tried, and failed, to ignore.

***

It had been several weeks, now, since the enemy had last marched into the forests and the trumpets of scouts screamed warnings and heralds of battle to the soldiers and warriors of the villages.

Torva hated the long waits the most. Sometimes, the battle escaped you for just long enough that you began believing the enemy was truly gone, that the war was truly over and life could continue on. But it was never far. Always biting behind your back, always inevitable.

02-Apr-2013 13:02:57 - Last edited on 02-Apr-2013 15:53:07 by Ghondor

Oct

2023

Ghondor

Posts: 3,764 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

It was just a matter of when you’d next be woken up by the calls to battle. Each night, sleep came with the gripping weight that next morning would likely be the one christened by a new enemy advancement. A new war to be fought for days on end. A new decrease to the already dwindling number of defenders.

Torva sat in his home, sharpening his sword for the second time that day.
He was a physically large man, with short, messy hair that never seemed to be anything but dirty these days. On his face he kept a short beard and mustache, more than a few of the jet-black hairs ending in greyed tips, though Torva had still yet to see his thirtieth season in life. He grew up a farmer as a boy, and in adulthood, had taken up shield and sword to defend his people’s land against rival settlements, some of which were fond of marauding their neighbors for supplies and land.

But those were always minor confrontations, rarely ending in many deaths. Now, he fought against an inhuman enemy. A wave of death and anger that crashed on Torva and his people without end. Long ago had the surrounding villages given up any differences or qualms between themselves, and men that once fought against each other found themselves growing cold in death, united with one another in a war that was seemingly impossible to win.

How alliances and friendships could change when the situation called for it, Torva once liked to muse.

Finishing his sharpening, Torva laid his sword aside, and simply sat. These days, if you weren't fighting and dying, it was simply because you were waiting to do so.

He sat for a short time before a familiar voice called behind him, the voice as soft as the gentle glow of sunlight cutting through the dim room Torva sat in from the open window of the quiet shack.

“Torva.” Was all it said.

Torva said nothing as cool, soft hands fell around his shoulders. “You haven’t spoken since you’ve been home.” The voice said again.

02-Apr-2013 13:03:03 - Last edited on 02-Apr-2013 15:55:16 by Ghondor

Oct

2023

Ghondor

Posts: 3,764 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Torva sighed, the embrace calming him. An embrace he felt so precious little of recently. “There is nothing to say.” He replied, in a voice that was raised by the fruits of the earth, and hardened by the cruelty of war.

The embrace tightened slightly. Torva continued. “There is nothing to do. Nothing to do but wait for the scouts and rally the men.”

Torva felt the soft hair and small head of the voice lay itself against the back of this thick, scared neck. “Is that really true?” the voice asked.

Torva embraced the arms around him, wrapping his hands in gentle tightness around the embracing hold of his wife.

Torva sighed again, his feet grinding at the dirt and sand on the stone floor of his home. “Outside these rare moments.” Was all he said.

The next morning was mercifully silent, no alarming sounds calling from the forest to alert the men into battle. Torva did*’t like to relax, but he let himself wander the village, watching the others wake up as they got ready for their day. Watching those who he protected.

As he traversed the village, he was greeted by more than a few ‘hellos’ from others, as they praised and thanked him. Torva simply smiled and nodded to the attention. To everyone else, it was he who was the unofficial commander of the unified villages, who lead charges and made commands, and so he was often credited directly for continued success, as if he was any more valuable than the other men who marched to battle with him.

He disliked the attention, but understood in a time so bleak; it was only natural for people to take heroes. To ease themselves a bit from the stress of reality. Still, he’d have liked to have been more anonymous in contributions.

A group of young boys had been following him, none of them older than seven or eight seasons, crowding around him as Torva smiled and talked with them as a reluctant shepherd.

02-Apr-2013 13:03:09 - Last edited on 02-Apr-2013 15:56:56 by Ghondor

Oct

2023

Ghondor

Posts: 3,764 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

They were rowdy, typical young boys and flocked around Torva whenever he dare leave the safety of his home, but again, he couldn’t blame them for idolizing someone. Not one of them had any fathers left, and they were among the last young men in the village, the rest of the boys were all of age, and left to die in the warring.

“How many of the monsters do you think you’ve killed so far, Torva?” one of them asked. Torva shrugged his strong shoulders. They were always interested in the fighting.

“Oh, not enough, I’d say.” He answered and he and his group of boys trot down the rough dirt road of the village.

The boys laughed. Torva felt himself slightly envying their bliss. With their fathers and brothers all dead, all the boys had left were dreams of revenge against the invaders, and until they were old enough to die for themselves, Torva was their means of dead demons. Their means of revenge. But revenge wasn’t what they should want. Their young lives were being spent away, obsessing over the war, idolizing those unlucky enough to serve in it. But how could Torva blame them?

One of the other boys inquired Torva next, this one the youngest and smallest of them all. “Do you think the monsters will attack again, Torva?” he asked, quiet worry evident in his voice.

“Probably.” Came the answer, not from Torva, but from another in the group. “And when they do, Torva will kill all of them, just like he always does!”

Torva smiled, and rest his heavy hand on the child’s head. The child looked up, his bright eyes burning to Torva with pride and assurance. “Won’t you, Torva?”

“I hope I shall.” He answered.

Leaving the group of boys behind, Torva came to his destination.

A small, squat building of thick, roughly-chopped logs that formed the frame for heavy, irregularly-chipped bricks of solid stone, topped with a stout, wide chimney that bellowed out heavy black smoke. The blacksmith.

02-Apr-2013 13:03:15 - Last edited on 02-Apr-2013 15:58:35 by Ghondor

Oct

2023

Ghondor

Posts: 3,764 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Stepping in, Torva called out. A surprised, sudden call from back within the dark, small blacksmith meant his call. “Torva? Is that you?”

Torva stood in the doorway to the blacksmith, his figure slicing through the glowing light of the morning sun as it poured into the room that was lit only by the dim, lazy glow of smoldering coal from within the basic furnace. A second figure immerged from the void of the dark room, his chubby, short body illuminated by the glowing furnace.

“Torva, Torva! It is you!” He said, meeting Torva in a tight handshake.
“I knew you had returned, but I haven’t seen you since the others all arrived back, I was starting to think you must have died of boredom!” the man prodded, jokingly.

Torva let himself laugh weakly. “I did get your message.” He said.

The blacksmith’s mouth drew from friendly smile to tight frown. “Of course.”

Nodding, the blacksmith pounded his sooty hands a few times against his rough, leather smock and bid Torva to follow. Torva stepped behind him into the black room, bumping his knee rather hard against the wooden table he was trying to navigate himself to.

Sitting down (and happy that darkness would conceal his look of sudden pain, as the sharp corner of the wooden table meant the soft skin of his knee), Torva waited for the second man to sit down at the table himself, before lighting a fat, melted hunk of wax, the candle giving off a weak glow of light to the stone workshop.

The blacksmith sat down to the opposite of Torva, his thick mustache wound tightly around his round, piggy cheeks. “Torva.” He began.

Torva let his elbows lay on the wooden table, leaning towards his friend, intent on hearing whatever he was about to say.

“Some… members, of an, let’s say; opposing, force to the ones invading us approached me, some nights ago…”

02-Apr-2013 13:03:21 - Last edited on 02-Apr-2013 16:00:37 by Ghondor

Oct

2023

Ghondor

Posts: 3,764 Adamant Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Torva’s brow instantly sunk in. The blacksmith shot a weak smile. “I know, Torva. I know.”

Torva let a heavy sigh flow out his nose. “What happened?”

The blacksmith swallowed, but continued. “They gave me a crate of Iron bars.”

Torva raised an eyebrow.

“Blessed Iron.” The blacksmith quickly corrected himself.

Torva, confused asked, “What does that mean?”

The blacksmith shrugged. “I’m not quite sure. I was awoken, before all of this, one night by a human messenger who bade me to meet with his superior in two nights. I wasn’t sure if I should, but the messenger said I would receive an item that would aid in our fight.”

Torva, again, questioned, “And what they gave you were ‘Blessed* Iron?”

The blacksmith continued, a sooty gloves scratching absently at a cheek, leaving a smudge of light blackness across the already dirty face. “I went to the place I was asked to go to, a short distance from the south of the village, and a giant, winged… man, gave me the Iron. He told me if I crafted it into weapons, it would cut through armor and flesh of the demons like nothing.”

Torva shook his head. “I do not believe this.”

The blacksmith frowned. “Neither do I.”

Torva let his face sink into his hands. He really did believe that, whatever the Iron was, it would probably work. How he wished he was wrong, though. How he wished it was a trick they couldn’t rely on. He wished he wasn’t about to give the go-ahead for the blacksmith to smith armaments with it, to use in battle. He wished he wasn’t about to indebt himself to another God just to fight off the one they already had to deal with.

But what did wishing ever do?

02-Apr-2013 13:03:27 - Last edited on 02-Apr-2013 16:04:38 by Ghondor

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"The Warrior's purpose."