RuneScape Forum Archive | -= Entombed In Crystal =-

Wet Rainbow

Posts: 786 Gold Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

The flame reached the top of the portal and promptly disappeared. Everything returned to its previous bruised colors. Where the portal had been, however, there was only a corridor extending deep into the rock wall; its floor, paved with the melted portal, gave off an otherworldly glow. It seemed to have solidified and when Xan bent down to touch it he quickly drew his hand away.

“Cold,” he murmured and fixed his gaze anxiously upon the new corridor as though expecting something to materialize from within its black depths.

Kaitlyn shuddered. “What did you do?” Her voice was barely audible. The answer was obvious, however, and Xan did*’t bother to reply. The portal stood open before them and an ancient, fetid stench slowly rolled out of it.

Xan stepped up onto the newly-formed, glistening portion of the floor and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hello?” He shouted. A deep silence followed.

“Xan, don’t!” Kaitlyn hissed.

*Hello?” His second call ricocheted into the corridor’s depths and this time something answered: a long, dragging, scraping sound. “It’s her,” Xan said excitedly.

Kaitlyn’s rune pouch lay forgotten in her hand. Her mind repeated the thought - ‘Nothing can live entombed in crystal for ten years. Nothing.’ - over and over again as though this would stop the nightmare.

There was another scrape. Then another. And suddenly Kaitlyn could hear footsteps coming towards them from within the corridor. They sounded uneven, as though the thing making the noises was not accustomed to walking. A paroxysm of fear raced through her. ‘A dream,* she told herself, ‘It’s just a dream. Wake up now.’

A figure appeared in the hallway’s indigo recesses, a human figure, stumbling forward out of the blackness. It appeared to have trouble breathing.

‘Xan, seal the portal!’ Kaitlyn thought, but no sound passed her lips.

26-Jun-2008 19:25:58 - Last edited on 26-Jun-2008 21:20:15 by Wet Rainbow

Wet Rainbow

Posts: 786 Gold Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Xan watched the approaching figure apprehensively, worry plain upon his face. “Krystal?” He asked.

And suddenly Kaitlyn felt something pull on her Za, weakening her. The figure in the corridor seemed to change, it ceased its stumbling and started to stride boldly forwards. As it came closer its features clarified, eventually forming into those of a woman of almost inhuman beauty. Hair the color of night fell around an androgynous face in which every line seemed to meet every other at just the right angle. Her eyes were as deep as an ocean; her skin as pale as dew.

“Yes, Xan,” her voice chimed out like a bell, “it’s me,” and it was as though Kaitlyn had been struck dumb. Her mind spun in ecs(cen)tasy at the beauty of the sound, a sound that carried with it images of meadows, open air, freedom; everything that Waterbirth Island was not. Kaitlyn’s hands went limp and her rune pouch fell to the ground, unnoticed.

The woman stepped into the room and Xan hurriedly knelt before her. “I knew it was you,” he muttered. He looked towards Kaitlyn, hoping she would bow too, but Kaitlyn was lost in reverie.

“Who’s your friend?” The woman examined Kaitlyn magisterially.

“Oh, that’s Kaitlyn.” Xan licked his lips. “I disposed of the others, like you said, but Kat, she’s – she’s special to me.” He suddenly latched onto a thought. “She can help us. You can trust her to carry out anything.”

“Help US?” An ancient anger kindled in Krystal’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Xan blundered on, oblivious, “we’ll take Ardougne first and then maybe Catherby. Kat can help there, she knows the area. Relekka’s not really worth it, but…”

“Oh, Xan,” Krystal cut him off, “Xan, you’ve misunderstood me.”

He stopped, confused. “Huh?”

“You did*’t actually think I would raise you to any degree of power, did you?”

26-Jun-2008 19:26:03 - Last edited on 26-Jun-2008 21:22:33 by Wet Rainbow

Wet Rainbow

Posts: 786 Gold Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

She stepped forward and seemed troubled by something under her feet. Puzzled, she glanced down. “Not after you killed off your companions of ten-years for the sake of a dream. Not after ten years spent in service to the old Aristocracy.”

“But…” Xan sputtered, reaching up to wipe at his forehead.

Krystal knelt to touch something on the ground. “You’ve been a traitor to one cause, and I’m afraid that you’ll be just as unreliable when applied elsewhere. Have you heard the saying: Once a traitor, always a traitor?” Her voice sounded miserable, as though she were relaying the saddest fact of life.

Kaitlyn, who was just recovering from Krystal’s first words, saw what it was that the woman was reaching for and felt her stomach drop inside of her. It was Xan’s runes, still lying half buried in the translucent portal floor. “No -” she managed to utter, but that was all. Several runes flared blood-red beneath Krystal’s fingers and the words Kaitlyn had been about to say became flames inside her throat, searing out. Everything began to spin. Flashing, ripping color flooded her senses as she was washed away in a whirl of vermillion flame that spiraled out in brilliant curlicues around her, scorching, screaming until her mind couldn’t handle it anymore and she slid into blackness: cool, stony blackness.

~~~~

For a few moments the room lay still, then, slowly, Krystal rose. She surveyed the two motionless forms before her. Xan seemed to have caught too much of the magic; he lay dead, an expression of endless surprise on his face. But Kaitlyn was still breathing, her chest rising and falling imperceptibly. Interesting… Krystal thought, perhaps that one could be useful...

Lips the color of dawn twisted into a smile that failed to touch Krystal’s hard, azure eyes. Yes, that one would be useful.

~~~~

26-Jun-2008 19:26:51 - Last edited on 26-Jun-2008 21:54:19 by Wet Rainbow

Wet Rainbow

Posts: 786 Gold Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

CHAPTER 2 - THE DRUID

Follow.

Far to the east of Waterbirth Island, across a sea of gold-capped waves, lie the Trollweis mountains. They erupt from the land like giant molars, starting sterile and white in the north only to blacken and disintegrate into the Trollheim foothills further south. Even these eventually flatten out to form the plateau on which the shadowy city of Burthorpe rests, a city whose stringent, rocky surroundings and raucous taverns have made it a favorite abode of mountaineers and ruffians alike.

Burthorpe keep rises above the rest, stark turrets cutting like knives through the chill mountain air. It hunkers, seemingly relaxed but ever-vigilant, against a sheer cliff face, peering over the two concentric walls that fortify it. It is within the courtyard of this keep that we settle now, amongst the bodies of a restless crowd. An execution is about to take place, an execution of a boy named Mort...

~~~

The young prisoner was barely conscious. He staggered in the Blackguard’s arms and lost his footing once or twice so that they had to drag him across the flagstones. Several seekers accompanied the boy’s dark entourage, escorting him to the large, wooden scaffold that sat at the center of Burthorpe’s courtyard. The creatures looked like ghosts: patches of living shadow that might fold and disappear into thin air at any second. Their transparent bodies hovered a handspan above the ground, providing no protection from the rotten fruit and vegetation thrown at the prisoner, but defending the crowd completely from any magical talent the captive might possess. From ten feet away a seeker could impede a strong mage’s power, from five feet a warmage’s. Today, they drifted less than three feet from the boy. City-folk thronged to either side of the grim procession, jeering and cat-calling as, above, the morbid hues of evening spread across low-hanging clouds.

26-Jun-2008 19:26:56 - Last edited on 26-Jun-2008 22:17:57 by Wet Rainbow

Wet Rainbow

Posts: 786 Gold Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

From the second story of the Goat and Lion hostel, Sage peered anxiously down into the courtyard. As the shadows lengthened he could feel an almost gladiatorial tension building. The kid, probably drugged, fell again to laughs from the crowd, his stained robes ripping as one blackguard stepped on the hem and another jerked him to his feet. Sage averted his gaze and peered briefly at the sky, but the sea of gray clouds that hung there showed no sign as to when they would drop their rain. Muttering a prayer to Saradomin, Sage gathered his white druid robes about him and reentered the bar. He could only hope that Mirhandar would stay true to his part of the plan.

~~~

Upon the scaffold Mirhandar clutched the unlit torch tightly. He was a brawny man, proud of his ability to withstand some of this land’s most bizarre climates, but for once he wished he had dressed more warmly. Icy winds whistled down from the Trollweis mountains above and even Burthorpe’s twin battlements seemed unable to deter them. Below him the scaffold creaked and groaned with the wind’s passing. Switching his weight to his other foot, Mirhandar reassessed the situation.

Before him stretched the scaffold: several spans of wood that ended abruptly in a drop of just over a man’s length down to where the eyes of hundreds of city folk watched eagerly, glistening with anticipation. Four torches, one at each of the platform’s corners, threw an eerie light across the weathered boards and illuminated the object that stood at the scaffold’s center: a drage: a translucent box resembling a coffin, suspended on steel struts so that it hung a foot or more above the platform. It was held vertically so a person placed within it would appear to be standing and would be easily visible to the crowd. The material of which the box consisted flickered bizarrely in the torchlight. Topaz, Mirhandar thought…or crystal perhaps, though that seemed a bit exorbitant for a mage burning.

26-Jun-2008 19:27:53 - Last edited on 26-Jun-2008 22:21:03 by Wet Rainbow

Wet Rainbow

Posts: 786 Gold Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Beyond the scaffold the crowd stood, and beyond the crowd he caught a glimpse of the white form of Sage standing on the terrace of a nearby bar. Several others sat behind the druid – vague, burly shapes enjoying an evening meal, waiting for the spectacle to begin.

He’s watching me. Although Mirhandar could barely distinguish the druid, he was sure of it. There was no way to back out, then; and if he blundered…well, if he blundered he wouldn’t need to worry about confronting Sage.

A growl from the east distracted Mirhanda**s attention, and he peered up to where clouds outlined the silhouette of Burthorpe keep. Near the top a single light glimmered in a window, outlining a frail figure. It seemed old Lord Heril himself had risen for the occasion. Mirhandar relaxed his grip on the torch only to realize that his hands were clammy. Another growl of thunder breached the city walls, and this time lightning followed. Below, the crowd echoed the skies sentiments, guttural shouts erupting as the prisoner was hauled up the scaffold steps. Mirhandar looked towards the Goat and Lion’s terrace once more, but Sage was gone.

~~~

26-Jun-2008 19:29:04 - Last edited on 26-Jun-2008 22:21:47 by Wet Rainbow

Wet Rainbow

Posts: 786 Gold Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

A few minutes passed in turbulent silence before one of the Blackguard strode to the front of the stage, onyx cape snapping in the wind. His breastplate bore both the split mountain of Burthorpe and the fist of Varrock, and as he addressed the audience, he raised his fist in a well-practiced motion, as though hitting the air. Most in the crowd returned the gesture.

“Long live King Roald!” His voice carried well over the wail of the wind, strong and deep as the earth; yet his face remained emotionless. “Long live Lord Heril and the Regency!” He waited several seconds for the cheers to subside. “Today…” he began, but the cheers resurfaced and again he waited for the people to settle before continuing: “today we sentence the man heretofore known as Mortmyre Dark**ik to death by fire.”

The boy, who had been dumped unceremoniously next to the coffin-shaped device, did not move. He remained keeled over as though already dead. Several Blackguard rushed forward and pulled him to his feet, one jabbing something sharp into the boy’s back to wake him. Seekers floated close, concavities forming where their mouths might have been; soft, rasping noises emanating from them.

“Mortmyre has been found culpable,” the spokesman continued, “of the following crimes: murder of innocent citizens, public practice of thaumaturgy, destruction of property, disruption of the peace, and failure to comply with the 496 Exorcism Rulings. As of yet,” he glanced up and appeared, for a moment, to be looking at something beyond the silhouettes of the encircling buildings, “the extent of the damage is still being assessed. Perhaps the rain will put an end to it.” Then the Blackguard raised his fist once more, bellowed “Evil never sleeps and neither shall we!” and stepped back to rejoin the blackguard escort around the boy.

26-Jun-2008 19:29:12 - Last edited on 26-Jun-2008 22:23:32 by Wet Rainbow

Wet Rainbow

Posts: 786 Gold Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

At the words, Mirhanda*'s heavyset form jerked into motion. Striding over to one of the four flames, he touched the end of his torch to its guttering sconce. Al Kharidian oils added to the torch’s end for dramatic effect burst into bright blue flames that crackled and sparked up into the night only to be driven horizontally a moment later in a strong eastward draft. Their luminescence painted the scaffold an eerie, bruised blue. The sharp scent of the desert accompanied the fire, as alien to the clear, mountain air as the cerulean flame, and a wave of rasps and hisses burst from the seekers as they shifted aimlessly about, trying to stay away from the glare but keep close to the boy. As Mirhandar traced the required steps across the stage, several Blackguard opened the drage and hoisted the boy into it. Low thunder rumbled, and Mirhandar glanced at the skies; he could almost taste the rain. Where was Sage?

~~~

The lid of the box closed with a snap and the boy, half-awake, pressed his hands against the inside of its walls. His movements were slow, as though performed underwater, which, Sage reflected, was probably how the boy felt with the crystal case distorting his perception of reality. The druid now stood near the edge of the crowd, just able to glimpse the scaffold over the many bodies. It was almost time, he judged: the azure aura that marked Mirhanda**s path was nearing the drage. One of his hands crept into the second of three pouches at his side and felt the familiar surfaces of the stones within. Air and water…

~~~

Mirhandar reached the box and stopped, flame fluttering before him. The oiled logs beneath the casket reflected the torch invitingly and everywhere around him eager eyes watched, waiting for ignition. Mirhandar, however, waited for something else.

26-Jun-2008 19:29:46 - Last edited on 30-Jun-2008 16:50:09 by Wet Rainbow

Wet Rainbow

Posts: 786 Gold Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

“Light it,” a Blackguard finally prompted and, right on cue, the rain fell. It descended in a shimmering curtain from the sky and Mirhandar, instead of lighting the magefire, swung his torch around in a diaphanous, sapphire arc towards the seekers that had convalesced around the drage. Its fiery end passed through several of their bodies, and they hissed, shadow-forms convulsing as they retreated away from the heat and light, towards the scaffold’s darker regions. A sharp shattering sound echoed across the plaza as the torch’s swing met the drage and the coffin splintered, fracturing more easily than Mirhandar had expected. Before any of the Blackguard could react, he had pulled the boy out of the portion of crystal casing that still remained intact and leapt off the stage, into the plaza.

The rain meant to mask Mirhanda*'s escape never hit the ground, however. Mirhandar landed hard upon dry pavement – one hand holding the boy across his shoulder, the other grasping the torch - to face a sea of citizens. Most backed away from him, eyeing the still-smoldering stick, but a few of the more stalwart advanced, holding their hands palm forwards as though they meant no harm, one of them reaching for a knife at his waist. Goddam, where was the rain Sage had promised? Acting quickly, Mirhandar retreated into the dark recesses under the scaffold, circling continuously to keep the people on every side in view and giving the torch a few practice swings, so as to judge how much the boy’s weight would throw off his balance. As far as he could see, his only way out in any direction was through the crowd, and even if he did make a dash from under the scaffold, he was certain some of the Blackguard above had had crossbows…

26-Jun-2008 19:29:52 - Last edited on 30-Jun-2008 16:51:46 by Wet Rainbow

Wet Rainbow

Posts: 786 Gold Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

A gigantic man wearing a wolfhide vest and spiked leather gauntlets was the first to make a move, charging towards him from the left through the shadowy space between the scaffold’s deteriorating supports, mithril dagger in hand. The boy was almost weightless, and so did not encumber Mirhandar as he swung his torch low to connect with the wolfman’s knee. The man staggered and fell with a grunt, head cracking against the ground. Mirhandar contemplated finishing him off, but another assailant was already edging in from the right and he turned to face this new threat, running at the man rather than waiting for the fight. The assailant was unarmed, and tried to catch the torch in his hands as it swung towards him, but only succeeded in breaking his fingers before it smashed into his face. Mirhandar whirled once more, tight-wired with adrenaline, to find two figures advancing through the shadows before him, and a few more circling around the sides. The world under the scaffold suddenly seemed unnaturally quiet: sounds from the crowd still gathered about the edges not intruding; just him, the Burthorpians and the rhythmic creak of the supports. I’m going to die, a part of his subconscious shrilled, but Mirhandar found himself feeling strangely calm. He would draw blood before he went. “Roald!” he bellowed, and charged the nearest attackers.

They scattered before him, but his club still crushed the face of one, and crunched into another’s side, cracking several ribs. He could see more coming as he spun, many more, sidling through the shadows - too many. Mirhandar had just driven the blunt point of his torch into the stomach of yet another assailant: a lithe man weilding a jagged-looking dirk, when something struck him in the shoulder. The impact spun his body and he almost dropped his weapon. A knife cut into his side, a sudden slash of pain that snapped him back to his senses. He could not survive down here; he had to run.

26-Jun-2008 19:30:32 - Last edited on 30-Jun-2008 16:53:28 by Wet Rainbow

Forums

-= Entombed In Crystal =-