forums.rs

Forums

Kingdom of Varrock Discussion

Quick find code: 90-91-215-65631841

of 126
SithTristen

SithTristen

Posts: 1,147 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
Tristen sauntered into the city limits of Varrock. Clad head to toe in battered wolf pelts, he drew many strange looks as he passed into town. His hair was matted with blood, some his own, and his overall appearance was that of a mangled beast. He was stopped three separate times by passing constables, though they let him continue after an explanation each time.

The journey past White Wolf Mountain was long and arduous. Barely surviving the encounter with the wolves, the man limped into Taverley, nearly succumbing to blood loss. The Druids offered what healing they could, but he stole out of town on the second night. The roads were dead, devoid of any life other than rabbits and the occasional squirrel. After his passing, they two, were removed from the scene. Over the days, he simply camped off to the edge of the road, usually within the treelines when possible. He payed the solitude no mind. It gave him time to think. Time to find words.

As he entered Varrock Square, he turned into the clothing store before heading anywhere else. Immediately he looked, and felt, out of place. The storekeeper looked up in surprise as she removed her spectacles. Tristen pushed back his hair as he looked around. The store hadn't changed much, the sights familiar from his days as a regular.

"Hello....sir....how may I help you?" Thessalia asked.
"I need a new wardrobe." Tristen replied, pulling out a small bag of coins. "I just got back to town, figured I need to...clean up.Name's Tristen Wa-"
"Ahh****. Walkeria. Yes, the voice is familiar, good sir, but it has been quite some time since you were last in." The shopkeeper said, as she grabbed a measuring tape.
"It's just Tristen, actually." The man replied as he removed the pelts. He dropped them in a pile to the side, and adjusted the tattered rags that were his clothes underneath.

07-Jun-2015 18:40:12 - Last edited on 07-Jun-2015 21:54:54 by SithTristen

SithTristen

SithTristen

Posts: 1,147 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
After a few hours of picking out and ordering new clothes, Tristen passed over the coinage to the shopkeeper. He adjusted a light tunic on his frame, feeling it the best choice for the summer heat. As he left, the shopkeeper nudged the pile of wolf pelts with her boot.

"What should I do with, err....these?"

"I'd burn them. Won't be needing them anymore." Tristen said. He nodded and dipped the tip of a wide brimmed leather hat to Thessalia as he strolled out.

Down the street he popped into a small barbershop. Some time later, he emerged a new man, his hair washed and cut down extremely short, or at least compared to how it was prior. His long beard was reduced to nothing but a short layer of rough hewn stubble.

He passed through the square one final time as he neared the gates to the palace. He looked up at the walls, and smiled briefly to himself.

"Home at last."

07-Jun-2015 22:03:47

Ben Aristad

Ben Aristad

Posts: 2,329 Mithril Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile
Varrock, Crownlands

Jonathan Church hit out the backdoor of the Blue Moon Inn at a full sprint. The armed fellows he encountered inside were a mottled bunch, and he jeered to himself that Group 6 wasn't able to procure more efficient, trained goons. He ducked momentarily into an alley to survey the situation and gather his bearings.

Through the stained glass of the pub's window, Church observed the confrontation between his pursuers escalate, then simmer. Perhaps they weren't hired thugs. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw the doors of the pub swing open, and Briggs himself walk in. He felt rage boil up within him, but stifled it. Right now, he needed to learn what has going on.

Avory Briggs set to leaning on the bar and eating those damned candies of his. Church drew some mental parallels between his tarromin habit and the Group Six director's sugar one. He shook his head and focused.

It was clear that he was trying to bribe the patrons for information. Typical, textbook cointel move. Church smirked, and ran his fingers through his newly-cropped hair. He was unrecognizable to all but the closest observation. And if he was recognized, well..

He ran his hand over the smooth mithril barrel of his pistol and stifled a chuckle.

Avory Briggs had made a serious mistake. He was a bloodhound sent to capture a wolf.

And it's only in the tales men tell that the hunters catch the wolf.

09-Jun-2015 04:12:49

Quick find code: 90-91-215-65631841 Back to Top