Woeful Tales.

Arturius awoke with a start. It was yet another misty, dreadful day, and there was yet another strange, new adventurer shaking him awake. After enquiring what the lad was after, Arturius tried to think. He let the young man pick over his mind about the legendary city of Zanaris for well over an hour, but his party's return ended that. After chasing the adventurer off, the group looked at Arturius woefully.

"Yet again, we come back to find you dumbly giving away ur hard-earned research!" Alyta the Archer scolded.

"Indeed, the adventurers that look to you are nigh half our age! How could you give them the wisdom of decades at a mere inquiry?" Filactus the Mage demanded.

"Well, I didn't want to seem rude..." Arturius muttered.

"You know what, Arturius? You don't seem to want to do many things these days, do you?" Fracisco the Monk said quietly.

"Yes, Arturius. You are becoming more of a liability than a warrior." Alyta said, angrily yet calmly.

"Well...What are you saying, Alyta?" Arturius asked, very frightened.

Alyta seemed embarrassed. Arturius was much like a large child to her, and, although often more trouble than he was worth, he was still somewhat like a family. She looked to Filactus to explain, then went into the forest as the tears welled up.

"Arturius...We believe that it would be in our better interests if you were to go on your search..." Filactus paused. "Alone."

Arturius gasped, and looked at Francisco to see if it was true. Francisco also found Arturius like a little brother. He averted his eyes. Arturius screamed in frustration, confusion, and fear. Although always big and strong, he was not very smart-and very, very afraid to be alone. The tears streamed down his face as he ran willy nilly into the swamps.

Alyta's sobs were heard at the distant castle town of Lumbridge, and Arturius was never seen again.