Purging Of A Land Lost To An Angry God

 

Ratchet

Varrock

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A slow, monotonous beat rumbled across the ruins. The sound echoed in the heads of every soldier hiding behind the fallen walls of the once great city of Varrock. They were ready for anything, had trained with the greatest generals of the White Knights of Falador. They had placed their banner, the green within red of the rebel regime, around the ruins and atop what used to be the grandest castle in the land. It now stood as a pile of bricks and wood at the very northern edge of the ruins.

The moment the beat had started Ratchet smudged out his cigarette in the mud. A light drizzle had been turning the ruins into a soggy mess. Thunder rumbled, lightning exploded forth from the heavens and hearts beat more rapidly with every second that passed. Ratchet knew that the rain was going to get heavier. He knew that for the most of these men, this would be their final resting place.

Ratchet lay against a four and a half foot tall wall in the ruins of what used to be the ruins across the street from the Varrock Bank West Branch. Sitting next to him was his long bow, his full quiver next to that. His sword sat in his lap, mud caked on both sides. He used the tattered clothes he had taken from the skeletons that had been piled into a wall that completely encircled the city to clean his blade.

The collected skeletons probably had something to do with dark magic, really dark magic, but if the battle were won, the Zamorak mages would not be able to do whatever spell they were setting up as a consequence of being dead.

There were two piercing screams that cut the air and Ratchet grabbed his bow and pulled his quiver closer. He took an arrow from it and notched it in his bow. He pulled the string taut and stood from his cover, scanning the area. His heart pounded.

The surrounding area was dark, almost too dark for Ratchet to make anything out.

Until the rain started to pund harder and a flash of lightning revealed revealed a Zamorakian soldier running for cover across the street, toward what used to be the entrance to the bank.

In less than a second, Ratchet loosed the arrow and it slammed through the soldier's neck. He tripped over his feet and fell to the muddy ground, dead.

Ratchet fell to one knee as two arrows flew over his head and snapped in half when they hit the crumbling wall behind him.

Suddenly, screams could be heard, the thumps of bodies hitting the ground became as steady as the worsening rain, and the whoosh of arrows flying overhead became a constant reminder of the dangers. War was played by children across Gielnor, a game that produced laughter and evoked the thought that war was fun. And then, when the men, thinking they are signing to play a game do get to play a real game of war, they are too dead to realize that their child's game was a frivolous misinterpretation of real war. They see that neither side is laughing, that when an arrow hits you you do not clutch your chest and fall and laugh and end the game with a friendly handshake and a you win. Because when said arrow hits you in the chest in real war, right through your heart, you are in too much agony and too stupefied by the sight of an arrow protruding from your skin and blood gurgling out of your wound, covering your body, to care.

Ratchet had played war and wasn't stupid enough to misinterpret what it truly represented. When he had seen his father's body at age seven, head sliced diagonally so only one eye, his nose, and three quarters of his mouth remained, he knew was was something more than a game to settle scores.

It was a game to settle a score once and for all.

Ratchet grabbed a round pebble from beside his leg and tested it's weight. He then blindly threw it over his cover, hoping it would strike something other than a patch of grass or something soft.

It struck the pavement inbetween the bank and Ratchet. Arrows shot toward it and Ratchet was up, aroow notched, and shot toward a ruin to his north-east where he had seen quick motion after loosing an arrow.

The arrow struck home, through the enemy soldier's breast and into the heart. The man feel into a puddle and the splash perked the notice of the other shooter. He yelled out, probably the name of his friend, and was then shot through the heart like his buddy.

Where the hell were the mages though? Reports said they were coming!

And then Ratchet laughed. They had probably killed the men surrounding the cityt. They were probably preparing their dark magic right now, killing their own soldiers, as well as the enemy.

Psychos, thought Ratchet.

There was another difference between was and a game. In a game you can cheat. But in war, there are no cheats.

Ratchet strapped his quiver to his back so the arrows poked over his left shoulder, his bow so it poked over his right, and held his sword vertical to his chest in the traditional fighting stance of the Falador White Knights and ran toward the skeleton wall.

 

Archimage

Wizard's Tower

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There's some bad magic in the air. Archimage stood in the library of the Wizard's Tower, pacing back and forth in front of the elder wizards seated at a teak table. They watched him intently and were unblinking.

And you're solution? Asked one of the wizards, twirling his callused hands in the air.

Elder wizards always need solutions and equations with solutions. Archimage grabbed his staff that had been leaning against one of the bookcases. He stared at it's carvings, ancient runes that his father had etched in it so long ago.

We only want a solution to our problem and you always seem to have one because every time we have a meeting of the wizards it is you who has the plan, you who has the equations, you who creates the new alchemical equations we use now to summon animals and spirits to our sides.

I like to consider them familiars, not animals or spirits. They are an extension of yourself, not created by anything but your own spirit. Archimage walked over to the table and sat lightly on the edge of it.

No matter, how do you propose we stop the ritual taking place at Varrock?

Archimage sighed. If I were an elder and not just a Watcher of the Keep I would turn a blind eye to the White Knight's. They were stupid to walk into such an easy trap.

Seeing as you are not an elder wizard and we wish a solution, perhaps it would be best if we got what we wanted. The eldest mage, sitting at the head of the table, wore spectacles and his left eye was lazy, usually staying on the far left side of his eyehole.

My solution is for you to give up on them. The end. Archimage got off the table and started to walk off.

Dammit, I'm going to send you out there to stop them alone.

Archimage laughed. Kill the Watcher of the Keep and then what? Do you have anyone else qualified to keep watch on the other demi-gods grave sites?

If we do have a replacement? The elder wizard asked.

Then my arguments are invalid. Archimage said, defeated.

Good. The elder wizard waved his arm. Away with you.

 

Homer

Inside Varrock

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Homer bit into the meat and felt tasted ambrosia as blood filled his mouth. He licked his lips before going back into the large hunk of meat, tearing the meat off the bone like some sort of animal.

He hadn't left the cellar in seven months, and he was running out of people to eat. He had eaten all the orphans, had eaten all the teachers. The only one left was himself.

He needed to find a way out soon. He should probably keep digging that hole he had started months ago...

 

Ratchet

Outside of Varrock

--------------------------------

Ratchet shot forward like an arrow, so fast that the two attacking mages spell bubbles missed him, smacking into the ground behind him and blowing into fireballs almost too magnificent to turn a blind eye to. The people from the western docks came with these things called fireworks, which Ratchet had seen in action when an ambassador from that far off land came and showed off his amazing inventions to the King and the White Knights.

It was funny that he felt more awe at the flames lapping at the air around him then those exploding rockets.

The two mages wore the blood red robes of Zamorak and carried staffs etched with pictures of animals and eyes and other occult symbols. They had a boxlike, bluish thing encasing them, a magic shield. It was only penetrable through slow movements, and a fast, hard attack would leave the attacker in a bloody heap as the shield exploded outward, killing everyone except for the user in a twenty foot radius.

Ratchet rolled to the left as another fireball was discharged from the top of one of the mages staffs. Ratchet ran to the closest one, the one who shot at him and stopped in front of the shield.

Put down the shield boys, let's not make this harder than it should be.

The mage laughed.

Don't go to hell and blame me for what happened.

Ratchet started to slowly lunge his sword through the shield at the center. The mage was preparing a spell when Ratchet let go of the sword. It was stuck halfway through the shield.

The other mage...

Ratchet looked over his shoulder, noticing that the other mage seemed frozen in the middle of his shield. Something had happened during Ratchet's attack.

Ratchet was expecting an attack, hoping for one, but he guessed he would have to do everything himself.

Ratchet jumped onto the hilt of the sword and the sword started slicing downwards, fast.

The shield exploded, a blue flash that obliterated the landscape.

And Ratchet stood before the headless body of the mage.

How the hell'd you do that? Came a voice from behind him, edgy, a little older sounding.

Used the sword to make my jump higher, so I jumped into the safe box the mage was in. I noticed that the shield had no top, it wouldn't explode upward. Jumped over the shield, used my foot to twirl the sword around as the explosion happened. Fell to the ground just in time to catch the hilt of the sword as it spun to the ground, cut the mage's head off.

You knew the shield's blast could only destroy living things?

I assumed. If not, I have my quiver. Could have just shoved an arrow through his neck.

But being the show off you are and knowing somebody had gotten through that other mage's shield and froze him...

Archimage, remember how you used to be a nobody years ago, you and me? How we used to search out ancient texts for the gods?

Archimage appeared out of nowhere in front of Ratchet, blue robes damp thanks to the rain. He wore his hood over his head, hiding his face in shadows. An orb floated behind his shoulder, hovering there like an obedient dog.

The gods banished us from that place for a reason Ratchet. The moment they sent their assassin after us they put into place what was to happen now. The downfall of Gielnor is inadvertently our fault. I love knowing this.

I assume you joined up with the Wizard's Council? The Wizard's Tower?

Archimage nodded. I'm the Watcher of the Keep. And you apparently joined with the White Knights once again?

Correct.

Archimage started walking toward the skeleton wall.

Let's finish our jobs before we reminisce, shall we?

What about the mage over there? Ratchet pointed toward the statuesque man.

I froze him from the inside. He's dead, but the weight of the frozen organs and blood is enough to keep him balanced.

 

Somewhere

--------------------------

Thus, the pawns are placed upon the board. The voice was deep, harsh.

Two of them at least. They have a lot of catching up to do. This voice was hyena-like. Just hearing the voice of whoever this was, you could tell he was a predator.

It's been a year since the start of Gielnor's fall.

The moment I walked into their domain and destroyed the place, I started the fall. I shall always be remembered thus. When we rebuild this world from the ground up, they will hail me as messiah, as the man who erased civilization to allow the newest, greatest empire of all time to rise. The empire of you my lord. The rebirth of this world.

My brother needs to be taken care of though. We might need to send our pawns after him.

Is that the next phase my lord?

Yes. They blame Zamorak, but he doesn't even realize that he is just a pawn as well, I have let him come back, I had given you to him, and he will never take Gielnor. It will be mine once again.

Lord Saradomin, this whole land will once again be united under the common religion of your creation. It's failure has been the failure of your entire creation, and they must be purged and we must recreate and rebuild what you have lost.

Draynor Village

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He stood in the messy bedroom on the second story of the house across from the Draynor Village Bank. His eyes scanned the wood floor for anything suspicious, finding that the pieces of crumpled paper and various books on the occult were not odd enough to warrant questioning. A telescope sat on a tripod poking out of the window, the tripods locking mechanism set at whatever he was looking at. A pad of paper sat on the sill next to it, a pencil lying atop the pad.

The telescope was very low, almost parallel to the floor.

The man strode toward the telescope and stopped when he heard the creaking of the stairs.

There was a quick moment of indecision, followed by action. That action being to sit on the sill and pull a cigarette from the breast pocket of his vest. He snapped his fingers and fire flickered between them. He lit up, shook his hand until the fire was gone, and watched the peculiar old man approach him with a small porcelain tea cup in hand.

I see you enjoy cigarettes. The old man wore a blue party hat and glasses with a swirling pattern. He took a quick sup of the tea before he sat down in his armchair in the corner, across from the man.

Don't we all? The man asked.

I hate them. I think they are only good for tough men who wish to show the world that they will die young, no matter the cause.

The man slit his eyes and blew smoke from the side of his mouth. I like them. Best thing I've ever put in my mouth.

The best thing I ever had was this thing from the east called sushi. Raw fish wrapped inside rice with local fruits or vegetables.

How'd you get to the east?

I'm a wizard. I've been everywhere.

I used to know a lot of wizards. They stayed in Gielnor.

I knew about the eastern lands before most. I was harvesting ectoplasm when the easterners first came ashore.

Yeah, that explains everything. The man said sarcastically.

Forget I ever said it. Anyways Mr.-

Mister is good enough.

Not in my house it isn't Snake. We'll skip the formalities and move on to why you are here.

So you know me?

Enough to find you a threat to my home and my well being.

Why'd you let me in then?

The fact I wished to talk to you, the fact I enjoy drinking tea with company. He took another sip from the steaming cup.

Where is my cup? Snake asked.

I know you do not accept food from people you don't know, other than those people working in restaurants. I feel it would be a crying shame to waste a cup of God's drink if you're only going to leave it to cool.

From what my drunk buddies tell me, the God's piss beer.

And they would be wrong. Now then, let's get off this discussion of what the God's urinate and get to why you are here.

Advice.

You were snooping about up here. You should know I can see everything in this town. That's how I learned your name and story. You sure love talking to Diango.

Old friends. Snake replied.

The old man nodded. I know about your exploits before the war and the return of Zamorak. I assumed you came here in order to kill me and cement the fact you are a force to be reckoned with.

Most people who see me in the streets know that I am a force to be reckoned with. Now can we get to why I came here.

Well, the snooping makes me feel like you are working with the police, the White Knights, with most of the people who suspect me as one of Zamorak's men.

I've heard about these things, and decided to take a little look. Just for myself. I don't care about the White Knights or the police or any of those rebel forces. Unless Zamorak comes for me-

Which he is in five- The old man murmured.

-then I don't care what goes on in the world. Wait, what did you-

An explosion rocked the house and Snake fell to the floor before the room fell toward the Draynor Bank.

They blew up the bottom of the house! They expect us to die when the second story hits the ground and crumbles onto us!

The old man, despite the floor becoming the wall and the window wall becoming the floor, sat parallel to the floor, sipping his tea. The laws of gravity apparently did not affect the old man.

Snake cursed. How the hell was he getting out of this with five seconds before the room killed him.

 

Xewleer

Crystal Palace

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Within the large chamber were floating crystals, emanating a soft light that reflected on the marble floor, inlaid with gold. Standing in the middle of a ring of gold was a man whose face was burnt, crisped. His scalp was bare, bald; his face was scarred beyond repair.

And standing in front of him was a tall, lanky man with long black hair and soft green eyes. He wore square spectacles and a white suit with a black tie.

I am assuming you are ready for your return to Gielnor, Xewleer? The man in the suit asked.

As ambassador from the crystal throne, I will build an alliance with Zamorak for us. Xewleer replied.

Do so. And if you do encounter Ratchet again, I believe you are ready to repay him for your face. It's been two years, countless hours of wearing bandages over your face to hide the burns. I think you have learned how the crystal zanbato works.

Am I allowed to go out of the way to find that bastard and end him?

For you son, I care not. Just come back alive.

Yes father. Shall I also bring some of the militia with me?

His father shook his head. Soon though.

They bowed to each other before the floating crystal lights shut off and encased the room in darkness.

 

Xarosen

Unknown Location

---------------------------------

And thus, more pawns are put on the board. Xarosen said, watching the world just through the use of both of his eyes. He saw every city, heard every conversation.

The Crystal Throne will be destroyed by the other pawns. Zamorak will be defeated by pawns. It will lead to my entering the picture.

When shall I dispose of the pawns?

When they have finished my work for me. Everything is going to plan and we haven't even pulled out the queen, king, bishop, and all the others.

They will be placed on the board soon.