The wilderness-------Part 2 up!

[deathhead154]

Several other chapters will be up and running after a while. Rate or hate.

 

 

 

The old man could feel the cold sweat running down the back of his robes, permeating him in a general sense of fear. He could see them, oh how he could see them!, scouring the castle looking for him. He had just come here for a pocketful of free runes, but could he get them freely? Of course not! The mage shook away his frustrations and focussed on the problem at hand.

 

 

 

The old man, Deathhead by name, was precariously perched high in the upermost tower of the castle man had built in the cold, infertile lands called the wilderness. He could plainly see the men calling out to him, drawing out feelings of utermost indignity from the venerable elder with their childish name-calling.

 

 

 

A bead of sweat pearled on the bridge of the old manÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s nose, rolling down like rain on a leaf. Deathhead knew he was in trouble, for he was in no position to brush off the drop of sweat. His eyes crossed over looking at the drop roll down slowly, teasingly, finally to drop the dozen feet to the bottom floor of the fortress. Deathhead held his breath for a long time, praying to the skies above that his hunters hadnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t noticed the soft splish when the drop splashed on the stone floor. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the voiced died down to a whisper, and Deathhead mustered the courage to look down the ladder.

 

 

 

He couldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t to see the pair of angry eyes, flecked with the taint of greed, looking right back at him. Deathhead let out a swear, and leaned heavily on the stone crenellation. He had to think fast. His enemies were going to get up here in a matter of seconds, and the old man didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t bear to think of what they were going to do to him when they caught him.

 

 

 

Suddenly, a glint of metal caught the crafty old mageÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s eye. The ladder was fixed to the stone wall by heavy iron pegs, each driving into the stone for several inches. Deathhead drew out the last of his runes, each inscribed with a small flame so that the mage could remember their effects. A manÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s memory didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t stay fresh for a long time after all!

 

 

 

He threw himself on the floor of the tower and gripped the ladder forcefully. He touched the small rune with the heavy metal peg by him. Not daring to look down at the men climbing the ladder, he focussed all of his considerable mental power into that small object. The peg started to glow with heat, red, then orange, the yellow, finally white. Deathhead let out a final ferocious mental burst, sending all of his energy into the small rune. The peg started to soften, bending under the weight of the man climbing the ladder, then fully snapping, the blunt end flying into the old manÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s assailant face. How he howled when the burning metal touched his skin! The smoke drifted up the tower, into Deathhead,s nostrils, the smell of burning flesh assaulting his every sensibility. He pushed past his disgust and checked his every escape route. The ladder, which was now swarming with enemies flying to their fallen comrades valuables, or the edge of the tower, which was a drop of over 30 feet? A plan well into his whirring mind, the old mage opted for the tower. His bowed legs too weary to support his own weight, the old man neatly did a short pole-vault with the aid of his trusty staff, under the incredulous stares of his attackers that had just managed to scale the ladder.

 

 

 

Deathhead, his fist clenched around one of the last runes in his pouch, one inscribed with a small white wave, shot his arm down at the ground, and released a mighty gust of wind. Flipping over in the remnant of the force he had unleashed, Deathhead landed safely on his feet. Launching a neat obsene hand gesture at his attackers, he started to walk away, whistling a merry tune.

 

 

 

Suddenly, he lurched over, a sharp pain biting at his left flank. Looking back at the men on the tower, he noticed one of them handling a longbow. Grimacing away the pain, he started on a quick trot, dodging arrow after arrow. Finally getting the good sense that Saradomin gave him, he grasped the last runes in his pouch, and sent a wave of mental energy assault the small stones. Feeling his body lighten, he fully engaged in the transcendence. Soon after, he was in the busy town of Varrock, shaking away the dizziness that always accompanied the teleport process. The homely townspeople, seeing the stranger pop out of nowhere, soon guessed his origin. Deathhead walked the town of Varrock head low, hiding his pride and dignity safely away from the hoots and jeers of the crowd. Coward, they called him. Little did they know, he had respect from where he came from. Years ago, he was Deathhead, Archmage of the town of Lumbridge. He had it all then. Respect, he had. Money, that was no problem. But he had an itch that no one could scratch. He had a thirst for adventure.

 

 

 

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He had set off from the small duchy of Lumbridge, his pouch full of the finest runes and a bulging gold sack tied to his belt. Finally arriving at Falador, his robes tattered by weather, his purse considerably less bulging, but with a light heart, the old mage looked up at the whitewashed towers of the Falador castle, pennants flying from every roof and the sounds of sparring in the courtyard.

 

 

 

Shoving through the crowds of beggars, their emaciated hands reaching up to him, the proud old man strode past the bridge spanning the length of the moat, and approached two burly men fighting with wooden swords. One of them, a youngish man of about twenty-five winters, had disarmed his opponent. The other, a woman with short-cropped brown hair, was on the dirt floor, her hand clenched on a throbbing leg. The man moved in, looking at a clean finish, but then the woman exploded into motion. In a fluid movement, she spun around, flinging a handful of dust into her opponentÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s eyes, kicking up her blade and finishing with a solid kick to the groin of the over-confident youngster. Doubling up in pain, the man found himself lying on the ground, a wooden blade to his throat. The woman flashed a brilliant grin to his opponent, before hearing a heartfelt clap from behind.

 

 

 

The old spectator, having not seen such a beating in many years, strode up to the victor and gave her a heavy smack on the back.

 

 

 

- Good girl, I wouldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t have expected such skill from one young as you!

 

 

 

The disgruntled loser, getting up and settling into a stiff-backed pose, spouted a string of swears under his breath.

 

 

 

-What is it boy? Cat got youre tongue? , said the mage.

 

 

 

-Bah, the lassie barely beat me! TÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢was but a trick! She tricked me!

 

 

 

The older and wiser man, seeing a perfect opportunity to teach the young one a lesson, settled into a defensive pose, the hand holding his staff in front of him.

 

 

 

-Then come get me, unless youÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢re afraid that a creaking antique would beat you!

 

 

 

The younger and heavier man, flying into a sudden rage, bellowed like an ox and charged towards the calm mage. Deathhead, waiting until the man was but three paces from him, tipped the staff, sticking the end into the ground, and vaulted into the manÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s face. His opponent, expecting a dodge from the older man, was completely caught by surprise, and received a strong kick to the face. Blood dripping from a shattered nose and from loosened teeth, he shook away his dizziness and backed off a bit. His respect for the old man suddenly to a peak, the stocky lad picked up the sword he had left during his last fight and strode towards the older mage, swinging the sword in complete and sure circles. Suddenly, he lunged, the point of the blade aimed at DeathheadÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s throat. The mage ducked, and sent a stiff-fingered hand up, towards the manÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s still extended hand. He sent his index flying to his opponentÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s wrist, hitting right on the pressure point. The young one howled in pain, dropping the sword and retracting his hand at the same time. The old man finished his move by grabbing the sword and tripping the youngster. The old manÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s opponent wondered how many times he had played out this scene, lying flat on his back, a blade at his throat.

 

 

 

-Fine, fine! Let me go! , he screamed.

 

 

 

The old man, having taught his lesson, threw the blade on the ground and picked up the staff he had dropped.

 

 

 

-Im sprier than you might think, he winked at the lass watching him. The young woman, now realising she had not breathed during the whole fight, caught her breath and clapped her hands in sincere admiration.

 

 

 

-Perhaps you are not as creaking as I had thought you.

 

 

 

The youngster, picking himself up, wiped a sleeve across his face to wipe the blood, and walked up to the old mage and said :

 

 

 

-You seem a bitÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ advanced in age to be a hand-to-hand fighter. Do you have any more surprises to show us?

 

 

 

The old man smiled, reaching into his rune pouch, and pulled out a couple of small stones. He tapped a few times on one inscribed with a white wave, and one with a flickering flame. He bid his spectators to silence, and focussed all of his formidable mind to the small runes. He mumbled a few arcane words and tapped a second time the stone with fire graved into it. A small ball of pure energy started to rise from the stone, drawing the design drawn on it as well. The small ball rose high into the night sky, now a mere pinpoint in the dark sky. Deathhead tapped the rune a final time. A brilliant flash lit up the kingdom as the ball exploded into a rolling inferno. A glare, brighter than a thousand stars caused every knight in Falador to look away, for fear of damaging their eyes. Deathhead quickly drew the other rune he had and conjured a gentle breeze to whisp away the smoke left in the aftermath of the explosion.

 

 

 

He looked to the dozens of knights staring at him incredulously and smiled.

 

 

 

-I am full of surprises.

[dragoncmd]

Its pretty good, far better than most of the stuff we recieve here. 8.5/10

[deathhead154]

Part 2 is up!

[FOXYGRAMPS]

yea pretty good. :) I like it. keep writin'.

 

Come rate my story. lol

[deathhead154]

Anyways, I doubt Ill ever finish this one. I never really liked it anyways. I got a new, better idea. Come check this one out. http://forum.tip.it/viewtopic.php?t=463247