At sals forums they have a story mat and i wrote a short story for it. Enjoy!
The glow of Zamorak
The magician raised his fire staff and uttered a few words. Power surged through the wooden staff and emitted through the red light at the top of the staff. The staff shone red, like fire in the depths of hell and the skeleton cowered in fear as its magical force that kept its bones in place started to lift. The magician screamed a battle cry as the skeleton was reduced to a quivering pile of dusty, rotten bones, its spear next to it. The magician trudged onwards into the depths of the wilderness, ready for the horrors that waited for him upon his path.
The magicians face burned as he worked his way closer to the lava. He kept close to the edge of the lava. The magician held onto his black hat and he fiddled with his amulet, a dedication to Zamorak. He uttered a few ancient chants, praising the evil and demented god. He may be insane but it was his duty to do thy master’s bidding. Suddenly, the ground next to the Magician started to crack. The magician started to worry. He reached out for rune stones but before he could reach for his pouch, the ground rumbled. The pouch fell out of his hands and into chasm below which was filled with boiling, orange lava. He watched in horror as his only way of protection was burnt into the deep fathoms of the Wilderness. He screamed in frustration. He fell to his knees. Standing up, He felt the earth crack again. Turning round, he looked in horror at what had formed.
Before him, stood a huge creature made out of the floor of the Wilderness itself. The creature’s red eyes gazed at the Magicians black hat, robes and amulet. It snarled and the Magician stepped back. His foot touched the edge of the cliff, causing bits of ground to fall into the lava. He quickly turned round, looking at the lava. The creature snorted smoke out of its nostrils, causing the Magician to gag on the hot ash contained within it. He had run out of options. Either step back and fall into the lava or be crushed by the monster in front of him. The magician started to cry. Death was inevitable. He felt crushing agony in his hips. The monster had planted its enormously strong arms round him. The Magician groaned in agony as he started to feel his ribs crack under the pressure. He tried to hit the Monster over the head with his staff but his hands let go off his staff and it suffered the same fate as his rune stones. He could feel the warmth of the lava behind him and his feet left the dirty, ash covered floor of the Wilderness as he was lifted up by the Monster. The monster stared into the eyes of the young Mage again, this time roaring with demented delight. He threw the mage into the chasm.
The Magician uttered relief as the pressure on his ribs stopped but felt a sharp thud into his back. He had crashed into the wall of the other side of the chasm and was starting to fall into the lava. The Mage screamed at the top of his lungs as he plunged into the boiling hot lava. Struggling to keep afloat, he could feel his clothes and flesh melting away in a fury of pain and sadness. The magician tongue started to burn as scalding lava swept into his mouth and started to make his tongue melt and teeth singe. Slowly, the Magician wept and passed away falling into the depth of the lava.
The Magician burnt and dead body crashed into a piece of wrecked boat further down the lava. His body sunk to the bottom of the lava and had eventually flowed down to the wreckage. His skeleton crumbled into a wooden board. Surprisingly, His heart did not pump blood through his veins but his consciousness remained. He then realised the cruelty of his punishment. Instead of being laid to rest in peace, something was keeping him alive for their own sick amusement. He cried in his mind. Wanting to get up and run as fast he could away from the Wilderness and back to safety, but his body was dead. It was no more. He gave up. There was no hope anymore. Emotionless, he dug through his memories as a way of keeping his mind sane. He had remembered one memory, an event that had occurred before heading off to the Wilderness.
The young magician crept into the alley of the Blue Moon Inn in central Varrock. If he was caught entering the sacred place, he would be surely hung for religious crimes. What a discriminating city he lived in. But Varrock would pay for their deeds. When Zamorak arises from his rest, the whole of Gielinor would be his to take. And He, Ritton Sanq would be surely rewarded for his loyalty. He sniggered as he jogged underneath the moonlit sky to Aubury’s rune store. He rang the bell for service and he could hear groans and the sound of small feet plod to the door, it opened to a tired-looking Aubury who had a false smile on his face.
‘’Welcome...To Aubury’s Rune shop, your number one place for getting the magical rune stones in the whole of Varrock, How may I be serving you tonight?’’ Said Aubury, yawning. He resumed smiling.
‘’I require 50 body runes, 50 earth runes, 50 death runes and 100 chaos runes.’’ Said Ritton with a menacing glare. Aubury gulped and scratched his head nervously.
‘’I’ll be right back with your order’’ Said Aubury as he scurried to the back of the Rune shop. Stepping into the warmth’s of the shop, Ritton observed his surroundings. He was in a circular shaped shack. It had a desk in the middle covered in scrolls, runes, messages and several bottles of ale to quench Aubury’s thirst. The place had a light kept alight by magic atop the ceiling. A fireplace gave a warm and pleasant feel to the proceedings. Ritton wanted to stay here longer and soak in its happiness but Aubury had fetched Ritton’s order.
‘’50 silver pieces please.’’ Aubury asked for in exchange.
Grudgingly, Ritton handed them over, 50 silver coins was half the amount of money he had in his house. Aubury bid him farewell and he headed off back to bed. Ritton stepped out of the warmth and into the cold, windy night outside. Across the street was the old, dilapidated Church of Zamorak. Outlawed by the council of Varrock, the place had been boarded off and left to rot in the corner of the sprawling city. Ritton checked for guards and found no one near the street. Ritton passed through the boarded up entrance and into a window by the front. He heaved himself in and was greeted by his fellow believers, Motghi, an Al-karidian who had sought comfort after being banished from Al karid for sleeping with the king’s daughter. He had found comfort in Zamorak after being converted by the person next to him, Jiop. Jiop was born in Falador and after being repulsed by the cities’ highly Saradominst population and military, had fled to Varrock and sought solace in the temple here. They were sitting at the front pew of a rectangle shaped room. The room was covered in red wallpaper and had various pictures of Zamorak, death and wars carved into it with a knife. The Mage of Zamorak was giving a lecture about Death when he noticed Ritton clamber in through the window. The three greeted Ritton and Ritton sat down and listened to the preaching of the Mage.
It was a long night. The Mage preached about death, then the god wars and Jhallan, Hazeel and Zaros. After the sermon, Jiop and Motghi said their goodbyes to Ritton and the two climbed out of the window into the night ahead. Ritton and the Mage of Zamorak looked at each other.
‘’Do you have the runes?’’ Inquired the Mage.
‘’Yes father.’’ Replied Ritton.
‘’Good.’’ Said the mage.
There was an awkward silence. The mage sighed.
‘’You realise, you are probably going to perish out there.’’ Announced the Mage.
‘’Yes, I am aware, but if it means that I must help Zamorak, I will do whatever is necessary. Declared Ritton.
‘’Good.’’ Said the Mage. He twisted on his heel and walked to the window and clambered out of the window. Ritton stood alone in the pews, not even a farewell from his Mentor. Alone, He eyed a bookcase in the corner and walked over to it, curious. One book stood. A history of magic language, he read out loud to himself. Opening it and leafing through the pages, he came across a paragraph.
‘’If the body should ever be separated from thy mind, thy ancient words shall help thy regain thy body and live thy once more...’’
Ritton stopped remembering and his mind remembered the words
‘’Absit, Caelestis, Dues, Oraculum.’’ He chanted in his mind. Over and over in his mind, he chanted the words. Suddenly, he felt power surge from the ground and the lava. Through a nearby burnt tree and some ashes. The things around him started to evaporate, leaving a red glow where they were. His mind could feel his body start to re-attach itself. Ritton started to laugh as he lifted a burnt, crispy finger up off the cold hard ground. His cheeks turned into an insane grin causing bits of burnt flesh to fall off. He lifted himself up and looked at the red glow shimmering in the air. Instead of his original mission, to get a Monster and lead it back to Varrock, where it should destroy Varrock, he had achieved something greater. His hand strayed onto the cold barren floor and Ritton started to laugh manically. He picked himself up, slowly. No pain was felt at all. He was immune to pain. Zamorak kept me alive thought Ritton. He knew I would read the book. He knew I would fall in the Lava. He knew that I would rise and cause the Mark. He looked at the Red glow again.
‘’For that be the glow of Zamorak.’’ He said, ecstatic. Stumbling into the barren, ashy horizon, with a burnt body and charred mouth and speech, there was no way society would accept him. But, so what if he was a social pariah, Zamorak was what mattered. He spun round in a circle, insanely. And Ritton, the Magician ran south to Asgarnia, determined to aid Zamorak in his quest for revival.
> OMG! I give it a 15335/10!!!!!
> I liked the dark mood you gave it. Although some formatting would do nice (I kinda didn't notice when he stopped remembering and revived :P), I must say:
I want to get some more stories here. :)
Wow, that was pretty good.
A few grammar mistakes, but overall good. Interesting story :yes:
Zamorak ftl though :P