The Yellow Meadow :)

 

Welcome. :)

These are all my stories and things from when I was writing on the Runescape Forums (about 2007-2009).
Here are the majority of my entries for the Runescape Story Forum's Writing Contests. I must note that my IGN for Runescape is v_Katia_v. :)
These are quite old, and don't really do any justice to my writing ability... you'll see what I mean >_>

Picture

Sir Prysin looked out of the small circular window, a puzzled look upon his face. It had been a week since the thefts began; he sighed. They could have taken whatever they had seen first; jewels, novels carelessly left out after his majesty's naps, even the sweet, cooling pie on the cook's windowsill. But of course, as always it seemed in the city of Varrock, this was not the case. Somehow, the perpetrator had managed to get into the library, stealing a book that Reldo described as 'invaluable, dangerous, and extremely fragile'. However, Prysin preferred to ignore the last statement; Reldo described all the silly books like that. The thing that worried him the most was the antiques store. He thought that the King, on his many travels of the world, would love to place his most expensive vases and assorted crowns in there. But, of course, in the city of Varrock this would never happen. He could only really think of what the thief's target would be next; what would they steal next, if books and antiques were already on the list?

He gazed down at the people below him, the guard's lack of zeal boring him, and sighed one final time. 'This will be my task,' he thought, silently but confidently. 'I will bring the thief to justice, as none of these simpletons will.' He turned around, shouting in pain as he hit his shin on a stool, and exited the room with as much dignity as he could muster.

His first instinct was to the kitchen; the cook was always so good at cooking her pastries... he remembered supper last Tuesday, and the delicious pie...cherry, his favourite...

He burst through the kitchen door, and the cook jumped with shock, relaxing slightly when she saw the glinting armour in the doorway.

'Prysin, why, I haven't seen you in a while, althou-'

'I couldn't keep myself away, my dear,' he replied, a sickly sweet tone in his voice. 'Now, Audrey, would you happen to have any of those delicious, sweet cherry pies-'

She tutted, and turned away. 'Sir Prysin, back to your old tricks again... As I was saying, I wouldn't have expected to see you, with all the thefts going on and that chest of yours-'

'SILVERLIGHT!' Prysin shouted madly, his face full of pie crust.

He dashed out of the room, and pushed hastily past the librarian.

'Darn young rapscallions!' Reldo said, adjusting his skewed glasses and retrieving his books. As he picked one up, he ran one finger over it, whispered 'Its ok, my precious...', turned into the library and slammed the door abruptly. Still running down the corridor, Prysin cursed himself. How could he forget even for one minute about Silverlight, his lifelong charge, his destiny even for second, even with the allure of pie... sweet, CHERRY pie... NO! He shook himself. He had to check that his sword was safely secured in its chest...

...was the last thought as he saw it dash out of the room, in the arms of a cloaked unknown. They swept out of the building, almost gliding with the greatest speed, and Sir Prysin hastened to follow.

Rushing through the palace courtyard, and ducking fire blasts all the way, he kept his eyes fixed upon the long, tattered cape the bandit wore, the bottom caked in mud. Such bad taste would be apparent in any crowd, he thought, but suddenly realisation struck him.

He saw before him, what could be the most feared place in all of Gielinor; the Varrock fountain. Many a Varrock guard had lost their lives trying desperately to make the area safe for civilians; however, only that lovesick looney Romeo would go anywhere near there, and that gypsy; in fact, most people around the fountain were awkward characters at best. Alas, for the sake of his sword, he had to brave the hoards of the Varrock fountain!

He took a breath, and gathered all his courage, which was just enough for him to pelt full speed into the crowd.

It lasted what seemed a lifetime to Prysin, when darkness and cries of 'Phr33 st00f!' and the ever echoing 'Plz' consumed him. It dragged him down to his knees, begging to be let out of this hole...

He was thrown out of the other side of the crowd moments later, and he fell, groaning slightly. He looked up, and saw the cloak and his chest move away from the group. He pulled himself to his feet, shouted an almighty curse, and rapidly pursued. From behind, a thousand shouts of 'Lol, rep0rted!' met him.

He continued chasing, almost becoming a race to the finish with him staying firmly in last place. They ran through streets, turning into alleys, the sound of cats screeching in pain becoming louder and louder with every step.

'Almost...there!' he shouted, as he finally caught up to his target, slamming into the door they just slipped through. Fortunately, the force of Prysin's impact had knocked it completely off its hinges and fell to the floor with a crash, Prysin falling with it. He moaned, and raised himself off the floor.

The cloaked figure stood near a table, holding a decaying book and an archaic crucifix, the chest sitting idly on the surface.

'Aha!' said Sir Prysin, standing proud as if nothing had happened. 'So it's you who's responsible for the thefts-'

'Not without good reason.' The figure cut in, bright eyes shining from under the hood.

'Oh, ok.' Prysin turned around, starting to exit the hovel.

'Wait!' interrupted the thief, obviously annoyed. 'You don't want to know why I stole all this?'

Sir Prysin turned on his heels.

'Fine...' He said, bored.

'With this blade, I shall strike down Delrith, the demon that plagues us all! With this crucifix, I-'

By this time, Sir Prysin had taken his sword, book and crucifix, walked out the hovel and closed the door loudly behind him, grinning at his own ignorance. Another crime solved!

Day 1

There was a mere four days until Christmas dawned upon us all, and the snow that fluttered gracefully down from the heavens was enough to release the feeling of apprehension that I had fought with all day. My hands were frozen; I glanced at the crowd surrounding me as I attempted to make myself warm. They too were the same, and I managed to wheeze out a sigh. They're here for the same reason as me, I thought with relief.

The Toy Maker was stood at his stall, and the excitement of the season radiated from him. When his call was given, the festivities would begin, and I began to wonder, not for the first time today, what they would be. A test of knowledge of traditions? A snowball fight... perhaps to the death? I forced the fear back down again. This would be a Christmas – my first, proper Christmas – to remember.

The crowd was swept with a sudden wave of silence, and I stood to near attention, waiting for the sign that would seal my fate. Others took more relaxed stances, but that had no bearing on me. I wanted to see everything that was going on.
The Toy Maker rose - I'd never seen a merchant wield such authority - and stood among his wares, the moon commanding the tide. He raised his hand: was it to fire a bow? No; he had pulled it with haste to his mouth, and without warning-
SCREEECH!
-the crowd was running for some unforeseen goal, and unprepared as I was, I was tossed and turned in every direction, the sea becoming fearsome, loud and above all, euphoric. I fell to the ground and left ample time for the crowd to subside.

Wrenching myself up, I saw that one merchant standing above me, grinning almost madly.

“Up you come kid. That's it.” He had pulled me to my frozen feet, and I was in the process of dusting myself off. “First time I presume?” I nodded. “Always worst off being the new guy,” he began, glancing to some houses to the north, adding, “especially around here.”

I looked there too. There had seemed to be a rush in that direction, but I glanced at myself. I was in no fit state for public appearances.

“If you're looking to join in, head in that direction,” he said, noting my gaze. “You might want to leave the rush – if you got trampled in this crowd, you wont survive in there.”

I imagined the crazes of people in there, the cramped conditions, and felt my apprehension rise again. “Perhaps I should leave it a while,” I murmured, and began my way down the road. Tomorrow will be my chance, I thought, and I dragged my tattered clothes and rattled mind home.

Day 2

I returned in the bleak hours of the morning to find that my goal was as awash with visitors as it had seemed the day before. I sighed. This wasn't going to be the thrilling challenge I had imagined.

I elbowed my way into the cramped house at the head of the village, and looked for some point of interest; a towering crate; some straw strewn across the floor; a hat disappearing into the floor... ah. That was what I was looking for. I headed towards it and descended.

I saw now for the first time a sight that would stay with me forever.

There was a wash of colour, and from my viewpoint I could see vague glittering essences bustling all over the place. There was an array of crates in every direction, and several people to accompany each one, the crowd still in an excited mess.

At once I set to work to solve this puzzle laid before me. I wound myself around people, tables and crates, at each turn asking myself the purpose of each.

And nothing came to me.

I struggled with this for the remainder of my time, the ignorance of the crowd preventing me asking any questions. The sirens sounded for the underground workshop to close, and yet I had achieved nothing.

I sighed and returned to my home glumly. My first Christmas was turning into a disaster.

Day 3

This day was better than its predecessors. I managed to traverse the crowd well enough to find a clue at least – a glass bauble, plain and uninviting. I carried this around and searched for its destination, but the effort was in vain. As the siren sounded yet again, I trudged out even more downhearted than the day before. I was never going to work this out.

As I walked home, I noticed a large group of people heading for their own, but the difference to them was startling. They wore knitted hats of assorted colours, some with gorgeous flowing scarves to match. These had not been here in the last few days, and doubtless these accessories were rewards of the festivities that had evaded me. I approached them nervously, and asked of their origin.

To which I received no response.

This continued, the frustration of ignorance welling up inside of me, until the dam broke loose. I shouted.

...they weren't too happy about it, either.

I ran, chased by bobble hats and woollen snakes, until I dived for cover under a broken down cart. I didn't dare breathe until the mob had cleared, and when it did I curled myself up, rocking. The holiday season shouldn't be such of a nightmare, should it?

Day 4

I had realised long before now that this was my last chance before Christmas to enjoy the festivities, and so far I had enjoyed no part of it. I had been pushed, thrown to the floor, confused, ignored, chased and more. I was sure that there was nothing Christmassy about that.

However, yet again I lowered myself into the workshop. It was a bit messy, but definitely a lot less crowded than before, but that had its own advantages. The good side was now I could see exactly what there was there, and that'd help me find my goal. Sadly, this meant there was less help... not that much had been on offer anyway. My bauble in hand, I moved to the nearest bench, procrastinating while deciding its purpose.

That's when I found them.

There are many people in this world that would gladly give their right arm for you, and many, as I had found, who couldn't care less for you if you were a common rat. These were the first, and I was shocked by their attitudes.

They approached, asking me why I was still here.

“I was...” I paused, and decided on the truth. “I couldn't work this out, and nobody would help.”

“We will,” the loudest of the group replied cheerfully. “We had this sussed ages ago; we're just helping Keithy through this.” He gestured at a youth not unlike me, and I realised then that this Christmas was going to happen after all.

Day 5, Christmas

After many complaints of 'are we there yet?' we arrived at the spectacular town, our group all cheerful and brimming with the rewards of our toil. We had set about painting the plain baubles in all different colours, boxed them and brought them to the great town of Varrock, all knowing their purpose.

Scarves of all descriptions waving from our necks, we ran to our goal, careful to not have the warm hats blown from our heads.

The crowd loomed ahead, and we joined them with lights reflecting into our eyes.

Glittering with lights of all colours, and decorations to match, the tree that I understood now was custom towered into the sky, and I was filled with awe. My acquaintances, my friends, had helped me here, and this had moved me more than wool or dancing puppets ever could.

Many around us were wrenching presents from the base of the tree and ripping the delicate paper from them, but we continued. I felt a pang of jealousy, but we headed to the tree still.

I saw some of us opening up their boxes and adding decorations to the heavily laden tree, and I followed suit. There was tripping, the dropping of decorations and the simple amusement of the colours my company had chosen, that lead to streams of laughter and a buoyant atmosphere around us.

We seemed a lot happier than those with their own gifts, and my jealousy faded at once.

My friends were the greatest gift the festival had given me, and I was contented. They had given me nothing more than help when I had needed it most, and for that I was truly thankful.

He was no stranger to battle but today he would be pitted against friends and family. He had hoped that one day he would return to Lumbridge as a triumphant hero but instead he was returning as an emissary of death.

This was the way the world had turned however; this was the harshness of the reality that now consumed him. In times past, he would have never regretted these actions, simply another step in the master plan; a stepping stone, if you will. Alas, for him, a stepping stone would have taken him across the river of life: a corpse, while idle at the surface of the water, seemingly solid as that stone, would merely sink, dragging him down to the river below. Of course, a tentative step would not have revealed this danger. He never could have known. He never knew it would end this way.

Even now, his weapon stone cold and wanting across his back; light, speedy, the way the thieves had preferred their kills, he felt the pressure pushing him over. The burden of his actions felt much heavier than it ever had, and still he continued, his soles dragging in the dust littered path. He didn't care he left tracks. Not now.

His eyes rose, and he shielded his eyes instinctively from the brightness of the sun. Concious of this, he lowered his arm – what had happened to him? Images flickered across his eyes. Himself, supporting a friend home, after having fallen. Bringing in the wheat from fields. Summer. The sun had once been everything, and now he protected himself from it.

'What was I thinking?'

The words rolled out. The pressure pushed him over. The dust flew.

There, he stayed. Dust and memories whipped before him.

Himself, a child, with a wooden sword. A desperate hope to make his name. Leaving the town, friends and family waving, wishing him the best.

This is what he had left behind. His life.

What did he gain?

Fear, guilt... and now he was about to lose everything.

The cold had begun to creep in again, and instinctively she moved closer to him, closing her arms around his back. He pulled her closer, and she rested her head upon his chest. The cave walls floated out of mind – they didn't matter. The droplets falling to the floor were drowned out by the steady pumping of his heart.

Silently, he lifted her head and edged away. A familiar pain started up in her chest, and the walls surrounding them came crashing back down. The droplets constantly falling were nothing to the ones she restrained from her own eyes.

'What's wrong?' Her lip quivered. Why was he rejecting her now?

'I have to go now,' he said simply. 'You know that.'

'Stay,' the words barely made it through her lips. 'Please.'

He sighed and stood up. 'We need food,' he told her, as he looked at her with sad eyes. 'And weaponry. The Myreque have to fight.'

'Veliaf...'

'You'll be okay,' he replied, and leant to kiss her like so many times before. She did not reply. 'I love you, Sani,' he whispered into her ear. Then, slipping through the columns of stone, he was gone.

She drew one hand absent-mindedly across her stomach, lost in thought. Pulling a nearby blanket towards her, she obscured herself with it, shrouding herself in cotton whilst cradling her stomach more surely. She closed her eyes, and allowed herself to drift away.

Doubt began to ring in her mind, creeping in with the cold again.

The shabby blanket slid from her back, but she made no effort to replace it. Instead, she curled into a ball, pulling her legs close to her chest. There she sat, those few words echoing in her mind, waiting for him to still the ringing with his return.

I get asked the question all the time. Why do I hate humans? Why do I spit and shriek when one pulls close? Why do I never truly sleep? I'll tell...

I know I'm dying. I'm famished. I can't get any food... and it's all because of him. Him, him, him. I stink and remember the day my livelihood ran dry. My tail whips around in anger, and I growl at the thought. My legs are sticks, and my paws are useless, and I'm so hungry. I'm always hungry.

I sleep with one eye open. It's not that I don't trust people, though after those haunting notes on the pipe that will curse me forever I have good reason not to, but it's for another reason. I look for mice all the time. Even the tiniest one. I just want a meal.

I never find any. I know I won't, but I keep some hope. There has to be some hope.

I saw hundreds, thousands of mice pour themselves off Port Sarim, my home. Every single one.

There must be some hope.

There really isn't. Now, I wait.

Wait to starve.

The Blue Moon was always busy at this hour of the night. The lanterns scattered across the tables cast rowdy shadows over the wooden walls and across the bar, and the atmosphere was one of laughter and of cheerfulness. Varrock's favourite tavern saw a great variety of customers, and tonight a prime example of that was about to be showcased.

A man stumbled through the door of the tavern and began to walk across, drawing no attention from the crowd. Making his way to the bar, he pushed into several seated people, causing spilt beers and anguished shouts. Regardless, he continued onto the bar, slamming himself down onto a stool.

'Alright, mate?' The barkeeper came over. 'What can I get you?'

The man looked up. 'Get me a beer,' he demanded, 'noob!'

The entire pub turned their heads, gasping.

'There's no need for that foul language here,' the barkeep said.

The man simply laughed. 'Go die in the Kharidian Desert!'

Gasps came from the crowd of people, and bedlam began.

'He's being abusive!'

'He just called that barkeeper a horrible name!'

'He's trying to bypass the filter with numbers!'

The door of the bar slammed open, and all customers fell silent instantly. A cloaked man walked across the room, his studded boots clicking on the wooden floor. He stood behind the man, a mere shadow. His low voice came, 'There's no need for that.'

The first man replied, 'I can do what I want!'

Whipping his cloak from his head, a silver crown glinting in the light, the man told him, 'Not in my town, you won't.'

The pair walked, their arms full of farming equipment, south of Falador and towards the shared allotments.

'I really don't see the point of this,' one started. 'We can't even sell potatoes for anything!'

'It's relaxing, Zach,' replied his companion. 'You've got to stop taking things for face value.'

'Yeah,' Zach replied, 'well, I hope you're right.'

They reached the allotment, and both began to rake different patches in silence, for a while. A moment passed, and the man attempted to strike up some conversation.

'See,' he said, 'isn't this fun?'

There was silence.

'Zach..?'

Nothing.

The man turned around, a shocked look on his face. Zach was gone, his tools littered upon the floor.

'Zach,' he murmured, 'Where have you gone?'

He walked over, reached down to the ground and drew up a deep green, feathered hat.

The search had begun.

My Lord! I... I have done it! My focus was single, and I have succeeded in my charge.

The walls had towered before me, the dark stones that made it whole dripping with the gloom and evil surrounding the place. I gulped, and took my trusty grappling hook in hand; this was surely why I was graced with your trust, Lord. Raising it above my head, I began silently to whirl the cord around,and with speed and grace I flung it to the upper walls of the keep. The moon shone upon me as I scaled the wall, my feet slipping occasionally, but I was purely a shadow.

As I reached the top, I heard voices from nearby – guards? Or something more sinister? I paused momentarily to consider my options. Thankfully, failure was not one.

It took only a few seconds; flinging myself over the edge of the wall, I landed behind two burly guards. I took them by surprise, and managed to down one of them quickly with a knee to the stomach. The other was trickier – minutely.

After having dealt with them both, my eyes were attracted to a nearby locked gate, of which, inconveniently, those guards did not have the key. I would not let such a thing stand in my way. I took a lock pick from my belt, and pried the door open.

Before me was a table, guarded by nothing more than riddles – consider them solved.

That was how I infiltrated the Keep LeFaye, and now I bring you the object of your desire: the elixir of life.

I await your next command.

“There was confetti everywhere. That’s the first thing I remember. Confetti and popping balloons and people, some simply enjoying the pleasantries of each other’s company, some smiling down at me as if this was the greatest and best change that had ever happened. It just wasn’t a big deal, really. It was only my thirteenth, after all.

““Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“I gleamed. The people surrounding me, family, friends, our neighborhood, were mingling around each other, happy laughter bursting from the corners of our crowded cottage between the familiar bangs of pressured balloons. Bang, bang, bang.

“I remember that sound, clear as glass: I hate that sound.

““Thanks, Dad,” I replied, beaming. He took a hidden package and passed it to me, and I gasped. I knew he didn’t have the money for it. I began to protest, and he must have understood because he said, “nothing’s too much for my little girl,” and passed it to me. I eyed it, but I never got to open my father’s gift. That’s when they showed up.

“It was Bang Bang Bang, at the door this time. A lot of people didn’t notice, the balloon’s fault, but everyone fell silent once the shouting began. Everyone.

“My father went to open the door. They took him first.

“After that, it was bedlam. People were panicked and confused and didn’t know what was going on, including me. I shouted for my dad, but I never found him. Don’t know what happened. Best not to think of it.

“They dragged me from the house. Spat on me, called me dirty, those Ardougne soldiers did. I looked at one and thought I recognized him from the market where my father worked. I think his name was Mark, or Peter. Something like that.

“One of them hit Agnes. With a pipe. She stopped screaming. They took everyone, pulled them through the clean white streets in front of manor houses while they flailed pathetically in retaliation. We passed the rich-looking Saradominist church, and the soldiers dipped their hats as they passed. I’d never been in there, nor had any of my family, or my friends, or the neighbors.

“They brought everyone here. The west quarter. The streets are brown, the houses wrecked and the people sad and confused. The soldiers keep us locked up here, like we’re rats with some kind of disease that’ll infest the rest of the city. They treat us that way, too.

“I sit on this corner most days. I thought that Dad would pass by here, eventually. Have you seen him? Do you know what happened?

“Where are you taking me?”

The gardener surveyed his handiwork with a sense of pride – the leaves that had lain littered across his lawn had been swept into a towering heap, and now resided in the corner ready to compost. Such were the chores that autumn brought; the calming of life, the sorting of issues, all before the eventual death and rebirth as spring arrived once again. Leaning against his rake, Martin gazed out at the setting sun from his humble hovel, his legendary cape fluttering as he watched the yellows tones burning into oranges that cascaded across the land.

He started as he heard shouts from the nearby Draynor market, and walked a little from his home in hope of a better vantage point. He listened to the scuffle for a minute, only taking a step back as he heard footsteps dart towards him.

“Don’t,” a man said, sprinting towards the garden, “you have to help her!”

Martin slowly edged back, and insisted to him, “I can’t do a thing; I’m just an old gardener. Surely you wouldn’t make a farmer fight, would you?”

The man stamped his foot impatiently. “She’ll die, for all your pride and selfishness does!”

“I can’t-”

“Do you understand that? She’ll die!”

“I’m never lifting a weapon!”

“Your scars don’t fool anyone,” the man said, “You’re the only one who can save her!”

“I won’t kill-”

“Her blood will be on your hands,” the man shouted. “Now move, Dorian!”

Martin’s eyes glazed over momentarily…

---

The flame’s light danced across the table, glinting on the sterile blade.

“They’ll pay you heavily, you know,” an affluent man breathed in between lungfuls of smoke. “The monarchy has to be overthrown, in any case; it’s the natural order of things.”

“She’s a little girl, Henry,” replied his companion. His eyes ran across the knife, deep in consideration.

“She’s preventing the righteous hierarchy, Dorian,” he said conversationally. “If she wasn’t the spanner in the works then parliament would have been in power years before.”

“Really?” Dorian said this in confirmation. “She has a lot of power, for an eleven year old.”

“Power that hasn’t been earned,” Henry replied, “power that should be stripped.”

He passed Dorian the knife, and he left the room.

---
 
“Don’t call me that anymore!” Martin cried.

“Save her!”

The two men sprinted from the garden towards the source of the screams, and ground to a halt. The robber held the woman in front of him, a dagger gleaming at her throat.

“I want all your savings,” he shouted at the two men, “or this wretch’s life. Pick.”

Martin stepped forward. “You’ll take nothing,” he said as he advanced.

The robber gave a look of worry. “I’ll kill her,” he stammered.

Martin continued advancing until he was a mere step from the robber, who, taken aback, gulped. “Nothing,” Martin confirmed, snatching the girl and the blade from him. He threw her to the ground, pouncing on the robber.

The scuffle in the market square drew bystanders from across the village, and finished to cheers from the crowd. The gardener stood, and the robber lay flat. A streak of blood tarnished his cape. He took it from his shoulders and dropped it to the ground.

Then, he walked away again.

“This is insanity!”

They had fled like rats to the sewers once the blood-filled coup had commenced, adrenaline forcing them underground. There they remained, fear dictating their every action. Only Thalius stood as the active force of the supposed rebellion.

“We have to do something,” he told them, exasperated. “We just can’t let that monster command power in our own city!”

“What can we do though?” A man huddled in robes replied dispiritedly. “He has more strength and numbers than we could ever amass.”

“Numbers are nothing,” Thalius shot back. “We made an oath to the King’s sons, for Saradomin’s sake! We must plan. We must Try!” He spoke to the group of fifteen, perhaps twenty citizens who had followed his lead and planned to restore the throne. Thalius had woken only a week ago, but they had all been completely demoralized by that point. It was hopeless. They just sat there and let the weight of the situation hold them in place, while the great metropolis of Varrock sank further into the mire of destruction. It made him feel sick. “You’ll spend our lives in this sewer, then,” he said. “I’m going to do something about this.”

“You’ll die!”

“Thalius,”

“Please don’t leave!”

“What will we do?”

Their voices echoed around the filthy walls, and Thalius heard every one of their pleas repeatedly. Aggravated, he turned from his exit route. “We should do what we planned to, as I’ve been telling you since I woke. We shall overthrow any evil forces tainting the town, be it that beast or Iban himself.”

“Iban? Preposterous,” a woman muttered.

“A figure of speech,” Thalius muttered as reply, smiling slightly.

“Thalius,” a man stood and spoke to him, “we’ve told you. We cannot do anything. Can not. We simply do not have the power, the strength, the supplies-”

“Then we shall get them,” Thalius responded. “I will travel to Edgeville, and find us weapons, assistance, and…who are you?!”

A man strode towards Thalius from the blackness of the reaches. His head was bent over, concealed by the deepest of green hoods. His soft laughter echoed unnaturally around the curved walls, and he told them, “My name is of little value, but my assistance is of the essence. We hath little time.”
This one's a bit different: in 2009, Mod Craddock hosted a play contest, which had to be entered in tandem. I was encouraged to enter by Wizard1440, and we wrote a quick comedic play :). The prize was a signed copy of the Runescape book, as well as a months membership. Wizzy and I came second, so close to winning... We really enjoyed doing it (but haven't done anything like it since).

SCRIPT:
[Merlin is sitting on the throne. Viviane enters, standing above the trapdoor.]
Viviane: You wanted to have a word with me, my dear?
[While Merlin speaks his next lines, Viviane plays with a marionette.]
Merlin: It has come to my attention that our shared motives decrease our... safety... I have pondered this for quite some time, and I feel that I can now safely tell you that we need to annul our interdependence in one another for the sake of one another. I've arrived at this conclusion through the...
Viviane: Wait, what?
Merlin: We need to break up.
Viviane: What?! B-b-but *why*? Are you serious?
Merlin:  Completely Serious. :D
Viviane: But we've been together since the Evil Tree update!
Merlin: Actually, it wasn't until they ironed out all the bugs a few days later, remember?
Viviane: But... but why? I thought you loved me?!
Merlin: You nearly took my head off with an ax!
Viviane: An axe?
Merlin: An ax!
Viviane: That axe freed you from that tree!
Merlin: I wouldn't have been in that tree if not for witches like you.
Viviane: You wouldn't even have met me, if not for wenches like her. Wasn't it worth it?
Merlin: Not in the least.
Viviane: You cross-dressing bot!
Merlin: Just showin' a little lovin', darlin'!
Viviane: Well, if you're showing so much love, why don't I get any?
Merlin: The last time I gave my love to a magical woman, she petrified me... Sir Robin, if you will.
[Sir Robin pulls the lever on the magical cage, trapping Viviane.]
Merlin: Good bye, Viviane.
Viviane: Orly?
[Sir Robin pulls the lever, opening the trap. Viviane floats above it.]
Merlin: O noes! Quick Robin, away! Turn accept aid on!
Viviane: Not so fast.
[Viviane casts a spell.]
Merlin: Blast! I've been teleblocked! Whatever shall I do?
Viviane: Come and give me a kiss. ;)
[Merlin approaches Viviane, standing above the trapdoor.]
Viviane: Be gone, and your American spellings, too!
[Sir Robin traps Merlin in the cage, then pulls the lever.]
Merlin: No. What? Noooooooooooooooo!
[Viviane sits on the throne with Sir Robin.]
Viviane: Our play is done, we must be off, we stay no longer here, but we bid you all, mods and all infinite care and cheer!
[End.]

Other Stuff. :)

The cold whipped up around me, the harsh north winds bringing my cape to life. It flailed, slapping my face and my back relentlessly. I dragged my feet further through the snow, towards my unseen goal. I kept going, regardless of it all. I had to.

I'd heard stories. Stories of bravery, of treasure and glory. Now it was time prove myself a hero underneath Waterbirth Island.

I wrapped my arms around me to stave out the cold, something metal armour would never achieve, and my thoughts browsed the possibilities that lay ahead. Of course I'd heard the dangers – I think everyone had with the warnings we had been given. This was the question we all thought, though; were the spoils enough to compensate the risk? Dragon hatchets, rings of great power, Mud Staves that would channel runic power for you... my mouth watered. The money was there. The risk was worth it.

Then, the entrance came into view over the horizon.

All at once, I became apprehensive. I was more than that; I was frightened.

The cave had its own aura, the smell of fear leaking out of it had already sunk into me. Enormous stalactites gave the entrance the look of teeth, ready to bite down upon me as soon as I entered... and there were the shadows. Dark, impenetrable, waiting. Just waiting for me to fall in.

I shuddered.

I tried to bring my thoughts back to my prizes: the rings, the hatchets, staves... There would be millions for me if I succeeded. I didn't waste any more time staring. Darkness enveloped me.

Once inside, I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but they never did. I sighed, and searched in my bag for my lantern and tinderbox, using feeling alone. There was some movement around me, I had to admit, and it was slightly unnerving. I thought at that point that it was merely rock crabs scuttling across the stone floor, and continued my search. When I finally brought sparks upon my lantern and watched it catch alight, I saw the cavern for what it really was.

My wide eyes conveyed every fear I'd ever had. They were in front of me.

Dark, slimy skin. Sharp, tiny teeth, itching in hungry mouths, waiting for the opportune moment. They were like dogs, and they hounded me. I let out a small sound, one of fear and desperation, and turned to run.

I wasn't fast enough.

They came down upon me pressing me to the floor, stabbing me with their claws, their teeth making holes in my armour, my only protection. There was to be no help for me. The warnings I had ignored were proven right. Now, I waited to die.

An explosion of fire and light boomed above me, and the weight I felt above me lessened. I still couldn't move – the shock had set in. There were more sounds, screeching, booming, the echoing of bodies hitting the floor. Laughing. Laughing?

I was dying, and now I was not. What had happened?

A hard grip on my shoulders brought me to my feet, steadying me as my legs buckled below. I looked, dazed, at what harbinger of death had me in its grasp now.

I saw horns, and a musty green colour. A helmet. Concerned eyes stared at me through a single slot in the headpiece, and I relaxed slightly. It pushed me over, and I clattered to the floor.

'Go home, kid. This cave's not safe for your kind.'

It took me a second to realise what had happened, and I tried to being myself to my feet. My reply was one of confusion.

'Why did you..?'

'You needed help,' came the quick answer. 'I was just in the right place at the right time.'

'Who are you?'

It paused. 'Just a lone wanderer,' it said, 'and if you don't care care of yourself and your family, by doing stupid things like wandering into the Dagganoth lair, you'll end up just like me. You don't want that.'

It turned to walk away, but I had one more question.

'You saved my life. I want to know your name.'

Another pause. 'It's... Larum. I haven't had to use my name in a long time.'

There was silence before it turned, leaving me with its final sentiments. 'You've got your life ahead of you. Get a family. Take care of yourself. Don't throw your life away to money. Don't end up a wanderer like me...'

It walked away. I turned towards the cave exit, to light, and to my future.

'Wow.'

A simple word, but all the exclamation needed to describe Falador, city of Knights and riches. The castle rising on the horizon was enough to make Spencer explode with the anticipation of his first visit.

Looking about him, Spencer took in the people – astonishingly beautiful, smiling and chatting, all dressed in the same shining red armour, the morning sun making them glitter beyond any mere diamond. He looked at his own armour – the iron he'd proudly worn seemed to have diminished in the seconds taking in the scarlet armour. It was dragon, he knew; but tremendous items always carried tremendous prices, and money was one of the many things Spencer simply didn't have.
Sighing, he moved onwards, keeping his head low, hoping not to be noticed. He pricked his ears up as he heard voices, and listened in.

“You're taking me to Catherby?!” the girl exclaimed with joy, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

'You always said you wanted to earn your Dragon Chain, right? With the fishing spots there, the flax fields...' the man talking smiled. 'You'll get it in no time!'

Spencer thought quickly. 'Catherby... Catherby is where you get Dragon Chains!' He dashed for the gate, all noise but the girl bypassing him.

'...But my items! We have to get my things!'

He heard a groan follow, and laughed a little before slamming into the sign ahead. Dazed, he looked up at the wooden arrows, and saw the Catherby sign swaying slightly.

'Darn...sign...' he gasped, and passed out.

---

After many such events, and many curses, Spencer saw the glorious Catherby before him, the sun shining onto the golden sands. He then turned to his right, and beheld a very different sight.

The eerily untouched snow was enough to politely inform him that the mountain was dangerous and other paths should be used; the sign was unneeded. Sadly, Spencer didn't take well to polite informing, and promptly took a stride onto the snow.

He heard the crunch as he stepped, and also his own surprised shouts as he unbalanced, falling into the three foot deep snow. He shouted angrily, cursing whatever came to mind, and wrenched himself from the blindingly white floor. He gasped for air, and trembled as he heard a growl above him, saw the blood drenched teeth, the grey fur untouched by the coldness all around.

Letting a high pitched shriek escape him, Spencer turned and stumbled away from the White Wolf Mountain, too anxious to notice the sign he was about to crash into.

The words 'please be kind to our wolves!' imprinted freshly into his mind, he slid to his knees cawing the phrase 'darn...sign...', before fainting.

---

Not being the type to go down without the fight, our brave hero searched throughout the day restlessly for another way to cross the mountain. This was because, of course, there had to be another way around it. After all, this IS Runescape we're talking about here. Tired, and his clothes torn from the chase, Spencer dragged himself through the many fields and bushes, sometimes the occasional tree with the ever present mountain looming in the distance.

Eventually he saw a hut in the distance, its small glass-filled windows seemingly humming with the light glowing from within. He gasped, almost choking from his own spit with excitement, and approached.

He saw at the entrance a man like no other: his long beard and proud stature were only seconded by his distinct lack of height. Spencer had never met a dwarf before, and so was unaware of their reputation.

'Hey, um...' he said, before being sharply interrupted by-

'Whadd'ya wan'?'

Gosh. That dwarf was quite rude.

'I...' Spencer was a little bit intimidated by the Dwarf's 'tude, but he'd never let a guy shorter than himself walk all over him. 'I just wanted to know... is there another way across this mountain?'

'Aye,' the dwarf replied, smoking a pipe that would appear to have come from nowhere. “There one righ' 'ere.” The dwarf gestured inside the hut, which comprised entirely of one set of stone stairs, plunging deep into the floor. Spencer looked about in confusion, still wondering where the Dwarf had taken the pipe from.

'So,' he started, '...can I just... go down them, then?'

Poor little naïve Spencer.

'No, an' ye bette' no' ask again either. Me an' the lads...' The dwarf snorted. 'We wouldnae wan' wee childs gettin' lost in them there tunnels. Huge beasties in there.'

'Oi, Roy ye daft bleeder,' arose a voice from beyond the stairs, deep and rough like the Dwarf in front of Spencer. 'Yer beer's gettin' warm mate!'

Roy paused for a moment, and said abruptly, 'Ye can't come this way. Now, leave, ye wee menace.'

'I have money?' said Spencer, pathetically.

The dwarf thought for a minute. 'Look,' he said, pondering, 'If ye' wan' past 'ere, ye 'ave to get me a fishing trophy. I always wanted one of 'em'

Spencer simply stared in disbelief at the Dwarf, having seen the crate inside the hut. 'Don't you have enough already?' He said, gesturing at the overflowing pile of fishing trophies in the corner of the room.

'Jus',' the Dwarf paused, starting to go over the "passive" marker on his Aggression bar. 'Jus' go! Leave!'

'I though' I was yer matie, Roy!' said a voice from beyond the stairwell.

'Not ye again!' Roy said turning, his voice steadily gaining in aggression. 'Ge' off ma property! The lot of ye!'

Spencer then thought that perhaps he'd overstayed his welcome on the porch, and backed away, slowly. He saw the Dwarf turn, a beer glass in hand, ready to throw. Both yelling, Spencer began to run, and heard only the thump of the glass on the back of his head as he shouted, 'Darn poor NPC design-' before being knocked cold.

---

After awakening, Spencer not only found that he had been robbed of all his money, but that a new quest, “The Fishing Contest”, had been started in his quest log.

'Whoa,' he thought aloud, 'does everyone have to go through with that?'

'Only the ones who don't ask the other dwarf,' replied a voice, and Spencer looked around wildly to find out who it was. 'Then again, he's on the other side of the mountain, so you've got a bit of a problem there, don't you?'

Another adventurer stood there, her red armour shining in the twilight. She looked sympathetic, but the sword hanging at her waist gave off a very different impression. Which of course, Spencer, our brave young hero missed completely. He's not being very bright today, is he?

'Could you help me please? You see, I want to get over the mountain, and I've asked the Dwarf-'

'Evidently,' the adventurer cut in.

'Well... he didn't help. At all.'

She sighed, and wondered why people never read the Knowledge Base any more. 'I'm sure... if you talk to Achetties, she'll be pleased to help you. She' the leader of the Heroes Guild, you know.'

The Heroes Guild... A pretty fitting place for him to be, thought Spencer. 'So, if I talk to this Machete person, he'll let me in the Guild?'

'It's a woman,' said the adventurer, slightly annoyed, 'and I thought you wanted to get across the mountain!'

'All in good time,' shouted Spencer over his shoulder, running miraculously in right direction as fast as he could, 'all in good time!'

'...I'll make your time...' muttered the adventurer, and walked off.

---

Nearing the fabled Heroes Guild, and completely skipping out the walking altogether, Spencer took in his new home with awe. The thatched top towers were cascaded with creeping vines, which complemented the stone of the building rather than making it look really old and scabby. Trust me. And just as the adventurer had promised, at the front of the gate stood a woman, quite tall with blonde hair, and no dragon armour for a change!

Seeing this, Spencer strode towards her with confidence, and began to speak.

'Hey baby,' he said, setting the worst impression straight away, and turning Achetties' smile into a scowl. 'Wanna tell me where the leader of this Guild is? Machete?'

Achetties remained silent, giving Spencer the evil eye.

'What's the matter, baby? I'm a Hero.' He puffed out his chest, trying to make himself look manly. Such a shame he's not as good with the ladies as some people... I'm looking at you, the Drunken Dwarf. ;)

'You don't look very heroic to me,' said Achetties, sad to be obligated to let anyone try to get in. 'Are you sure you want to join?'

'Join?' Spencer snorted. 'I should be the leader, baybay. Sign me up.'

Achetties sighed. 'Ok,' she started, 'just let me fetch the paperwork...'

'Paperwhat?' Spencer cried in anguish, watching Achetties enter the building and return to him with a pile of papers.

'This is the Health and Safety document for the Heroes Guild,' she said, with obvious experience. 'You need to fill this out and bring it back to me, or you can't join.'

'This is ridiculous,' Spencer moaned as he flicked through the pages, 'look at this... "don't stick your head in the Dragon's mouth, or you're liable to get the bloody thing bitten off."? Who comes up with this?'

'Well, we don't get sued this way if you do die, so we're keeping it.' Achetties dragged a crate across the floor and sat on it, arms folded. 'If you don't like it, then you can just-'

Spencer was already twenty metres from the building, rushing away with all speed.

'...go.'

---

Later on, Spencer sighed as he sat in disgrace, and wondered if he'd ever get to embrace the riches of Catherby. He saw another Dragon-clad adventurer pass him carrying with them armfuls of logs and several cats winding around his legs, and he opened his mouth to speak. However he was quickly interrupted.

'Why are you so down in the dumps?'

Spencer felt a pang of jealousy at their armour, not so much at the swarm of tatty cats around him, then replied sighing,
'I want to get to Catherby, but I can't get across-'

'The mountain. Yeah, I remember, I had that problem...' The Adventurer sighed. This had to be at least the fifth time a noob had asked him questions today, and he was tiring of it. He'd helped the first genuinely, but the apprentice magician who had asked where the chickens were he had sent to the Evil Chicken's Lair, and he had told the man who wanted to try out his sword that he got it free at the Bandit's Camp. This would teach them to ask stupid questions and waste other peoples' precious time. 'I wonder,' he began, 'did you ever think to ask the Witch?'

Spencer's face drained in colour. He'd heard stories of witches before, and if Aggie was anyone to judge by... he shuddered. Any mention of the words 'woad leaves' after that would make him run across White Wolf Mountain himself!

'She's really nice,' the adventurer continued, still smiling with the same eerily happy smile. 'I'm sure she'll help you out, I mean, have you seen all the poor kittens she's rescued? They're SOOOOO cute!' Spencer stared at the adventurer, who was obviously completely obsessed. 'Poor things,' he continued, 'too many people throw them out because they want the nice colours, but animals have rights too darn it! If everyone in the world adopted one of these poor animals, then...'

Spencer lost his focus at this point, but the opportunity just offered to him couldn't be passed up. A Witch! Mistress of Magic! If she couldn't help him, then nobody could!

'...and I'm going to see Tiddles now, he lives in my home, with Fluffy, and Flossy, and Mr Fluff-Fluff, and-'

'Thanks for the advice!' Spencer shouted happily, then dashed off.

Standing at the entrance into the Witch's home, he received a final thumbs up from the adventurer, and rapped on the door. The entire... mansion, he supposed, was in total darkness, and he could've sworn he'd heard a crack of thunder as the door creaked open.

Spencer put on a massive, cheesy smile, and started, 'Hello Ma'am, I-'

'CAAAAAAATSSSHH!' the woman screamed without warning, snatching up one of the many scrawny cats purring around her feet. Shocked, Spencer turned about at once, fleeing as if for his life, hearing the first cat screech on impact with the same fear as a bomb exploding. Dashing to the player's house portal, he screamed and begged the adventurer to let him in. Sliding to the floor, the weariness of cat attacks bearing down on him, he shouted,  'Darn Siameses!' Then blacked out.

---

Standing at the precipice of the mountain once again, Spencer readied himself for what was to be the single most courageous act he had ever committed. Making sure his shoes were securely fastened, he looked to the hill's peak, then to his hand, which grasped a single shrimp.

'Time to shine...' he murmured, and cautiously took his first step onto the snow...

...which was solid. He heaved a sigh of relief, and took another, then another. By now, as you can well imagine, Spencer was feeling rather peckish, and took a bite from his shrimp. He savoured the taste, but panicked intensely when he choked on it, falling to the snow below.

His breathing rugged, Spencer heard a familiar voice.

'Why do you have so many bags?!' the man moaned.

'Pfft,' the girl from Falador started. 'I'm not the one who picked this over the boat!'

Spencer moaned, his last thought being 'darn simpletons...' as he fainted.