Foreword: This is a greatly, greatly, greatly, dramatized version of a true story. Very little of this is actually fact. The characters Darishan, Lancer, and Gersh (who is only known as the 'archer' in this story) are made out to be much more evil than they truly are, though this way the original Darishan until the author had a great idea. It sort of went like this: Hm… I need a character from TMA. I know, Darishan! wrestles character out of this story and stuffs him, somewhat younger, into TMA That's all I can think of to say. I just randomly wanted a foreword.
"Yes, the wilderness, a vast track of well… wilderness, but that isn't the point. The point is that there is evil magic in the air, the soil, and the swamp ooze that goes as water. There is evil in the beings that live there, and evil in the beings that are stupid enough to stay there. Still, there is a certain thrill that accompanies all danger. The wilderness is said to hold great treasures and untold enemies to face.
"There is no law out in these dead lands, and normal people have often been known to prey on each others. In short, a normal person could go out into the wilderness, normally walk, normally say hello to a person, not-so-normally bash the person's face in with a mace, collect that person's things, wash the blood off his hands, and normally go back to work with his reputation in no way ruined. If you were careful, what happened there stayed there. Unfortunately evil tends to work a way into a person's soul, and sometimes… not always but sometimes… that person is changed by that evil.
"And that's that," Soren finished, her serious voice giving way to a mischievous grin.
"That was very… poetic," Wow laughed along with Bahaumaunt, or for short, Shell. Don't ask how Bahaumaunt became Shell. It's a long and stupid story, affected by the fact that a certain demon was also known by that name.
"Well, you were about half right," Shell said, smiling mysteriously. "A very narrow minded view of the Wilderness. It's just you being Saradominist I suppose."
While Wow and Soren were Saradominist, Shell didn't have a religion, or so she said. She was a mercenary, though sometimes she gave a hint that what she worshipped was much more superior than their puny gods. Right now she wore black and gray to disguise herself among the dead rocks. Her hair, dark, was held back with a headband of an intricate style.
Wow, on the other hand, was a mage and also much more in tone with Saradomin. Though her strength and defense left much to be desired, she made up for that with magic and prayer. Her hair was also black, cut off a few inches from her shoulders. She wore a purple dress and held a Holy Book in her hand. Now as for her herself, that is, Soren, she garbed in simple black peasants' clothes(silly peasants), with hair a deep auburn and long like Shell's. Her and Shell were more on the fighting side and wielded swords.
"Yeah, well that's right. Saradominist all the way. If we die, I hope Saradomin forgives you enough to send you to heaven," Wow said, still playfully.
"Or it's a hot lunch with Zamorak," Soren added.
"We'll be fine," Shell replied confidently. "This is the Wilderness, not the Underground Pass." Blank stares. "… Never mind. The point is, we'll find something worth our while, and then we'll head back down south to the safe lands. We could handle any monsters; the only thing to watch out for is Pkers."
"Pkers?"
Shell responded, "People killers. Bandits of the wilderness that hunt their fellows' blood for profits. I've done it a few times; it's a risky life." Oh-so-dignified she polished her sword self-consciously. Perhaps it was because the others were staring with open mouths.
"You've actually done that to people?" Wow said first.
"How could you?" Soren finished.
Shell shrugged. "I'm for hire for almost anything," she said simply in a you-can-change-the-subject-about-now voice.
"Hey, what's that ahead?" Soren asked suddenly, pointing. For this whole time they had been walking along this Wilderness vast, and to their surprise (Soren's and Wow's anyway) the ground started breaking out in grass and even flowers. A small clear pond sat ahead. It was unusually scenic for the wildy. Soren and Wow peered into the pond, seeing little gold fishies.
"Don't drink the water; it's poisonous," Shell said lazily. "As a matter of fact, don't even touch it. This is the center of the Wilderness. If we head a bit Northeast, we should come to the lava fields."
"Sure!" they said both at once. The pair had never seen such a thing other than paintings and descriptions, and surely only evil could melt rock here in such a cold land. The team restarted their trek, this time with the guide of a compass. The granite hued sky most grimly withheld any help in direction, so the earth's magnetics better had not got messed up.
The lava fields were amazing. Deep trenches held the molten rock, which glowed merrily like armor out of a forge. Normal rock would cool instantly upon touching the Wilderness's below freezing weather, but something kept it as hot as dragonfire. The bright orange mixed with the red slowly as if in a waltz with long, hypnotizing loops. Even Shell took some interest watching it. It was about then that it started, the problems. If a person falls more than double the speed they were falling before every foot that they fell, that would accurately describe how fast everything sunk into a painful oblivion.
"Well hello ladies…" purred a cocky male's voice. There was something wrong with that voice. It was sarcastic and taunting to be sure, but with an oddly humorless and serious edge. He sounded, to be blunt, extremely insane. Everyone whipped around to see just about the worst sight a person could see in the wilderness.
If you haven't heard of pures, this is it. A pure is a person that spends their whole life training on nothing but one skill, and after they've completed that, just a little of the others. It was obvious that three pures were staring at them right now. One was an archer, deceptively low level. Levels can be deceiving; it was obvious he was high from the red dragon skin he wore with his magic wood longbow. Only master archers can wear and use such things.
The other was a mage, wearing top level mage robes and a twisted staff. While the archer had a brutish, stupid face, the mage's face was cunning and heartless, framed with blood red hair.
Finally the middle one, the one that had said hello, he was a full warrior. Level one hundred twelve, he was dressed in top armor. His pale blonde hair swirled in the wind, and his sea blue eyes showed no mercy whatsoever. There was no reason in that gaze, only death.
"Well, should we kill 'em?" he asked his comrades with a sickening smile, really just trying to be cool. The archer shrugged.
"I don't really feel like killing another set. We've just taken down a few."
Shell, Wow, and Soren stood rooted there, like deer in the headlights. If they moved there would be almost no question to their fate.
"I think we should kill them," the mage said darkly with an unsettling gleam to his eyes.
"Should we teleport to another plane?" Wow asked Soren and Shell, fingering her staff nervously. She said this in a nonsense language they had had prepared before going into the Wilderness. Just as much as moving, talking about escape would mean death. Soren took a deep breath to try to slow down her heartbeat. Magic took time, and they had precious little at this moment. How long could any of them last fighting before the magic was finished? One minute, thirty seconds, less? Still, running would probably mean death as well. Even if they were faster, shaking them off would be a tough thing. They wouldn't be safe until they were in the walls of Varrock itself.
Soren hesitated for a second, then nodded.
Wow began to weave her staff and fingers, muttering speedily under her breath. Soren and Shell edged in front of her to hide what she was doing.
It was no use, the pker mage spun around in an instant, settling his burning gaze right through both of them and exactly on Wow.
"They run!" he snarled softly. The warrior and archer also looked, and with a deadly lunge forward the warrior attacked. Almost too fast to see, Shell and Soren both raised their swords at the same time, making a cross in midair right in front of Wow. The blonde warrior's sword hit theirs with a hand numbing impact, pushing their cross back. They were just barely able to stop it from slicing down Wow's face.
"Ready!" Wow shouted in a frantic voice, grabbing each of them and shouting one final magic word. The world swirled into a giant whirlpool around them, whipping their hair back from their faces. The blue clouds around them faded back to gray and brown, and they were back in the exact same spot they had been, except there was no one else there.
(There are many planes to the world of Geiledor, and all of them display the exact same landscape down to a blade of grass and a shadow of a rock. The only difference is that people can only be in one plane at a time. Wow simply switched the plane they were in, so they'd escape the pkers.)
"Nice job, Wow," Shell said gratefully. "I had a sore arm this morning, so I might not have been able to take them all down," she laughed. It was a joke, an outrageous one at that, but it was easy to joke now that the danger was past. The pain and fear of the moment was fading away like a bad dream.
"I was really worried…" Wow said, staring at the sky.
"You weren't the only one," Soren said, putting a hand on her forehead. "Scared the crap outta me."
"I hope you don't mean literally," Shell said. "We didn't bring any extra clothes."
Wow smiled and replied, "We could always use your cape Shell. We know you won't mind."
Shell was about to reply, perhaps about sticking her cape down Wow's throat, but there was an interruption. A few feet away the air wavered and turned a deep maroon. Through that strange image the mage from the other plane stepped out, followed by his two 'friends'. It was impossible ran through the three's mind again and again. Not impossible exactly, but improbable. There were uncountable planes, and for the pkers to find their exact plane this quickly was unthinkable, at least.
"How irritating. Good bye, little mage," said the redhead. With an imperious gesture he sent a spell at Morgan that froze her in a block on ice from her neck down. "Well," he mused, circling her, "Not exactly goodbye. I suppose I'll visit you later. We can talk." Without another word flames surrounded Wow. The ice did not melt as much as evaporate immediately, and that would be an accurate description to what happened to their friend Wow.
"Run!" her voice commanded, echoing out. Shell and Soren nodded to each other, finally snapping out of their horror. Suddenly their feet grew wings (not really but wouldn't that have been hot?) and they raced off with more agility than they had ever had before. Their running was matched and their feet hit the rough terrain in unison as they mindlessly ran for their lives and Wow's memory. Absolutely no time to think.
"My turn," said the archer, a few yards back. "A little help Darishan?" he said, raising his bow and knocking an arrow. Not responding, the mage waved his hand at the quiver, and all the arrows took on an eerie fluorescence. "Thanks," the archer responded tightly. Twang. Twang. Twang. The feathered sticks took flight.
"Dammit their shooting at us," Soren moaned under her breath as she ran.
"We can make it," Shell encouraged. "We can get back to Varrock." And straight to a hospital, her mind added silently. And then to Wow's funeral, without a body. She was just full of pleasant thoughts, but there couldn't be doubt now. They would make it. They had to.
"Yeah- yeah of course," Soren agreed. Thunk. An arrow shaft sunk into Shell's back with the sound of a block of wood being cut in half. Shell herself quivered like a tree but regained her footing. The arrow stuck out of her right shoulder awkwardly—and very painfully. Thunk. Another sunk next to the first. Shell now was almost crying with pain but amazingly kept up with her partner. Thunk. One in her lower back, probably touching upon vital organs with a shredder's mercy.
"You're playing," the mage's dry voice announced back where the pker's stood. The archer's eyes tightened with annoyance, but he didn't turn to look back.
Instead, he took a few steps forward and replied, "I'm entitled to see some fun. If you are so impatient to smell her dead twisted body on the ground, just tell me so."
"I am."
"Then I'll finish this." Twang. Twang. Two arrows flew, one behind the other, each calculated to take the girl's speed into account along with her inevitable weavings and dodges.
Soren bit her lip so hard that it bled, but besides Shell's tearing eyes and shallow breathing, she seemed to be inhumanly ignoring the pain. Three arrows more than halfway into her back and she was still running faster. Soren risked a glance back. Two glints of metal zipped closer by the millisecond.
"Shell!" she said, diving towards her friend to push her to the left and out of the way.
And now, the archer thought with amusement dancing through his heart, she'd try to save her friend and push her out of the way. Or into the way, the fool.
Shell clenched her teeth as Soren's weight shifted her balance. With some grace she sidestepped to avoid falling down. She was about to gain her balance when an arrow sunk into the back of her knee, shattering the cap from behind. Her legs folded and a pained cry escaped from her throat roughly. She could feel the shaft shifting inside of her knee, ripping it up with even more damage.
As she tried to ignore such a whirlwind of pain, the last arrow came to meet its mark. Now immobilized on the ground, it viciously bit straight through her ribcage and through her heart. Shell collapsed all the way to ground with her face resting against the rugged dirt. The blood burst out of her veins like water from broken pipes, and she weakly coughed the red froth from her mouth. What she saw froze into a red tinted snapshot, and any chance of future ended.
Her future, anyway, Soren thought in open contempt for herself. There wasn't even a word for the emotions she felt right now. Her breath was stuck and it felt as if her chest and throat were packed with an incredibly dense fog. Shell was dead, and she had killed her. She had pushed her right into the finishing arrows that would have harmlessly missed otherwise. Her legs simply would not work, and her vision wouldn't remove its focus from Shell's tortured form. Shell's eyes hadn't closed, and they now stared up at her blank and cold… accusing.
Run! Morgan's voice echoed with that same note of desperate command, and Soren could imagine Shell yelling it too. Unable to deny the wishes of her dead friends, she ran. Even though she would most likely drown herself in the River Salve the first chance she got, there was no way—NO WAY- she was going to let these bastards spell out her death.
"You knew she was going to do that?" asked warrior to the archer.
He shrugged and said, "It's standard. I've learned it takes a very convincing curve ball to make them swing though. She struck her team out."
"Are you going to shoot the other one?" the blonde asked.
"I thought we were making a fair round of this. It's your turn, Lancer."
"I already killed more than ten today," he said, still not in the mood for killing.
Darishan put his staff down to silence them and said, "Stop bickering like lowly noobs. If you recall, we promised the Keepers that we'd give them a plaything in order to grant us safe passage."
Lancer snorted. "They were fools. Why should we keep our word?"
"So they have somewhat of a trust for next time. We are hardly a match for their numbers if we meet them again in our travels, offended that we didn't keep it. Later perhaps, but why are you arguing? You've shown your lazy views in killing already, and here is your solution."
"I'd hardly call them lazy. We've made more profit than we can carry today. Why kill them now when only the vultures of the wilderness will pick their valuables clean? You only wish them dead because death is the only reason you live. You wallow in it, cherishing and delighting in their warm blood and cold eyes," Lancer retorted. He seemed to realize he might have gone too far, but the warrior could not take it back now.
Though Darishan's almost white eyes burned momentarily, a thin smile appeared over his lips.
"Yes," he agreed simply and dreadfully. With soft laughter he pointed to Soren, who was almost out of sight now. "Don't let her get away. You've already gotten me angry, and it would be unwise to test me further."
Lancer took off at top speed after Soren at once. The bone-freezing laughter of Darishan followed him like the worst of nightmares.
He's following me. That warrior, Soren thought, though only a prickle of fear down her spine told her so. She tried to run faster, but the only reason her feet were still moving was because they were on autopilot, and taking them off would kill her right then and there. She could hear his footsteps now. Saradomin! He's fast! Her exhaustion made her unaware that she had thought aloud, not that anyone cared.
His footsteps were so close now. She thought maybe she'd fight him, but before it was decided, pain surged through the back of her head with a solid metal thunk. Hiltwhipped, her brain thought with laughter in that second's twilight. Then night fell.
When Soren awoke, she was not in Kansas anymore… if you can call something as hostile as the Wilderness Kansas. Actually, just forget that metaphor totally because she actually was in the Wilderness still, though she had no way of knowing.
The first thing her eyes noticed upon opening was walls. The walls appeared to be of dirt, maybe clay, but touching them made her realize they were a rusted metal. The only thing digging at they walls would get her was a finger or two shredded. The second thing she noticed was cold. It wouldn't give her hypothermia, but there seemed to be a bone deep chill that hung in the air that no amount of rubbing would cure. After feeling came smell. She supposed she didn't smell too pleasant right now (Go figure people), but there was also another smell, something alien and implacable. Lastly, her hearing returned to register a faint hiss. It was almost like crickets, a low murmur, but odd.
She shifted, to get up or just move, and let out a low moan as several parts of her body protested. A faint jingle suggested chains were involved, and what chains they were. There were steel spikes sticking out of both the outside and the inside that bit her no matter how hard she tried to shift or squirm. The same thing for her legs, though oddly enough not her neck. This led her to realize that her clothes had been ripped and torn away until all she had left would be indecent for anywhere except the beach.
"Well!" she yelled. "I'm awake now! Who's coming to gloat? Which one of you freaks?" A part of her dryly commented that that wasn't the smartest thing to do. No, it wasn't. She felt flushed and feverish, and she couldn't (wouldn't) remember how or why she was here. If those people that captured her thought for a minute she'd sit here crying, they had another thing coming.
Well, what came in the room didn't give off the impression 'those people'. Though the figure was very tall and lithe, it hunched over oddly, as if it had too many backbones or something. As it was with most creatures like this, it wore a dark hooded cape that shrouded everything except its eyes. The eyes were an icy blue, almost white. Soren sat up straighter but was denied the pleasure of yanking at her chains… unless she wanted to cut her wrists and bleed to death.
"I will be one of yourrr perrsssonal frrrreakssss," it purred and hissed at the same time. There was a trace of sarcasm in its tone, but maybe that was her imagination. "Welcome to… yourrr new home," it greeted with a hard to describe throaty sound. It was almost like she was it's new pet or something. Ew.
"I don't feel very welcomed," Soren said dryly.
"Yourrr kind neverrr do, but you alwaysss are begging to come back in the end. Crying, offerrrring yourrr soulssss, jusssst forrr a chansssse to come back. Elvesss are strongerrrr. Ourrr only elf neverrrr came back. Dwarvesss… they can't survive ourrr trrrreatment," it finished its speech with a series of clicking noises that might have been laughter in another world… and plane of sanity. Those were very… hopeful words.
"Are you working for that mage? Huh? What does he want from me?"
More clicking, and then, "A mage? Ah, he wassss onsssse sssssitting wherrrre you arrre now. He isss the only human that neverrr came back to beg. He gave himssssself to Zamorrrrak jussst sssso he wouldn't come back. We assssked him forrrr sssomeone elsssse, and he gave ussss you." Soren glared at this creature with increasing loathing and hatred, vaguely wondering how long it would take for Shell and Wow to rescue her. It couldn't have taken them too long to ditch those Pkers and track her down.
"We don't wait," it said suddenly. She jerked herself out of her daydream to listen because it could mean her survival. "We will ssstarrrt on you now." Soren cringed away as the thing reached out its hand, which was surprisingly humanlike. (Who hadn't been expecting a claw or tentacle?) It placed itself firmly on her forehead, and for a second nothing happened and no one breathed. Then the pain began.
There is not an accurate description of what happened in the ten months that followed since Soren's memories were very incoherent in this area. She very quickly remembered that Shell and Wow were dead, and both were her fault. Other memories began to form and focus, some real, some not, some utterly and hopelessly insane. All that time there was the roaring agony that set her screaming until she lost her voice, and then there were hours more of wishing she could scream. Torture sucks.
At one point another prisoner had been added, but he disappeared without a trace. She didn't remember how they had fed her, but she did remember some times when there were breaks from the pain. Those were the times when she tried her best to end her life. She tried to cut her wrists with the chains, but something about their 'treatment' made her blood flow sluggish (if it existed at all) and she could hardly get a good bleed. It was the same with attempted concussions, and there was no way she could form a noose. Strangling oneself of course did not work.
It was her repeated suicide attempts that saved her life, ironically. She was trying to find a moment's sleep by bashing her favorite head banging spot. It was the only way she could get to sleep in that place, otherwise nightmares would haunt her and pain would awaken her. It was then when the rusty metal (very strong she had found out) gave way and crumbled. There was a small hole in the wall that revealed a tunnel fit for any overlarge mole. The claw marks in the dirt suggested something else a bit more dangerous had made it.
Soren, who could not even remember her own name, took a try and climbed into the tunnel. Her gaunt frame easily fit, and she followed the tunnel for half a mile before it got close enough to the surface for escape. With amazement she felt the chill Wildy wind that she had surely not felt in decades. There. If I go south, I could drown myself in the river Salve. At last. Death had lost any horror there ever had been; it was just an open gate. She was just a little insane. It happened, nothing serious.
"Find herrrr!" echoed an all-too-familiar purr. "Sssshe mussst not essscape beforrre ssshe isss finissshed!"
I'll soon be finished, but not by your hands, Soren corrected them absently, not aloud. She didn't have a voice from yesterday's 'fun'. By some weird sense, maybe smell (maybe they just knew where their prisoners were, whoever they were or wherever they went) they could track her, but she was going a place where they wouldn't follow. She broke into an unsteady run; her muscles cracked at the unexpected movement. Whatever was following her was close enough for her to hear the shuffled footsteps. There was a strange deja vous to this that she couldn't put her finger on.
They were catching up now; that couldn't happen. The River Salve Spring was close enough to see. A stray rock twisted her foot up and caused her to trip at a very bad timing. Her dulled reactions were not fast enough to catch herself, so her face hit the ground with a dull 'smch'. A jagged shard of glass dove deep into her eye at a curve. Even though her voice was gone, Soren still managed a small squeak at the intense pain surging through her.
"You weren't sssso cleverrr," it hissed behind her, the it. "We'll take you back now. Don't worrrrry. You'll get to leave sssssoon, but we arrrren't ssssurrre you arrrre rrready yet." It always talked that way. Like it was some depraved child playing mad scientist with a captured rabbit or bird.
In desperation, Soren ripped the glass out of her eye, taking any remains with it, and thrust it as hard as she could at the thing. The fair sized glass took the thing down to the ground, where it struggled to regain footing. It must have had some good luck. I'm almost there… she though desperately, crawling towards the spring.
Soren made it to the edge of the cliff before the spring and allowed herself to topple off. When she hit the water, it felt like she had already died from the clear, purifying water. The pain sparked up as fresh as a paper cut (to the 19th power) and for a moment she wondered if the holy water itself would wash her away to nothing. But once again the pain faded, and she sank even with the current.
The snapshot around her held firm, but everything else faded away. She just sat there, unable to move or anything. Yeah, this would sort of be Hell if I had to lie like this forever, she figured. Soren and the others disappeared, so she was all alone. This really, really, sucks, she added after what felt like a few hours but was probably only twenty minutes. She struggled to move, even a little bit, without much success. Oh yeah, having the time of her young life—death.
At least two days past her by in the most school-clock slowness they could manage. Shell wondered if she'd go insane or something. She really wished something would come, even a Wilderness rat. The Wilderness was absolutely empty.
Well, maybe I'll be able to go somewhere else after I rot, she thought with grim humor. I wonder if this is what happened to Wow. Too bad I ran this far, or I might have been able to talk to her. Hm… Did Soren die? Eh, sorry Soren but that was really stupid of ya. I mean, you pushed me right into that arrow shot. If I have to stay here for more than a week, then I am so coming after you to haunt your toenails off. Shell amused herself with those thoughts for a bit, but she was quickly becoming bored again.
"How long are planning to do that?" asked a deep voice from somewhere behind her. The voice was rudely impatient. Shell would have answered, but being unable to move sort of killed that effort.
"Heh, idiot," the voice laughed. "You're trying to move your body. It isn't yours anymore; you're dead. Stop trying to lift up that corpse and step up yourself."
Shell had to admit she hadn't considered that. Stepping out of your own body was an unnatural thing to think of. Still, she tried it a few times and failed. It was like trying to wiggle your ears; you have to find the right way. Eventually Shell managed it, and she stepped out of her body with ease. After finding a standing position, she turned to face Bahaumaunt, her demon friend. He stared at her with obvious amusement, like watching a stupid person trying to do something stupid.
"I've never died before; give me a break," she said irritably. She couldn't get too mad at him though. Who knew how long it would have taken for her to figure that out on her own?
"You're supposed to head back to Lumbridge," he said in a bored tone.
"What? You mean I'm supposed to walk? Most races get teleported back if they're loved."
Bahaumaunt shrugged and answered, "There's been a lag in the system. As if Zaros isn't busy enough as it is, but Zamorak has been using his mages to block up quite a few things. A lot of heroes are actually dying, you know? No trip back to Lumbridge at all. It's a disaster really, but since Zaros has such few followers these days he's been able to manage. Saradominists are dropping like flies though."
"Saradominists? Like Wow?" she asked sharply.
"How should I know? By now she's either back at Lumbridge or off in Zamorak's garden being eaten and fried alive by the residents," he said.
"Can you go check?" Shell asked acidly, very much annoyed at Bahaumaunt's nonchalant manner.
"Yeah, sure," Bahaumaunt said, seeming to realize he was not appreciated right now. He lifted his flings up in flight and soon disappeared in the distance.
"Okay. Now I'm stuck in a spirit world of some sort. Let's see what I can find out from memory." Shell concentrated on the moments before her death, and was startled when the area around her started to replay it. The at-first blurry images cleared until she saw everyone, the Pkers, Wow, her, and Soren.
"How irritating. Good bye, little mage," said the mage. He used a freezing spell once again to immobilize Wow. "Well, not exactly goodbye. I suppose I'll visit you later. We can talk." Then a spell, known as 'Flames of Zamorak', surrounded Wow and killed her. Her memory stopped there, and the scene faded away.
So he'd visit her later. Didn't that imply that she wouldn't die? Not necessarily, if he could go the Hell, he'd find her. What was up with that mage anyway?
Your friend has not been seen in Lumbridge. Guess you're out of luck, Bahaumaunt's voice said in her head. Shell sighed. Wow was dead then, and probably frying down below.
Guess I'll have to rescue her, Shell thought back over the distances.
Are you insane? Bahaumaunt replied, We're at a current truce. He doesn't know. Our master doesn't want him to. If Zamorak finds out you're Zarosian, Zaros will be displeased, and you'll be in for a world of pain.
Oh calm down. I won't reveal myself. I'll go disguised as a Saradominist or something. That ought to give him an apoplexy. Mind giving me a lift? she asked sweetly. Translation: Give me a lift now. Bahaumaunt got that tone of voice.
Don't screw it. A portal appeared right next to her, and Shell smugly walked inside, holding her sword at ready.
"Run!" Wow shouted, trying to ignore the pain that screamed through every point of her body, urging her to forget all and fade into unconsciousness. The ice had compressed, greatly weakening her and sending cold so intense she could almost feel her blood freezing and her bones cracking. Least of all, it constricted her chest, so that she could hardly breathe. Now, fire boiled up, and for the splittest of a second she felt her icy pain subside and a feeling of safe warmth wash over her. This was sort lived, for after that the flames broiled around her, inside her, choking and searing every inch of her inside and out. Her scream tore her throat but made no sound, until the fire ate up her vision and will, leaving blackness behind.
The searing subsided to nothing, as did everything else. Wow hung suspended by the thick humidity of the air, keeping her eyes tightly closed. When she had been a young child, she had died once. A highway robber had slit her throat, and she had died instantly. When all hope had been lost, Saradomin had given here a guiding light and she had reappeared perfectly healthy in the city of Lumbridge, miles away. She opened her eyes. There was no light now, only filthy waves of darkness.
Thoughts of panic rose inside her. Was she really dead, or was this a trick of the mage's? Was Shell and Soren okay? Where was she? Had Saradomin truly abandoned her? No, this was another test of will, and she could not have doubt. Whatever was happening, she would get through it. Wow moved her hand to touch her pendant, the holy symbol of Saradomin, but realized with a jolt that it was no longer there. She was dressed in the barest of rags, nothing more.
"Where am I?" she muttered, shaking her head. Was this death without Saradomin, this humid blackness? "Woah!" The ground started to shake, sloshing wetness onto her feet. She couldn't see where the wet was coming from, only that it was rising. It was a heavy liquid, so heavy that Wow could hardly move her feet. To her ankles it rose, followed by her knees, and finally to her waist. She tried in vain to move, but the area more than a foot away was solid. A chilling thought occurred to her. Some unknown liquid wasn't rising, she was sinking! As soon as she thought this, the ground gave an awful lurch, and once again she descended into darkness.
That particular darkness didn't last long before being replaced by an unhealthy, glaring red light. It wasn't the brightest light she had ever seen, but it seemed to fill every crack and hollow with its angry glow, mixing with the shadows. If the limbo room had been humid, this place was positively boiling. For a few moments it felt like she had returned to the mage's fire before her body got used to it. As she attempted to get to her feet, a rough slap pushed her back onto her knees. She looked up, her eyes burning from the acidic air, to see a man even less dressed than her.
"Welcome to Hell, babe," he sneered, kicking her squarely in the face before walking off. Wow attempted to wipe the caked mud from his feet off of her, but she only managed to smear the dirt across her cheeks and nose. This was not a pleasant place. This was Hell.
"Well Saradomin, I'm not exactly sure what I did wrong, but I hope you change your mind soon," she said, staring at her surrounds. Hell seemed to be a network of stone paths and islands, all separated by boiling pools of lava. In the lava were screaming half dead corpses, pleading for mercy in so many agonized voices. Wow could only avert her eyes. There was no way in… Hell that she could save them all. The stones under her feet were jagged and soon nicked her poor soles bloody.
Above it all was the ceiling. Instead of any normal ceiling there seemed to be some sort of reverse gravity up there. A shallow sea of blood covered it, darkened by blotches of dark stuff. Every once in a while some of the blood would drip down in huge globs, hissing in the lava or squishing open on the stone.
"I'll have to find a way out. A way out of Hell," she smiled grimly.
Bahaumaunt flew back to the Citadel (creative name, no?) and sat himself down on the windowsill, wondering with some satisfaction what excruciating horrors Shell's friend was going through. He didn't have much time to brainstorm before the door behind him creaked open to reveal Lucien. Lucien was one of the best mages in the order; only Shelby and Morgan could beat him. For some strange reason his skin was pitch black, as was his longish hair, his eyes, and all of his clothes. He had a feeling Lucien couldn't really help that (except the clothes), but sometimes it was hard to not to wonder if Lucien was a little obsessed with the Goth thing that was the sensation of all the teens in the nation.
"Hello Bahaumaunt," he said politely. (Most people were polite to him, considering the small fact that the people who were impolite ended up facedown in a wood suit at a termite farm… or worse. It mattered on his mood, but getting eaten alive by bugs was a classic.) "You're back early."
Bahaumaunt shrugged and replied, "I expected to be out doing some revenge on Shell's killers, but it turns out she's more interested in saving her friend. I gave her a portal to Hell and I was done." Lucien's face seemed to get a little paler, though it was hard to tell.
"Hell? But Zaros said he were to refrain from any contact with Zamorak. Knocking around in his own house isn't the best way," he protested. His concern was understandable since Zaros's punishments tended to be much more lasting in mind and body.
"That's what I told her. If you want to go tattle on her, fine, but there's a small chance she won't mess up," Bahaumaunt replied. Lucien shook his head forlornly, but his eyes were unreadable, as always. It didn't matter; Lucien wouldn't tell Zaros what Shell was doing. Though the dark sorcerer would probably sell his own mother (if he had one) to slavery for Zaros, he was surprisingly loyal to Shell and probably wouldn't harm her for anything.
"If she doesn't return in an hour," he said, walking towards the door, "I'm going after her."
"That's a stupid thing to do. Then you'll both be punished," Bahaumaunt laughed, but Lucien merely shut the door and continued as if he hadn't heard.
Soren coughed as water hit her face. She felt more than a little waterlogged herself, actually. But there was a faint wind on her face, and that was good enough.
"Hey! She's alive!" shouted a young voice excitedly.
"Ew, what happened to her eye?" another asked in horror.
"What happened to all of her? She looks more bruised and battered than that cow you brought in last week. How long where you in the field beating it dead?" asked another voice dryly, this one a girl's.
"Five hours…" the first answered, embarrassed.
"Exactly. We need to get her some medical attention. Go get your mom," the girl commanded.
"Okay!" the second voice said, followed by the sounds of fading footsteps.
"Are you sure she isn't a vampire? She isn't bleeding much," commented the first voice.
"Nah, she doesn't smell like a vampire," the girl argued.
"She just smells like the River. She could be anything. She could even be a human."
"Humans don't come on this side of the River, Fang," she scoffed.
"I don't think she came here on purpose, Ashlen," he retorted.
"Hey guys, my Mom's coming!"
"Oh my! What happened here!" cried a much older voice. "Oh, the poor dear…" Soren felt herself being lifted and dragged further onto the shore. "You're right Ryle, she's hurt pretty bad. Her eye is the worst; we'll deal with it first. Uh huh, there's nothing left to see with. It'll have to come out, all of it…"
Soren was about to slide back into unconsciousness when a hot pain sliced into her eye. She cried out and tried to twist away, but she was being held down. The pain faded to a burning, and she felt something being placed over her eye. The pain then altogether disappeared.
"Mom, what was that?" Ryle asked.
"It was a potion, pup. I bought about one hundred from that last merchant, so this is a good way to test it out. Yep, it's all healed now. Those potions were really high quality."
"Mom, someone's coming! It, it's a vampire!"
A new, cold and high pitched voice shouted, "Hey! What are you doing with that human!"
"Told you it was a human."
"Shut up, Ashlen. Mom, we have to give her to him."
"Not after I just healed her. There'd be no point. She'll have a better chance in the water." Soren felt herself being lifted again.
"Hey! Give it here!" the cold voice commanded again, getting closer.
"What!?" called the Mom, pretending not to hear. "Put it over here? Okay!" she said happily. Soren felt herself being dropped back into the water, where the current quickly took her. The voices started to fade.
"You imbecilic werewolf! Get it back here! I should kill you all for that!" the high voice yelled.
"I just was doing what you said, sir," the mother explained calmly in a sorrowful voice. "I'm so sorry I misheard…." Much cursing was heard, but it didn't seem any threats were carried out. Soren continued to float downstream, wondering idly if that had all been a dream or not.
"Hey!" Shell said in surprise, twisting in the heat. She let the portal close behind her and turned to feel a rough slap.
"Welcome to Hell– hey! Why do you still have your stuff?" asked the slapper, taken aback. Shell slowly wiped her face and drew her sword. The man backed away a few steps stiffly, too terrified to run. With ease Shell lopped the guy's head off (The body fell into the lava with a pleasing little hiss, where the souls of the dead hungrily started to gnaw on him. Since he wasn't really dead, this being Hell, he screamed pretty loud. That would teach him to be the welcome wagon.), and walked a few steps down the path. Her boots made crunching noises on the rock. She should have brought a lighter change of clothes though; it was frying down here.
Okay, now to look as not-Zarosian as possible. Shell intoned some magic spell, creating a golden circle above her head that sparkled with the glory of the sun. The circle floated down around her like a shiny hula-hoop, changing her attire as it passed. Her clothes became snow white and loose, and her boots became those silly half-shoes Saradominists wear. A shining four pointed star silver necklace appeared around her neck, and a staff replaced her sword. Just for the finishing touch, a little golden circlet wove itself around her head, and gold stitching found its way into her clothes.
Could you get more Saradominist than that?
The heated wind whipped her hair and clothes dramatically as she clunked her staff ahead of her. People were beginning to take notice of her, staring as if she was some angel. Should she have added wings? Nah, too showy. There wasn't any sign of Wow though. It was time to use her powerful skills in tracking.
"Hey you," she said in a sweet, honeyed voice to a damned soul huddling near a boulder. Her face was the very picture of gentle understanding.
"Have you come to rescue us, milady?" he croaked with wide eyes.
"Yes," Shell lied easily, still in that majestically motherly tone. "But first I need to find one that had come down here. Have you seen this girl?" Gesturing outrageously, Shell created an illusion of Wow, very scantily dressed. Not that it really mattered, but the man would probably better recognize her in Hell's uniform.
"No, milady, I haven't," he answered in despair.
"Don't worry; once I find her you will be free. Keep your hope with you," Shell finished. The man's dead eyes came alight with faint hope that he might see the end of his tortures. Shell doubted it, but hey, even the damned deserved a little hope once in a while, and she was nice enough to give it. Hopefully he wouldn't be too down when he realized she was lying.
Shell traveled around, really wilting under the heat. Still, the occupants of Hell couldn't care less if their angel of glory was shining with sweat or not. She offered promises and gifts aplenty, all for exchange in information of a dark haired girl. The final draft was not so good. The girl had indeed been past here, heading steadily for the center of Hell. Wow was heading, purposefully or not, right to Zamorak's little lair.
In front of her stood a large mountain with jagged peaks that almost reached the ceiling. One could almost make out the crater where all the action was, but there seemed to be no doors, or even openings. To top it all off, the mountain was surrounded by a moat of lava. How cliché. Cliché or not, there was still the small thing of getting in. Wow sighed forlornly and rubbed the sharp splinters and stones off her one foot.
"Is there a way across this?" she asked some random passerby.
He goggled at her and replied, "Yes, you must fly!"
"Fly?"
"Fly!" he said again and threw himself across the lava. He flew! Well, he flew down anyway, into the melted rock. The insane fool laughed and laughed until the lava melted his face away. Wow was a bit traumatized, but people here all had their little oddities. She tried not to look at his further melting.
"Why you be wantin' to go there?" asked a pirate next to her. Though all his possessions were gone, the accent was enough to know he was, or had been, a serious pirate. Maybe he was even a pinja, but there was no accent to tell if that was true.
"I need to see the foul god Zamorak and get him let me out of this place," she answered. The pirate let out one long solid whistle.
"You be more insane than that feller," he said, pointing to the charred remains sinking in the lava.
"Maybe, but I have to get across. I think I can do it, because I know I don't belong here. Maybe this is just a dream, and I can only wake up if I do this."
"That be a lot er maybes. No one be thinkin' they belong here. I'm sure you be a monk eh? Instead er some harbor whore?" he asked slyly. "No one be thinkin' they like to spend an eternity here. I be committing my own death by the end er the first day, but it no be working like that. You can no be really dying here. If you be going to the Dark Master though, you be going to torture you can no be escapin' by flying over the hot seas."
"I um… thanks I guess. Hell can't be so bad if you can talk with a friend," Wow said warmly. Sure, so her body hurt and her feet were in agony. Her throat felt like it was cracking like dried mud, and her stomach felt like eating was a dead memory. Anything could feel that, but comfort didn't come from lack of pain; it came from friends.
"No, I be dyin' any minute now. Friendly talk be no friend of Hell." As if on cue, his skin suddenly started to bubble, as if little things were crawling beneath it. It continued to swell haphazardly, and the whole thing then inflated steadily like a balloon. Wow could easily see the outcome, and she just barely got her arms in front of her face before it exploded. She wiped the gore off with her bare, trembling hands.
"Zamorak! Open a way!" she shouted over the lava. It didn't sound so loud with all the distracting din around it, but it got a visitor. A slim lesser demon glided over the lava as if ice skating, regarding her with fiery black and red eyes.
"Hmph. Why are you loitering around here, damned one? Give me a good answer because, bluntly, I'm bored," he growled. Wow straightened and faced him, wondering if she really was crazy. She kept her emotions under a firm control with the huge belief that she didn't belong here. She was a monk in training, a treasure hunter; she never stole, murdered.
"I've come to see Zamorak on terms of my own business," she said.
"This isn't another selling of the soul is it?" the demon asked in an uninterested tone. "Zamorak only does those on Fridays."
"No, it isn't. I'm here to demand my freedom," she replied boldly. The demon blinked and looked at her in a new light, an unpleasant smile forming on his face.
"Now that is an answer worth hearing," he said enthusiastically. "I might even thank you, because this will not be boring. Would you like a lift?" The demon offered an arm, his eyes absolutely dazzling with delight.
"Thank you, beardo" Wow smiled, taking his arm. The demon lifted her lightly and flapped himself into the air. He glided over the jagged peaks and down into the crater below. There were many demons and even a few humans down there, but the most noticeable was Zamorak on his dark demonic thrown. Wow was dropped when the demon was five feet above the ground, making her tumble a few times forward before she came to a stop on the polished floor. Not wearing much, hideous brush burns resulted. The demon flew on and landed gently near a few like him, chatting excitedly.
As she painfully stood, she realized that Zamorak was standing as well. The whole court silenced as one, and all eyes, fiery, hateful, or otherwise, focused on her. Wow's determination wildly grew even as her chances of escaping this lessened. She waited for Zamorak to speak.
"A visitor!" he exclaimed mockingly, displaying a row of pointed teeth. "Two types of people come here when they aren't invited, Wowing Glow. They are the stupid or the brave. What does that make you?" Violence seemed to flash in his eyes, and his face was unspeakably horrible and evil. Wow didn't need to ask how he knew her name.
"I…" she started, but found her throat had tightened past speaking. Taking a deep breath, she started again. "I am neither." His laughter seemed nice, pleasant to hear, but there was something about it that made her shiver. Still, that determination held her up and facing him like steel inside her.
"Neither? The stupid say they're brave, and the brave say they're stupid. Neither? Then what do you suggest I do to you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.
"I came here for a reason!" she said angrily. Even though she felt terrified, it only made her angry at herself for being scared. She directed that anger at Zamorak. The silence was soon filled with outraged murmurs. Zamorak looked like he was about to respond, but then an imp appeared in front of Wow, scraping a bow on the floor.
"Dark Master! All of Hell is in an uproar. Apparently there is an Angel of Light spreading hope through the damned, and!" it paused dramatically. "It's searching for her!" The imp then pointed at Wow with its spiny finger. Zamorak's face was livid, and he stared at Wow with pure murder. Then his face smoothed and his smile returned.
"This is a good thing then. This 'angel' will come for what it seeks, and I'll lay a pretty little trap for it. Pity, it means I can't play with you yet," he added to Wow.
Wow didn't know what this meant. An Angel of Light was coming after her? An Angel of Saradomin? Maybe Saradomin was coming to rescue her after all. She should have never doubted. No trap of Zamorak's could daunt an angel of the true god. The 'Dark Master' was conversing with many of his servants now, probably instructing them.
For a while they waited, Zamorak silent and patient. Even gods have dreams, she thought. I'm not sure I want to know his, though. In time another servant came to tell him that all was ready. He smiled. The servant also supplied that a white clad being was approaching. His smile widened.
"Well Wow, I guess it's time to start. No need to fuss. All you have to do is chill, and let me do the talking," he chuckled." Wow just glared at him, unable to think of anything to say. She realized that she couldn't move at all, not a twitch besides breathing and such. With a click of the Dark Master's fingers, two serrated knives appeared, which he seemed quite ready to use. Zamorak advanced on Wow, who could only stare, frozen to the spot. His gnarled finger caressed her cheek and trailed down her face to her chin, which he lifted up higher. The knife moved closer to her pale neck…
"Let her go!" called an all-too-familiar voice. Wow was startled out of her trance and stumbled away from the knives, jerking her head towards the sound of Shell's voice. Her heart sank. Shell stood on a little piece of protruding rocks, her white clothes creating a reverse silhouette against the black rock. It was obvious that the words of an Angel were based on her, but she was not a holy and powerful thing of Saradomin.
Wow was amazed that Shell could get down here, and that she even made it to this island without demon transport. Even though Shell was not a being of holy luck and power, she still must have been pretty strong to get down here. Stronger than Wow would have ever thought her companion could be.
Zamorak turned as well and looked up at her. His eyes narrowed for a second with hate, but otherwise he seemed dangerously welcoming.
"You're a mortal. I would have expected an insane demon, but this changes things. Who had the power to send you here, mortal? No one could possibly…" Zamorak trailed off, thinking.
"Ha!" Shell mocked loudly. "You overestimate your power, Zamorak!"
"No… there is one who could do it. He disappeared so long ago…" Zamorak continued. Wow saw a bit of fear flash in Shell's eyes momentarily, but thankfully Zamorak was looking the other way.
"Who're you talking about? I'm sent here by the one and only true god! The Lord of the Light, Saradomin! No shadow is so great, Zamorak, that the light cannot penetrate it!" Wow thought that was a lovely speech, but it seemed a tad bit mocking since Shell wasn't really Saradominist. She seemed to be overdoing her part, but Zamorak didn't appear suspicious, only angry.
"One and true god? Give me a break! He may have sent you down here, but you won't be coming back to your cloud lined Heaven!" he snarled, slapping his hand down sharply on a sign on the wall.
What looked disgustingly like hair rose around the crater like a dome. They stranded around Shell with a red glow, cocooning her in half a second. Only her eyes and nose were visible, cringing angrily against the hair's dank smell. She lost balance and sagged to the floor with a loud crack; Wow saw that Shell had fallen on her head and blacked out. What would happen now! They were both trapped in Hell, and it was because of her.
Zamorak was laughing again, and he advanced on both of them. The knives had appeared again, and she had a feeling it wasn't a bluff this time. He leaned over her, but just as suddenly reeled back and turned as some odd speck of purple shot over the edge of a peak and struck his head.
Almost too fast for Wow to take in, another flash lit up right behind her and a hand grabbed her arm and Shell roughly. Zamorak spun again, casting a flaming spell that rushed towards them, and the person that grabbed them gave a cry in pain. There was one more flash and Wow was surrounded by purple, moving so fast her hair was whipping against her face painfully. Then it all stopped.
The prayer mage groaned and pulled her head out of the warm, sticky sand. The sand almost felt cold compared to Hell, and it was only sticky because of her sweat. Wow worked herself into a crouching position and tried to wipe it off, but it stuck steadfast and she only managed to get some more on her hands. Shell was nearby her, lying limply in the nasty bundle of hair.
"Shell?!" she said, trying to crawl towards her, but some man was there first. His one sleeve had been burned away and was still smoldering, and she was horrified to see that all of his skin on that arm had been charred black. A large, shallow gash dripped blood on the sand. The man wearing all black drew a knife and cut the hair away and Wow came over and drug Shelby out of that mess. Neither of them talked; they were just intent on helping their friend.
With a quick look around she saw that they were somewhere east of Al Kharid, near the River Salve. Wow looked at the man and he looked at her from the shadows of his hood, and they nodded. Together they grabbed one of Shell's arms and drug her away to the shore of the river. Wow let the man take her full weight and cupped her hands in the clear river. Many people in Al Kharid didn't know, because its origins were so far north, that the River Salve was a blessed river that kept the horrors of the east from invading. Most didn't even know it was called the River Salve. She took the water and let it fall gently on Shell, who woke immediately.
"Oh come on, what is this, the Grudge!?! Hair? Be a little original, for my sake…" Shelby exclaimed, but she trailed off as she realized where was, or, better put, where she wasn't. Wow saw the man nod in thanks and disappear, but she heard a voice in her head that she was sure belonged to him. Time goes differently in Hell. Be sure to check your calendar. Shell still seemed a little out of sorts.
"Was that, was that Lucien? He is really started to creep me out with the stalking," she fumed.
"He saved us, Shell. After you blacked out, he rescued us," she explained, wondering how Shell knew him. Maybe he was a mercenary friend. Shell shrugged and threw herself bodily in the river, washing all of the sand and remains of hair off. Wow followed her, making sure to splash her in the process. Shell of course got mock offended and splashed Wow back. A huge splash fight ensued; they were really happy to have gotten out of that one. Some people have the phrase, "You look like you've been to Hell and back." Shell and Wow (or at least Wow) very much fit that description, except for the fact that they were smiling, laughing, and having a water fight like kindergarteners.
"Oi! Whatcha doin in the river?" asked what looked to be a boy of about eight years of age.
"We're taking a bath," Shell said slyly, gesturing at Wow's half nakedness. Wow splashed her hard for that.
"And we're shaving Shell," Wow said in revenge, gesturing at the pile of hair on the beach. The kid stared, but he actually didn't run away. He seemed to sense the contagious fun, for he jumped in the river with them. Being a desert kid, he was only wearing shorts anyway. They soon got into an even bigger water fight.
"Oh yeah," Wow said, remembering Lucien's message. "What's the date, Kassirin?" she asked the young boy. He told her, and she gasped.
"It's been almost a whole year! Everyone must think I'm dead!" she exclaimed in surprise. It was no real problem; she'd just go back to Falador and inform everyone she wasn't actually deceased. Would they believe that she had actually went to Hell?
"Oi! There's a body in the water!" Kassirin yelled, his eyes bulging. They all spotted it, floating a few yards away. Wow and Shell swam out and retrieved the floating body, dragging it back into the shallows where Kassirin waited anxiously.
"Is it alive?" he asked in a very boyish way.
"Actually, I think it is," Shell replied in surprise, pulling it onto the sand. She flipped it over.
"It's Soren!" Wow and Shell gasped at once. They had sort of forgotten her in their harmless playing, since they hadn't really realized how long it had been since they had died. Soren couldn't have been floating down a river for over nine months, so they wondered what had happened. Her right eye was entirely gone; there was just a depression in the skin to show where the socket used to be. She opened her good eye blearily, staring at them.
"Soren…" she repeated and looked as if she was about to fall asleep again. Suddenly her eye widened. "Hey, aren't you guys dead?"
"We were, but we're good to go again," Wow said with a smile.
"And it's your fault I died," Shell said, playfully punching Soren in the face. Actually, it wasn't that playful. Soren's head snapped back and her eye was tightly closed in pain. The punch opened up a small scab on her face, which bled freely. She cracked open an eye.
"I deserved that, didn't I?" she asked.
"Yes, you did," Shell replied. "Now you're forgiven. Get up."
Soren got out of the water and shakily to her feet. She and Wow were about dressed the same.
"Haha, you guys should go belly dance for the Al Kharidians," Shell laughed. Soren and Wow glared sullenly.
"You're wearing the girliest, frilliest white clothes I've ever seen," Soren laughed back. "And you laughed at me for wearing that dress."
"I'm being Saradominist!" Shell protested. "I had to to rescue Wow. Your dress you had no excuse for!"
"You could have just put a monk robe on Shell," Wow said tauntingly.
"See if I ever rescue you from the clutches of Hell again," she retorted.
"Well, you didn't really rescue me. That guy, Lucien? He rescued both of us."
"Shut up about Lucien."
"Who's Lucien?" Soren butted in.
"No one," Shell snarled.
"He's Shell's knight in shining armor," Wow snorted.
"I didn't know Shell had a boyfriend," Soren played along. With a lot of hitting and joking to forget all the blood, pain, and gore the author felt like adding into the story, they headed back to the Bank of Al Kharid for some proper clothes. The Bank did not have a changing station, so don't ask how they managed it. But be assured the Al Kharidians were very interested. No, just kidding.
And, Lord Zaros, that is exactly, to the point, what happened in my 11 month leave from work. I had no idea whatsoever that time frames in Hell are different from Earth, so I didn't really run away on vacation, no matter what Bahaumaunt says. Yes, Lucien went with, and Zamorak had no idea that this whole thing wasn't a Saradominist kick in the face. It was a kick in the face though.
Signed, Shelby of the Northern Guard
"There, I'm done," Shell said in relief, leaning back in her chair. The back fell off, causing her to tumble to the floor with a mini heart attack. She picked herself up and dusted herself off, happy to be able to finally leave the library in the Citadel. Taking the paper from her desk, she had another mini heart attack. Lucien was at the other end of library, reading some book. He seemed to sense her watching and looked up. She could almost see those innocently questioning eyes, all the way over here. AGH! Stalker!
Making sure to move in an angry fashion, to show Lucien the height of her annoyance in being stalked, she walked out of the library and slammed the door. He didn't follow yet; she knew he would wait five to ten minutes, put the book down, and then move to follow her wherever she went. If she ever felt like telling him to go away, he would usually nod, apologize, and leave for a least a half hour. But it was never very long. And he was never very far. And he was driving her crazier than banana cream penguins.
She pulled out her pen and flattened her letter onto the wall. Ignoring the sloppiness, she wrote:
P.S. Lord Zaros, I'd be very much pleased to take a mission very far from this Citadel, and a fairly long one too. Thank you. ''''''''
Epilogue: As corny as it may sound, no one was completely traumatized from the events in this story. None of the main characters anyway. With good friendship and communication, the worst any of the group got were horrible nightmares. This isn't Final Fantasy, and none of them were as flimsy of the mind as Cloud Strife.
Wow soon returned to the White Knights and became an honorary member for going to Hell and stuff. Reports in the information department reported that Zamorak is much more pissed than normal, and it would be wise to leave the Dark Master alone.
Soren went around doing whatever she felt like, and thank merciful God she never felt any will nor inclination to ever 'return' to that place in the Wilderness. In fact, she never felt like going in the Wilderness period. Instead she eventually got a nice barmaid job. She slacked in her work, gave out wrong change, and blamed other barmaids when the monthly bills didn't add up, but she still managed to keep her job, amazingly.
Shell got her mission and was sent to the barbarians to check out more dwarf activities and the new dwarf city. She wasn't counting on the fact that she'd be assigned to go as a team, with Lucien. Wow found Lucien nailed brutally to a tree (Yes, he was nailed by his clothes, not skin. At least not in most places.) and unconscious. She untreed him and he soon returned to the Citadel, wisely waiting for Shell's return rather than finding her again on the mission.
Darishan, Lancer, and Gersh continued there ways as usual, and the lag in the system was fixed by a group of determined Saradominists. Not only that, but all the souls mistakenly sent to Hell were retrieved. Shell, Soren, and Wow resumed their lives as adventurers, and all was well until the author felt like making another twisted story.