A/N: I love spur of the moment stuff, it works out so well with a little work...
Another Runescape story that was inspired when I had to go and hunt down a Zamorak monk to finish a treasure trail.
Disclaimer: I don't own Runescape or anything like that, but I do own Yzrol Bree and the plot, obviously. Lord Megadri belongs to my friend.
"Haha! You'll never get the treasure now! - Zamorak monk."
For Saradomin's sake! If this didn't end up being the last thing in the treasure trail Yzrol Bree was doing, she'd - she'd - well, she'd probably do the clue that followed as well. But the realisation of that didn't make her feel any better.
Yzrol Bree was a level 75 ranger with purple wind braids, a green low cut top, and purple flares underneath the full red dragonhide armour. Not particularly strong, but skilled enough to be able to fight well. She fought with a dark bow, mithril arrows, and, as likely as not, with protect from melee turned on. Therefore, it was annoying to know that she'd have to hunt down this damned Zamorak monk to solve the long and annoying treasure trail she was currently on, and even more so when she was in the Monastery.
Well, she knew one place to find Zamorak Monks, even if it was closer to the edge of the Wilderness than she was comfortable with. She set off for the little Zamorak temple that was just north-west of the Goblin Village, muttering to herself underneath her breath.
"Saradomin damned Zamorak monks, why do they have to pull this crap? I bet they're in league with that damned vampire that dropped the first damned clue in the first place... He was too sodding eager to attack me, he was... I could be training my farming, but nooo, I've got to do this stupidly long treasure trail instead. Or I could be doing a quest..."
It says something about the character of Yzrol Bree that it didn't occur to her to simply drop the clue scroll, or to leave it for a bit. She came from that particular mind-set of people who, once they had started something, they were damned well determined to follow through with it to the bitter end.
Muttering ominously and stamping the earth as though it had insulted her, she finally reached the temple. The gaudy red colours on the Zamorak banners failed to impress her, as did the stench of blood that drifted from the nearby Wilderness. However, in her bad temper, she failed to notice that there were much less monks of Zamorak around than there usually were. In fact, the only monk that was around was stood in the middle of the temple, facing the Zamorak altar and grinning to himself in a way that hugely irritated the already annoyed Yzrol Bree.
"Hey! You! Are you the joker who thinks they can stop me solving this damned clue scroll?"
"Such a temper, my child... My Lord has chosen well..." said the monk quietly, his grin reaching the point of insolence in Yzrol Bree's mind.
"Oh, shut up! I'm not your 'child', and if you don't give me the key to that damned chest of drawers, I'll come over there and damned well make you give it to me!"
The monk turned to face her, his mischievous smirk making her commit mass murder in her mind.
"You want me to give you the key...?"
From out of nowhere a dozen Zamorak monks appeared, and had born Yzrol to the ground before she could react. She struggled to free herself, but the grinning monk waved a hand and cast a powerful Entangle curse on her. Unable to move, she glared up at him as he approached her.
"Oh dear, are we getting upset? Why don't you ask your fake god Saradomin for help?"
Yzrol opened her mouth to talk, but he waved his hand again and her jaw clamped shut and refused to move.
"Not now, my child... Did you never wonder? Did you never contemplate what it would be like to serve our glorious lord? Zamorak is not a vengeful god, he simply wants what is best for his children - and power. How can anything be achieved if we do not have power? Oh, the glorious battles, the screams from those who chose to worship the false gods... it will be magnificent...
"And yet you still choose to serve that weakling Saradomin? What did he ever give to you?" With one swift movement, he snatched up Yzrol's dark bow and began to examine it. Yzrol began to struggle again, angry at the monk's audacity. "You seem to value this rather inferior bow, and yet..." another swift movement, and the bow fell to the floor, snapped clean in two. Yzrol stared at it in disbelief. 850,000 coins, that thing had cost her. And this man had just..."Whereas Zamorak can give you real power. Do you think I trained to become this accomplished at magic? All I have ever wanted, Zamorak has provided for me... and he is willing to do the same for you.
"Don't be so naive to think this is only about some pathetic little prize at the end of a treasure trail. This is about something far greater than runes and swordfish. With Zamorak behind you, you could change the world so that it is better. You would be a fool to pass up the chance to set even all the wrongs that have happened to you. But, just in case you feel that all of this was some poxy illusion or dream, we will leave you with a memento."
The enchantments cast upon Yzrol vanished, but before she had chance to move, the most intense pain she had ever felt tore through her. Too shocked to even cry out, she arched her back, and began the inexorable slide into unconsciousness...
Yzrol Bree woke up with a start and a small cry. She lay where she was, eyes wide, the agonising pain from before fading into her memory. She finally pulled herself into a sitting position, drawing in deep yet shaky breaths, and looked around herself to find that she wasn't where she had lost consciousness. No, she was... she was...
She was lying in what looked like a jail cell. Fleeting images of guards in Khazard armour, a large enclosed battle arena, a distracted looking woman settled into her mind. She had just been thrown into this dank hole because she had dared to try and save Justin Servil from an ogre. And she was now the prisoner of General Khazard, a man who was experiencing life from a completely different angle.
A guard in Khazard armour - Hengrad, she remembered - was telling her to get ready to enter the Fight Arena. She pulled herself to her feet - and her hand nudged her dark bow. But it wasn't broken - it looked as good as new, but with a subtle new edge to it that sent a shiver of anticipation down Yzrol's spine. Her armour, too - it was black dragonhide, but with a subtle red tinge to it. She liked it.
She strode into the arena ahead of Hengrad, and almost burst out laughing when a level 44 scorpion was set loose. Did they expect her to be cowed by something as pathetic as that? She raised her bow, smirking, and pulled two dragon arrows from her quiver. A twang of bowstring, two red splurts as they struck deep, and the scorpion became a twitching mass of flesh and exoskeleton.
Next came a level 137 Bouncer. At last, the fight was getting slightly interesting, but it was still no difficulty for one as strong and skilled with the bow as Yzrol Bree. The Bouncer began from the opposite side of the arena. Bowstrings twanged in quick succession, and the Bouncer was struck down before he had covered half the distance between them.
Yzrol Bree did laugh then, a light-hearted chuckle that would have been enough to send a shudder down anyone's spine. How easy! How simple it was to command all this power that was at her fingertips, and become a force that would make grown men whimper! The monk had been right. Zamorak was the one true god, who could offer you something real, and anyone who didn't think so deserved to be struck down in the path of progress.
She turned to face General Khazard, but hesitated. Her vision was going... the edges began to turn black, and the rest soon followed. She didn't even realise she had collapsed before she had hit the ground.
"Oh, my! Are you alright?"
The voice came from a long way away. Yzrol felt completely spent, like she had just ran a marathon or ten. She felt as weak as a kitten, and without the prospect of growing onto a ferocious killer. And yet, just seconds before, she had felt full of life! Nothing was going to stand in her way. But what the monks had said... Zamorak represented disorder and violence. Was it really okay to accept that sort of power in place of her sense of morality?
"Can you hear me? Oh, dear, this is a predicament..."
She opened her eyes. About a foot away from her face was a vague pink blur, which resolved itself to be a very red-faced Saradomin monk, who was looking rather worried.
"You're awake! I just found you out here and..." the monk looked away at a distant grey blur. "Oh, this is going to take too long! You just sit tight, I'm going to try and heal you... oh, I only hope it goes better than it normally does..."
Yzrol felt herself being laid against a rock, and the monk moved away slightly. He muttered some unintelligible under his breath... and she felt better. She felt her strength return, her vision became clearer, the strange ache in her left wrist began to fade -
Suddenly, her wrist was burning in agony. She cried out, and clawed at her wrist in pain. The monk turned as pale as a sheet.
"St-st-stay here! I-I-I'll be right back! Oh, no, it happened again - what will I t-tell the Father?"
As the man vanished in the direction of the grey blur, the pain returned from the level of unbearable pain to merely agonising. When she judged herself strong enough to move, she slowly peeled off the red dragonhide vambrace from her left forearm. A tiny part of her reflected on the fact that the armour from earlier was only fictional, and also contemplated the fact that she really may have lost her Dark bow for good. However, this was drowned out by the exclamations of shock and horror from the rest of her.
Centered right over her wrist was the sign of Zamorak, burned red raw into her skin. Beads of blood were dotted on the surface, and they seemed to grow in size as her horrified gaze passed over it. It looked like someone had simply ripped off a patch of skin. Although it was nothing like as bad as it was before, the pain was a vicious stinging one which made her eyes water.
Footsteps signaled that the unfortunate monk had returned with help, and someone took hold of her left hand to examine her wrist. There was a shocked gasp as they saw the damage, and the next thing Yzrol knew, she was lying in a bed upstairs in the Monastery. Voices were coming through the door to her left, and her wrist had been bandaged up, although blood had managed to seep to the surface.
She swung her legs out of the bed, and quietly stood up. Something in one of her pockets was digging into her side, and she investigated to find a key. Right - so, she was injured, marked by the sign of Zamorak, being tempted to join the RuneScapian dark side, minus a bow but plus a key. Hooray.
She crept over to the ladders, and managed to sneak down them without any cries of resistance. Trotting stealthily over to the chest of drawers that had sparked off this whole bizarre series of events, she quietly unlocked the top drawer with the key, silently picked up the bag that was inside - and ran for it.
She felt like her head was about to explode when she finally reached Varrock, staggering into the bank just as the last of her energy burned itself up. As she bent over to gasp for breath, she could see that she was attracting some funny loks, but she ignored them. When she judged herself recovered enough, she pulled out a knife, and slit open the bag along one side. A pile of items fell to the floor, and she quickly bent over and scooped them up before any of the other players spotted them. Time to inspect her haul -
She stared. In her arms were a brand new dark bow, black dragonhide vambraces with red trimming, a gold unholy symbol, and a hundred death runes. She shivered, despite the usual pleasant warmth. What was this? Was it a reminder of her dream - something to mess with her head and try and pull her from the right path? Was it just some sick joke? Or was it something else altogether...?
"Yzrol! Hey, Yzrol!"
Yzrol looked up from her reward, still shaken slightly. Running up to her was her best friend in all of Krandor - Lord Megadri. He was a level 94 warrior, with dragon platelegs, a rune platebody, a dragon medium helm, and a fury amulet, wielding today a rune kiteshield and a dragon scimitar. They had met when Yzrol was only weak - a mere level 43 chopping wood - but they had become fast friends. Yzrol hadn't seen Megadri for weeks.
She smiled as he came to a stop next to her, out of breath but excited.
"Hey, Mega. Where've you been?"
"Oh you know, training on Hellhounds underneath Ardougne," he said, grinning cheekily. "What about you? Been on a treasure trail or something?"
Yzrol blinked, and looked down at her stash, which she was still holding. She'd forgotten about it for a moment.
"...Yeah, something like that. What are you doing in Varrock?"
"Need to buy some stuff off the Exchange. I'm planning on going on a trip to the Barrows, but I need to pick up some food. Why don't you come with? It'd give us a chance to catch up."
"...Yeah, okay. Let me just sort out this lot..."
She turned to the banker, Megadri inspecting her stash interestedly over her shoulder.
"Hey, those vambraces look awesome! Why don't you put them on?"
Yzrol hesitated, painfully aware of the Zamorak symbol branded on her wrist. But, it was bandaged up, wasn't it? Would there be any harm in trying on the black vambraces, just for long enough that she could decide that they didn't suit her at all...?
Turning from Megadri slightly, she pulled of her own, rather worn red dragonhide vambraces, and slipped on the black ones before he could see the bandage. They actually fitted her quite well. They weren't gappy, but they weren't cutting off circulation... And they did go with the rest of her outfit, and the red trimming did look good with the rest of her outfit... She turned to the banker, and took back the dark bow before holding it out in front of her, and letting the string hit them. She didn't feel a thing. And her wrist was feeling better, too.
"Those are seriously cool. I don't think I've seen them before, either. Aren't they Zamorak colours?" said Megadri, admiring her new accessories.
"Does it matter?" said a voice which Yzrol recognised as her own. "As long as they go with the rest of the outfit, I'm sure Saradomin won't mind."
"...Yeah. Yeah, you're right..." he said, uncertainly.
"Anyway, are we going shopping, or what?" Yzrol asked, walking a short way towards the door. She was starting to feel uneasy. She'd never have considered going against Saradomin's word yesterday... but something inside her had changed. She could feel it - she was edgier, more confident. But that wasn't right, was it...?
"Yeah, of course. I thought sharks, 'cause, you know, it is the Barrows and all..."
"It's your call. I personally prefer swordfish, but maybe that's just 'cause I can catch 'em."
A shadow watched them leave from the corner of the bank, and smiled smugly to itself. She'd taken the bait without a word of resistance... This was looking hopeful for Lord Zamorak after all...
A/N: Yeah, I'm gonna leave it there for now. It's just a random idea, but let me know what you think of it. Any suggestions for what will happen next are welcome. Thanks for reading!