The Lance of Zaros
Hey, everyone! This is only my second story submitted to , but I'm hoping it'll be good. I know a Runescape story won't be seen by a large number of people, but the plot bunny bit me and I have to write it…Anyway, the people who do read it will hopefully be satisfied. Please review! Oh, and-
"Talking"
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Chapter I: A Slayer's Duty
The cave was dank, dark and reeked of fungus and the odor of a hundred different exotic creatures. However, Kyran MacTavish didn't notice any of it. He knelt before the woman in front of him. Though she was slightly shorter than him, it didn't detract from his sense of awe in her presence. She was one of the most accomplished masters of slaying exotic animals and monsters in the world. Her name was Kuradal, and he had been apprenticed to her for over ten years. Kyran wore a platemail body he had looted from the body of Guthan the Infested, and a pair of platelegs forged from dragon metal. He held the traditional helm of experienced slayers under his arm against his chest. His brown hair was shorn militarily short, little more than stubble, and his jaw line was clean-shaven. When Kuradal said nothing, Kyran finally looked up at her with piercing green eyes.
"Get up, Kyran," she said sternly.
A cold ball formed in the pit of Kyran's stomach. Had he done something to displease Kuradal? If he had, he honestly feared for his life. Kuradal was terrifying when angry. Slowly, he stood up on slightly trembling legs. "Yes, m'lady? What is it?"
For a second, the frown remained on Kuradal's face- then she split into a grin. "You won't be calling me that any more, Kyran. As you know, you've been apprenticed to me for quite a while, and you've gained a lot of life experiences in that time. In fact, you're one of the best apprentices I've ever had. That is why I believe that you're ready."
Kyran was unsure how to react. What was Kuradal talking about? What was he 'ready' for? He remained silent.
"I can tell what's going on in your head, Kyran. I think that you're ready for the mark of a master Slayer."
Realization dawned on him. Did she mean…
Kuradal reverently knelt down and picked up a plain brown package off the ground. She unwrapped it, revealing a heavy black cape with a red trim on either side of the symbol of a skull on the back.
"The cape of slayer mastery," Kuradal said, unfolding it. She reached up slightly and pulled the cape over Kyran's head. "This is one of the heaviest cloaks in the world, and with good reason. The duties of a master slayer are a heavy burden to carry- this is the reason that there are so few slayer masters in the world. So few have the courage, the strength of belief, the will to carry on. This is why you are unique among men. You have proven time and again that you will help those in need, those that live under the thumb of tyranny, those who are oppressed and forgotten. With this cloak around your shoulders, all will know that they may turn to you in times of desperation. You might never know peace; you may never settle down. Such is the life of a slayer master. Knowing all this, will you still accept the cape and all the responsibilities that come with it?"
Kyran never hesitated. "Yes, Lady Kuradal. I will!"
She smiled. "No, Kyran. Not 'Lady Kuradal' any more. You and I are now equals, though we may have different paths to walk. I educate apprentice slayers in the ways to fight all manner of creatures in this world, and you use this training however you see fit, but the fact remains that you are the same as me. A few years younger-well, maybe more than a few- but still the same. Who knows? In a few years, perhaps you yourself will feel the need to train the youth of the world. For now, though, you can do what you will. Go with my blessing."
For a second, Kyran stood still. He a warmth on his cheeks, and then he realized- he was crying. Crying. What did Kuradal think of him now? The mighty slayer, bawling like a toddler. He took a deep breath, and wiped his eyes.
"Thank you, Lad- Thank you…Kuradal."
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Adalyn's hood kept slipping in the driving winds that constantly buffeted her entire body. The decrepit ghetto of Meiyerditch lay behind her- if she had some morbid desire to look back at the horrid place, she would still be able to see the bloodthirsty Vyrewatch flitting evilly about the city.
Or, she would be able to in the light of day. The night's darkness was so thick it was palpable. It would be almost impossible to see if it were not for the small oil lantern she tentatively held out in front of her. It was a choice between stumbling her way in the dark and increasing her chances of being captured- she had known that the slight increase in stealth going without a lamp would be completely negated by her stumbling about, tripping over roots and rocks. Besides, the vyrewatch didn't need light to stalk their prey- they could hunt by smell alone. The thought that one of the vampiric demons could be trailing her did nothing to allay her fears. Still, she couldn't think about something like that- it just wasn't productive. She continued on in silence.
Soon, she came upon a large stone pillar, twice as tall as her with a circular base. Gasping softly, she slowly held out her hand until it was touching the granite. Surprisingly, it was warm to the touch- almost hot, in fact. Slowly, she searched the pillar until she found what she was looking for.
"The silver sickle," came a voice from behind her. Her heart jolted into a hammering beat. No. Impossible. She couldn't have been followed. Could she have? She slowly turned around-
And found herself face-to-face with a young man who looked no older than twenty. She breathed a sigh of relief. Not the vyrewatch. Not this time, at least.
"You scared me half to death," she said almost under her breath to him. "I thought you were one of Drakan's thugs. "
The man grinned. His brown hair, pulled back into a ponytail, swung in the wind. "Nope, sorry to disappoint you, Adalyn. Just Terrell. Nobody special."
"Damned right," she hissed amusedly, her fears slowly dissipating. She pulled the hood back from her head to reveal the slender, pointed ears of an elf, and wispy silver hair that cascaded rather than fell over her shoulders. She stuck Terrell with a funny look from her pale blue eyes. "Seren forbid you ever get a little careless."
Terrell grunted. "I don't see what the gods have to do with this. If they've the power to help us at all, they must have seen it fit to forget us, or watch in amusement as we fight a battle we cannot win."
Adalyn put a hand on Terrell's shoulder. "Don't say that, brother. Not all the gods are so callous toward our plight. In fact, my infiltration went better than expected…and I found something else. Something that must be a sign from the gods that we are destined to triumph. But the gates of Burgh de Rott are no place to discuss such sensitive matters. Let us meet with the Council of the Myreque."
Terrell blinked a few times, then nodded. "Yes, "he said. "Yes, of course. If you think it's a gift from the gods, then so it must be. Let us go."
From here, Adalyn knew her way by heart, so she extinguished the lamp. Silently, they moved through the slowly decaying city, into the heart of the Morytanian rebellion.
Varrock, several days later
Kyran felt naked without the armour he almost always wore. He had had to settle for a tight set of runite chainmail hidden beneath his bulky tunic. Luckily, winter was coming on, so such an outfit was nothing to take notice of. He sat in the Blue Moon bar with a glass of frothy ale in his hand, though it was losing more liquid to evaporation than to his drinking. Not that it wasn't good- in fact, it was some of the best he'd ever tasted. It was just that he hadn't come to the bar to drink; he had come to listen. Kyran had sat in there for the better part of a day, listening for a good lead as to anyone who needed major help. So far, it had all been minor- familial squabbles, petty merchanting concerns, runaway cats- and he had almost despaired of hearing anything good.
Then he heard a loud man speaking at one of the tables over to his right. A former military type, he knew.
He knew it because he himself had been a soldier in the Ardougne Special Forces- he could identify another vet when he saw him, or heard him, as the case was. Though Kyran was a vet, he was only thirty-one years old. He had joined the Forces when he was eighteen, and had spent three years there, before being honourably discharged and finding Kuradal. He closed his eyes and listened in.
"It's the vampyres, I tell you!" he said. "They're suckin' the lifeblood of Morytania dry! They've got people holed up in that slum Meiyerditch, where they take a helpin' of their blood whenever the heck they feel like it! Only one group of brave souls has the guts to stand up to the vicious beasts and their leader, Lord Drakan. The Myreque are the few that are fighting against the tyranny. But they haven't got much of a chance as it stands. They're outnumbered, outgunned, underfed, undermanned, you name it. So what I'm asking is- who here will lend their strength to these brave warriors? Who will take a stand against the rising tide of darkness?"
The man stood and was silent for a second, waiting for a reply from someone in the crowd. None came. He banged the table with both hands. "I say again!" he shouted. "Who has the courage to help the people livin' under the constant threat of death? Who?"
This was what he had been waiting for. Kyran had known about the situation in Morytania, and had often thought of helping the Myreque. Until recently, it had slipped his mind. He stood up, practically towering above the people seated at the tables.
"I will, sir. I will take up the banner. I will help defeat the Vyrewatch. I will help the Myreque triumph."
For a second, all was silent. Then, the man- who looked about fifty, with salt-and-pepper hair and a square jaw- grinned.
"All right, then, sonny. So you wanna fight the vampyres? I'll take you there."
So how was that? Was it any good? Please review, and feel free to suggest any plot ideas that occur to you! I promise I'll update soon. Don't forget to check it out!