Hello, hello, hello, what's happenin' readers?
This one-shot was originally written for the forums, but, to celebrate the end of 'The Adventure Through Runescape', I am uploading it here and making some edits! I hope you enjoy it.
I'm Sorry…
"I'm sorry," the man whispered. He knelt in the middle of the streets of Falador, blood all over his hands. The liquid pooled around him, staining the shining marble bricks red. The stink was overwhelming; it smelt like rust.
The Falador guard lay next to the man, tongue lolling out, and a massive rip in his chest. Blood flowed from his wound thick and fast, like some twisted scarlet waterfall. A dagger lay next to him, incriminating evidence of the man's crimes.
The man was a rather plain adventurer; iron plate-body, plate-legs, leather boots and gloves. He had wavy brown hair, and grass-green eyes that twinkled in the sunlight. He had an innocent look plastered on his face; there was no aura of menace around him that usually surrounded a killer.
The young explorer had seen people pick-pocketing guards for money. Even if it wasn't an honest living, it still paid off, by the looks of it. The adventurer wanted to make a living, and this was the best way to make it. Besides, this was RuneScape. The worst you'd get if you pick-pocketed a guard would be a punch to the face and paralysis for a few seconds (or so he thought). How wrong he really was.
He tried pick-pocketing a guard, and got a small amount of coins in return. It was going pretty well, until the guard caught him in the act, and tried to attack him. Before the adventurer knew what he was doing, the guard lay on the floor, dead as a plank of rotting wood.
The young adventurer didn't know what to do. He was drowning in his own guilt. All he wanted to do was make a bit of money, and now he was a murderer. The adventurer looked at his hands, and retched as the overwhelming stench of blood consumed him. What had he done?
Passing people stared down at him in pity as he sobbed over the dead remains of the guard. He stared at the pile of coins in his bag miserably. He scooped them up, and placed them next to the guard.
"You can have your coins back, sir," the adventurer whispered to the deceased form of the guard. "I don't want them any more."
The body seemed to evaporate, and, lying there instead was a small pile of bones and coins. The adventurer's eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears. Several white knights ran up to him, and grabbed his arms violently.
"I'm sorry," the adventurer whispered again. "I'm ever so sorry. Please forgive me." At that, he was frogmarched off to the white knight castle, where he was destined to rot in the dungeons for murder. The adventurer didn't mind one bit; that was where he felt he belonged. Now he truly knew what the old saying meant; what goes around, comes around.
So there we are, short but sweet.
You might take this story as simply a story about thieving, but I have included a much deeper meaning, as I usually do with my one-shot. The characters of the dead guard and the boy symbolise something. The person who guesses this meaning correctly wins a cyber-cookie with HTML sprinkles.
Until next time, toodles!