The land of Misthalin was blanketed by the dark night sky, the crescent
moon crooked as if smiling down upon its inhabitants. From the castle of
Lumbridge to the ditch separating the proud land from the Wilderness,
all was at sleep. The guards west of Falador were asleep, allowing anyone
to slip past them and into the restricted area, reserved for only those
who pay the price. Varrock seldom made a peep, only the sweeps of the
city janitor could be heard. The goblins in Lumbridge huddled around the
fire in the worn out shack, feasting upon the unfortunate traveler who
dared attack them. The cows were put to sleep, and the sheep lectured by
their owner. The farmer sat in his rocking chair, exhausted from trying
to keep his chickens killed. The Duke slept in his massive bed, dreaming
about Elvarg and all the people he had to deal with. Count Draynor could
be spotted to look out his windows while the mad scientist worked on a
new invention. Lumberjacks and fishers hung along the shore, hoping to
earn a profit.
Wizard Tower could be seen glowing brightly, spells being taught as the lesser demon howled in his cage. The White Knights of
Falador patrolled its borders, secretly hoping that the Black Knights
don't show up. The bartender of Port Sarim sighed as he looked out at
the sea before him, gazing at its beauty like Ned had. The moans of the
dead in the Varrock sewers echoed, while the barbarians in their village
sang their war songs around the bon fire. The dwarven mines were busy
with activity, the little, stout figures giving out orders as carts flew
past each other and ores were exchanged. Goblin Village was a mess, the
two generals still fighting while their followers pounced on each other.
Rimmington was silent; the scarecrow was the only being that moved. Al
Kharid sizzled during the day, but at night the temperature dropped
tremendously, which didn't make it easy for the guards. The makeover
mage was standing in front of his mirror, awing at the beauty he made of
his female appearance.
All was well and merry, until one stranger set foot in Lumbridge. The
very presence of him rotted the flowers and the ground beneath lost all
of its minerals. The hood shadowing his face and the dark robes he wore
hid him in the shadows. Moths and flies slammed to the ground when they
flew near him, and the aura he gave off was pure evil. He walked towards
towards the castle, everything rotting in his way when a man approached
him.
"Hey, what are you doing here?" he snaps. "It's the middle of the
night!" The figure stopped in his tracks, and slowly turned towards the
man's direction.
"I'm here to slaughter the world's inhabitants." His voice was
menacing, gruff and deep. The man backed away with his eyes widening,
stumbling.
"Help! Help! Oh Sarad-" he exclaims, but was cut off when a dagger was
plunged deep in his chest.
"You shall be my first servant." the hooded figure whispers. He yanks
out the dagger as blood poured out, and the helpless man lost all his
color. His eyes rolled back and stood there, the body now under
control.
"Come.", the figure orders, and they walk out of the castle into the night, the
smell of death filled the air. He picks up a flower, which instantly lost its color and bent over.
'I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Karomaz.", he frowns inside his hood
and takes a small scroll out of his robes. Muttering foreign words, he
takes the dagger and draws blood from his hands. Dripping onto the
scroll, he mutters some more words until a black hole starts to appear
in the middle of the paper. Fleshless hands grab onto the edge of the
hole and soon a small platoon of skeletons was standing before him. If one was there, they could see the moon above him, still crooked, as if it were smiling at his soon to be chaos.
"This is just the beginning."