What a long day working in RuneScape…mining, mining and more mining. Can't it be any more interesting?

Except for those two rock golems and the occasional swarm, all I ever do is mine more iron, more iron and more iron. All for that high level guy who owns me after I stupidly sold myself to him when I was a level 3.

'More iron, more iron. It seems all I ever do is mine more iron for the BossMan!' I grumbled, hurling my iron pickaxe into the red rock in front of me.

'Can't do any better than that, noob?' the miner beside me laughed, 'Your iron pickaxe won't be able to beat my runite one. Watch this!'

He struck the rock, crumbling it into tiny pieces with one swing. Just one swing. After it took me so long to try and get that ore, and yet I can't obtain it.

'Hah, noob. Get a better pickaxe, why don't you,'

My ears burned with rage, day after day. It's always the same; I don't have enough money to buy a better pickaxe, and my iron supply continues to dwindle away. Sometimes my boss beats me with a bundle of sticks. It's painful, but I know he can do worse.

Gathering up the twenty-eight pieces of ore that I had broken away, I store them all into my leather backpack. I count the coins in my rear pocket; checking if any had been stolen by the pickpockets or dropped through the hole in my pack. Patched and worn, it still somehow manages to carry all the iron ore I stash in it. How it holds together I do not know; I've heard of people miraculously carrying extremely heavy loads without snapping the straps. As far as I know, everyone around me has the same kind, however none show the same amount of wear and tear as mine.

I heave the weight onto my shoulders. The heat of the sun and the stinging dust-borne wind makes it no easier to bear the load, though I inch my way back to Varrock. This well-worn path I've trod upon many times, the same stones I see every day. How boring it is to be a miner…I wished that I had been one of those warrior-craftsmen, killing creatures and fashioning salable items from the things they drop.

Look on to the bright side though, Helena; perhaps one day you'll have enough experience to mine that Runite ore that most of RuneScape wears. Then you'll be laughing as they pay out high prices for what you have.

The weight of the iron slides off my shoulders as I drop it onto the smooth black-and-white marble floor of the Bank of Varrock. Everyone around seems to mind their own business, depositing and withdrawing items in their multitudes. Only the banker seems to notice me; he turns up his nose at my grimy, dirty face.

'Is this the last load for today, Mistress Helena?' he speaks, in that falsely courteous tone I had grown to dislike for no apparent reason.

'Yes, banker. Put this into storage and record it. How much of it do I have?'

'Exactly five hundred and sixty kilograms,' he says, checking a list of items pulled out from nowhere.

'Turn them all into notes for me please,'

'Done,'

He passed me the scrap of tattered yellow paper, stamped with the seal of the Bank of Varrock and the image of raw iron, with a number scribbled below it. Outside my master waited for me, tapping his foot impatiently. He held out his hand; a demand for the piece of paper.

'How much do you bring today, noob?' he growled, grasping my hair and forcing me to walk faster. Nobody bothered to even look; noobs weren't treated well in any case, and I was one of them. Weak. Worthless to the experienced fighter.

'Five hundred and sixty kilograms,'

'That's better, slave; today you'll not earn a whipping from me. Have this,' he cackled, shoving a fistful of gold coins into my soiled hands, 'You'll get something for it, I assure you,'

One…two…five…twenty-five…five hundred? That's all he gave me? I should've counted earlier! Perhaps I could've taken him to the courts of justice…

But no…

Even then I couldn't possibly have taken him there. Who'd believe a person like me? Low level, without any weight in threats nor money. No power to change judgements. I'd just be kicked out of that courthouse.

Hmph. So much for justice.

I trudge back to the Blue Moon Inn, the only safe place in town at night. The back roads were packed with muggers, thieves and other criminals, and even the guards wouldn't bother to protect anyone in there. They never help anyone, those guards; they won't even talk to you.

The door to the inn was open as usual, with rowdy adventurers and drunken citizens crowded into a room full of tables, glasses and jugs of wine. Alcohol was freely available here, and perhaps I could drown my sorrows in drink.

'Evening, Barty,' I said to the bartender, sitting in the empty seat at the far end of the table, 'How's things?'

'Oh, not so bad. Your 'master' mistreated you again, I suppose?' he replied, cleaning an empty glass.

'You read my expressions all too well,' I smiled, 'Two beers, well-chilled thanks. I've had those horrible warm ones before at Al-Kharid; kept 'em in my pack for a day, tried to drink them and they're warm. Disgusting,'

I listen to the tunes on the piano the pirate was playing, his hooked right hand playing an ungainly melody. The bartender passed me two glasses of cold beer, and I immediately gulped them down. There was nothing like drink to stifle away the growls of a hungry stomach; and even better was total drunkenness. Time passes a hundredfold faster, the world itself seems as though it shrinks and warps, fantastic shapes and lights appearing from nowhere and vanishing into nowhere. Almost like a brighter future.

'Five more,' I asked, placing the empty glasses on the counter.

'Five? Isn't that a little too much?'

'Just give me the damned beers,' I ranted, tossing ten coins into his fat hand.

Drink after drink disappeared as the hours whiled away. Gulping down my fifteenth glass of beer, I collapse onto the floor, drunk, happy. Without a care. I felt the strong arms of the bartender wrap around mine, heaving me to my feet and into my room, his heavy footsteps disappearing in the merry laughter of the other drunken citizens of Varrock downstairs.

'You'll not live long, given you drink like this every day, my friend,' he chuckled, dropping me onto my bed, 'You'd better watch how much you drink, lest you meet a mugger or the like,'

'Eh, shut up you,' I mumbled drunkenly, lifting a woozy fist playfully into the direction of his face, 'I drink like this every night, and I come out fine,'

'Ah, whatever,' he grins, dodging my ill-aimed punch, 'G'night,'

It's always like this…I work long hours in the mines, and at night I drink away to sleep. Never anything different. Always mining, always spending what I earned in board and drink. Everything left in my pocket would disappear next morning, thieved by the pickpockets who frequent the nearby alleys.

Oh, I want a change. Something new. Saradomin help me if I don't find it, I'd die of boredom sooner than I'd drink myself to death.

A/N

How was it? Boring? That's how I intend this chapter—as boring as possible, to bring you closer to those mining bots that work all day without rest while their owners are away somewhere. They earn minimal wages; give them a break! Be one of them for once—feel their boredom, doing the same thing over and over again. Well, that's one side of RuneScape for you.

This IS a crossover fic after all, however I'm setting it up right now. This character—Helena—is about as close as you'd get to a regular Runescapian, a mining pure. I will throw in characters from another MMORPG, Lineage II, to liven things up, and perhaps something from their universe.

(Lineage II isn't very well known. for more information regarding this. In addition, it DOES have a storyline, unlike RuneScape, although players are free to choose their own storyline.)