The man stumbled through the thorn bushes. He let out a scream for help, but nobody heard him.
"Why did I ever come here? Why? So stupid!" he thought to himself while running through the cold, barren wasteland. This place had a name though. It was referred to as, "The Wilderness," a place filled with dark creatures and other evil people. The only reason anyone ever went in was to find treasures, but only the strong ones returned, and this man was anything but strong.
The man tripped over a root and spun around, eyes wide in fear. The hellhound was catching up fast. While trying to loot an ancient crypt, the man had found himself face to face with a hellhound that lived there, and if he didn't move fast, he was going to end up this thing's lunch.
The man pulled out some small stones from his pockets and crushed them in his fist, then let them loose in the direction of the hellhound. Roots shot up from the ground and ensnared the demonic dog. The man sighed. Maybe he was strong enough to survive in this place after all. He checked his pockets, but there were no more runes left to use.
The hellhound shook violently as the man quickly ran off. He wasn't safe yet. He was in tier two of the five-tier Wilderness. The fifth tier was only for the mightiest of adventurers, the man had only barely ventured into the third tier.
Suddenly, the hellhound tore through the roots and broke into a frenzied dash after the man, wanting his blood now more than ever. The man was too out of breath to run, so he stopped and dropped his bag of loot, pulling out his mithril longsword. He was terrified, but still he lashed out at the hellhound. The creature simply waited for the man to get tired. It paced back and forth, just out of reach of the man's sword. Then, it pounced. The man lashed out and struck a blow to it's leg, but this only made the hellhound recoil for a moment. The man bolted away, hoping to seek refuge in a rock-cluster. The hellhound clawed at the opening, biting ferociously and growling ravenously. The man prodded it with the sword, but barely inflicted any damage before the hellhound swiped it from his grasp.
The poor man was now trapped at the mercy of the hellhound, which would soon claw through enough of the rocks to reach the man. Up until now, the man had been guided by the moonlight, but a cloud, one of the very first that night, gently moved in front of it, making the Wilderness seem all the more terrifying. The last thing the man saw before the moon shown bright again, was a pair of bright blue eyes behind the hellhound. Then he heard cries of pain from the hellhound, and when he emerged, this demon's corpse lay dead, slumped against the rock cluster.
The man didn't waist any time. He picked up his loot bag and took off, full sprint towards Varrock. He had no idea who or what had helped him in the Wilderness. Truth is, he'll never know, but watching from the shadows was a black-cloaked man with a long, scraggly gray beard, dark red hair and piercing blue eyes. On his left arm was a gauntlet made of gilded black rune mixed with other mechanical parts. On his belt, there was attached an impressive blade. One of its kind, in fact; Umbra, a blade that was once possessed by a powerful demon named Dagon before he was slain by a mysterious dark knight. The sword was originally powered by the souls stored within it, but now, it is powered by the will of the wielder.
This cloaked man waited in the shadows for the longest time, then he turned and strolled off to Varrock to get a pint at the Blue Moon Inn.
"Ah! Good evenin' Markus! Back for another round of my famous Gutrot, eh?" Dugan, the bartender asked Markus as he entered the Blue Moon Inn. Dugan was standing at the bar, polishing an empty glass. Markus, took off his black cloak to reveal his black and red chain mail, then hung the cloak on a rack at the entrance.
"Actually, no, not this time Dugan," Markus said, stretching his neck a little. "This'll be the last night I stay here, as a matter of fact. You've been of great help to me, but I've got to check on my cousin over in Burthorpe. I worry about him being over there. It's not exactly the safest place in Gielion."
"You? Worried about something? My, my, this is a surprise. I didn't think anything could worry you, Markus," Dugan said, without the slightest hint of concern about Markus leaving. "You think you'll be back?"
"Maybe, but only for work purposes, of course," Markus said, taking a seat at the bar and taking a swig of beer that Dugan had put out for him.
"Don't worry, Markus. Your cousin is almost as tough as you. Well, not really, but he did give me that black-eye back in Falador when you introduced me. Ha! The kid has a damn good right hook, I'll give him that!" Dugan jeered, pouring himself a glass of beer.
Markus chuckled and said, "Yeah, yeah he does..." his voice then trailed off into thought. Before another word was said, Markus set down the glass and jumped to his feet. "Well, I'd best be off then."
"Oh, posh! Stay the night! It's almost mornin' anyway, and you look like you need some rest," Dugan scolded.
"Alright then...I'll stay the night. Just let me grab my cloak," Markus grabbed his cloak and headed up the stairs. He knew it would be pointless arguing with Dugan.
"It's on your right, after..." Dugan started to shout.
"...three doors! I remember," Markus finished, without slowing his ascent up the staircase. The room was just the way he left it. Without un-tucking the bed sheets, Markus threw on his cloak, laid down and pulled the hood over his eyes. Then he drifted into a deep sleep. His dreams were of nothing. Just empty blackness, like they always were.
Markus awoke to the sound he had grown to love; dozens of bar patrons clanging their glasses together, having what they called "breakfast." Hurriedly, he marched down the stairs, still fully dressed and headed for the back door. Dugan was waiting for him outside.
"You didn't think you'd get off without a formal goodbye now, did you?" Dugan asked, squinting in the morning sunlight. The old man was one of the nicest guys Markus had ever met. He had short, white hair, a gray beard and the physique of a forty-year old man, despite that he was almost eighty.
"Right then, let's get the mushy stuff finished," Markus said, smirking. He reached out and gave Dugan a quick hug goodbye, then walked off out the Southern gate, waving a final goodbye to his long-time friend. As he headed down towards Lumbridge, Markus took the time to shave using his trusty dragon dagger. He checked quickly in the River Lum to find that he now had a nice stubble that was, oddly enough, sexy.
It wasn't long before he reached Lumbridge and cut through the massive fields that belonged to the farming families. It was comforting to know that there was an entire world that was far more peaceful than up north in the Wilderness. Some of the townsfolk even gave a friendly smile and a little wave as Markus walked by.
It also wasn't long before Markus passed by Draynor Manor. Markus stopped outside the entrance and gazed up at the massive building before him. During his first years as a vigilante, Markus had taken a job to end the life of Count Draynor, a vampire who had been terrorizing the people of Draynor Village. It was a hard-fought battle, but he had prevailed, barely avoiding a bite from the Count. It was a learning experience for Markus.
"Hey you! Stand...and deliver! Hand over your valuables!" a voice came from behind Markus. He could feel the cool steel of a sword pressing against the back of his neck. A highwayman. Pathetic excuse for a criminal. Markus whirled around and knocked the steel shortsword from the highwayman's grip with ease and then whipped out his dragon dagger and pressed it against the crook's throat.
"Isn't this cute? You really think you're material for this job? I'd suggest farming, but I'm sure you'd fuck that one up. I got one! You can be the village idiot...oh, wait, you already are!" Markus sneered as the highwayman trembled in fear.
"Please don't kill me!" he gasped out.
"Kill you? You're too pathetic to talk to...let alone kill," Markus snorted, sheathing his dagger and walking off, whistling a tune that he could only vaguely remember hearing a bar patron singing in a drunken fit a few months back. The highwayman was left to quiver in pure terror and astonishment.
In just under an hour, Markus was passing through the gates of Taverley. The druids that made that place their home gave him strange, disapproving looks, as if he was beating a child in public.
The road that led up to Burthorpe showed true signs of total depression. The grass slowly disappeared. The sky became darker. The ground became more rocky and damp. The Toad and Chicken Pub loomed before Markus. He pushed open the door and walked in. The bar was almost fully empty, save for two people. One of the people stood up.
"Cousin! It's so good to see you!" he said, arms outstretched.
"Hey there Bauchan. It's been awhile," Markus said, giving his cousin a great big bear hug. If Markus had only known what was about to happen, he might have saved his cousin's life.