After a moment, I relieved myself of my sitting position. With an expression of shock on my face, I walked in a random direction.

I walked into a wall. Drat.

I turned and walked some more, until I tripped over something and prostrated myself on top of it.

This thing was covered in feathers, and it coughed out a puff of smoke as I landed on it.

"The nameless chicken?" I asked, surprised. "Drat, I thought I had gotten rid of you!"

I stood up, removing feathers from my chest.

"Nope!" it said, too happily. "By popular demand, I have returned! Apparently, the readers love me."

It sneezed.

I groaned.

"Alrighty. And where, might I ask, is the pizza?"

"Er…" it said. "SO THEN, what have you been up to?"

"Where. Is. The. Pizza?" I demanded. It was clear that it was avoiding the question.

"Ah…I lost him."

"You lost him?"

"I lost him." The chicken gulped.

"Ah. Okay!" I said, undoubtedly in a much happier manner than the chicken had expected.

"You…you're happier than I expected," it said, hesitantly.

"Good riddance!" I said. I started to walk.

"Then…okay!" it said, and followed me.

I was in Lumbridge at the time, so it was probably a good idea to leave before the 'n00bs' could assault me again.

I ran in the rough direction of Draynor; there, I would be safe. One doesn't see many n00bs in Draynor. The chicken followed me, much faster than I had previously believed poultry could travel without the use of modern devices.

However, when I arrived at the HAM dungeon, I was distracted by a memory; I remembered what the (non-evil) Bob had said -- Ah, you should see the HAM dungeon.

So, of course I had to investigate. I meandered over to the trapdoor in the diagonal building, and pried the lock open with a hairpin that was inexplicably in my inventory.

As soon as the door was open, a blast of sound filled my ears and caused me to stagger backwards.

"And…you're going down there?" inquired the chicken, rather dubiously.

"You betcha," I said. My curiosity had gotten the better of me.

I clamped my hands over my ears and attempted to climb down into the dungeon. However, climbing ladders while not having use of one's hands is not generally a good idea, so instead of descending gracefully like I had intended to do, I was affected by gravity in a rather severe manner. After lying there for a moment nursing my newly established bruises, I removed myself from the ground on which I had been drawn towards by some of the more regrettable forces of nature. I dusted myself off; I seemed to be more than slightly covered in dirt.

At this point in time, the chicken landed on top of me.

"OOG!" I informed both the chicken and the ground which I was swiftly headed towards. I landed on the before mentioned hard flat dirty thing with a thud.

"Thanks," I notified the chicken as I stood up and brushed myself off for the third time in the chapter.

"Not a problem," the chicken responded, clearly not catching the sarcasm inherent in my previous phrase.

I walked hesitantly in the direction of the main HAM room. The noise had, fortunately, stopped for now; now, it was too quiet. A lone voice suddenly filled the air.

"Wrong, wrong!" it shouted. I peeked through the door to see Johannus Ulbrecht standing on the podium waving a stick around. "Do it again, but this time, ON TUNE!" There was a collective groan from the orderly crowd of HAM members standing before him.

"ALSO," he bellowed, "It would be a very good idea to follow the tempo of the music!"

"What," I demanded, "are you doing?" I strode into the room with an utterly baffled look on my face. Johannus Ulbrecht looked up.

"Why, isn't it obvious?" he asked, in a rather loud voice, "This is the HAM choir, where we sing praises to Saradomin!"

"Are you sure you want to be praising Saradomin at this point in time?" I asked in a rather skeptical manner. I was promptly ignored.

"Would you care to join us in our hymns of exaltation?"

I didn't particularly care for the feeling of having my eardrums scraped with a sharpened Spork, so I opened my mouth to refuse. However, before I got around to it, I heard a voice from the back of the room.

"No, she can't join your choir. She's mine." From the shadows behind the podium on which the energetic conductor was standing, a figure appeared. It had fangs. And a meat tenderiser. Oh boy.

It emerged from the darkness. Drat. I'd had no wish to encounter Saradomin again, but that did seem to be what had happened. He advanced towards me, a menacing grin on his face. I drew my sword and stumbled backwards.

"Lord Saradomin!" shouted Johannus Ulbrecht. "What…what an honour it is to have you visiting our humble dungeon!" He threw himself on Saradomin, who promptly fell over.

"Blasted mortals!" he exclaimed, shoving off his all-too-enthusiastic follower.

Suddenly, randomly, and simultaneously, all of the HAM members started singing. I clamped my hands over my ears; they were all singing different songs.

Of course, I had forgotten that I was holding my sword, so I nearly beheaded myself.

"Aie!" I said, putting pressure on my newly acquired self-inflicted injury.

Saradomin righted himself and continued to advance towards me. Alas; the 'music', if that's what you'd call it, seemed to have no effect on him.

I stumbled backwards, still holding my wound. "Stand back!" I shouted, waving my now-bloody sword wildly.

"It's been far too long since I've tasted the flavour of human flesh…" As if on cue, blood began to drip from Saradomin's newfound fangs.

I readied myself for a battle that I would undoubtedly lose; people don't often fight gods and win. 'Saradomin, Level ∞' appeared on my screen as I moved my mouse over him.

Level ∞? Infinity?

One thought ran through my mind as the rather vicious god advanced; I'm doomed.

But suddenly, a blast of fire filled the room.

"Hm," I pondered, as the flames licked my ankles, "This would be an opportune moment to run."

So, I did. Like the coward that I am, I departed in an unusually rapid manner. Bravery is for idiots, those who enjoy dying, and for those possessing a combination of the latter two traits. I'll take being a coward any day, thank-you very much.

So, I ran. I ran all the way to Draynor and beyond. Indeed, I made it to Rimmington before I stopped running, and even then only because I had run out of energy. I sighed and walked, as I had in the past, to the dwelling of Hetty. Perhaps she had acquired more knowledge of the situation? It was worth a try; said circumstances were becoming more than slightly dire.

However, when I got there, she was nowhere to be found. "Drat, she must be out," I muttered to myself. I turned around to leave, but as I put my foot down, a shriek took place in the rough direction of the before-mentioned extremity.

I bent down to examine the source.

"Hetty! When did you become so small?" I inquired, because, sure enough, a very tiny witch had taken residence within inches of my foot.

"I seem to have shrunk," she informed me.

"I can tell," I replied. "In direct violation of the first law of thermodynamics, too; how'd you pull that off?"

"Does magic ever obey the first law of thermodynamics?" she asked. "Anyways, I have some information on what's next. I imagine that's what you came here for?"

I nodded and picked her up. Leaning over like I'd been doing wasn't good for my back.

"You need to go to Camelot."

"Why?" I asked. I couldn't imagine that Arthur Inc. was any saner than the rest of Runescape.

"Because," she said, "they haven't been affected by the spell."

This came as a bit of a surprise to me.

"And why not?" I inquired, surprised.

"Because they have a stable identity outside of the game, and the stone of their castle helped protect them from the effects of the spell."

"Ah," I said, comprehending. "And…you think this will turn out better than consulting the King Black Dragon?"

"King Black Dragon? Eh?" she asked, sounding thoroughly mystified. "What was wrong with that?" She obviously hadn't been paying attention to my adventures. I opened my mouth to inform her as to just how successful that particular endeavour had been.

"We-" I started, but she cut me off.

"Anywho, time's a-wasting! Put me down now and be off, I have work to do."

At that point in time, she vanished utterly, and a puff of smoke filled my nostrils. I sighed.

"Hello," I said in a thoroughly unenthusiastic manner. "You're back."

"That I am!" the chicken said happily. "And you owe me a debt of gratitude for saving you from that lunatic."

"THANK YOU," I groaned, annoyed. The chicken sneezed.

I grabbed my invisible and very empty inventory bag as I readopted my cowardly nature and ran outside; Hetty's astonishingly wooden house was being enveloped in flames.

I heard malicious purring behind me.

"Well, well. We meet again," said an all-too-familiar feline voice.

"boB!" I cried, rummaging through my aforementioned invisible inventory sack for a suitably dangerous-looking weapon. "What business do you have with me?"

"Why, isn't it obvious?" he asked, a smirk revealing itself on his whiskery face. "I'm the antagonist of the story; I've dropped by to complicate matters beyond where they are."

"It is my full intention to eviscerate you by the end of this story," I said, growling. I dismissed my quest for a weapon as futile and stood up.

'Eviscerate me? My, my; that's not very nice of you." boB hissed.

"Be gone, fiend of Lumbridge!" I shouted, waving my arms wildly for lack of a weapon.

"Adieu," he said, turning away from me. "Have fun getting to Camelot."

He vanished in a burst of flame instigated by the nameless chicken.

"Congratulations," the chicken declared, attempting to wipe its schorched beak with its wing. "You just wasted over half a page without anything of importance actually happening."

"Ar, shut up." I walked north, in the rough direction of Taverly, through which I intended to aim for Camelot. Alas, just as the evil boB had predicted, it was not so easy…

When I reached the gate, I was unable to open it, due to a sign plastered onto it with a very sticky and very effective mixture of duct tape and superglue.

"WARNING! KEEP OUT! QUARANTINE! NO ENTRY PERMITTED" it read, in letters that were bright red and bold. Beneath the letters, there was a skull and crossbones. I sighed.

"All right, find another way!" I announced, pointing the way with my nonexistent weapon. I really needed to get to the bank.

The problem was, I didn't really have a clue where I was pointing. I walked aimlessly in a circle, trailing my foot on the ground so I could uproot the grass and cause what appeared to be a miniature crop circle to confuse future players of the great Game.

"What are you doing?" the chicken demanded. I told it.

"Don't worry, I'm confused too," it reassured me in an utterly non-reassuring manner.

I stopped walking and stood there for a moment.

"To the bank!" My energy was fully charged now, so I took off at a run in the approximate direction of Falador.

When I arrived at the bank, I spoke to the banker.

Alas! He didn't hear a word I said.

"Must…serve…my master," he said.

"Er, what?" I inquired, waving my hand in front of his face. "BANK."
"Must…serve…my master," he repeated, staring off into the distance.

I breathed a sigh of frustration and walked over to another banker.

"Must…serve…my master," said the other, in the exact same tone of voice.

I groaned. boB had clearly gotten to them, too. Now I was rendered unable to teleport to Camelot. I cursed my luck.

I left Falador, going to the south. If I wasn't going to get to Camelot in a normal way, I was going to make it there in an -abnormal- way. And I had a plan.

"Where are you going?" the chicken asked apprehensively. It clearly saw that I was plotting something, and was nervous. After all, my last plots had turned out so well.

"You'll see," I declared, breaking into a run as I reached the familiar docks of Port Sarim.

"My dear sir," I said to a monk of Entrana, a rather evil grin creeping across my face. "Would you care to take me to your island?"

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Worry not! The next chapter will be up in a short time; I'm just trying to iron out some details. I have some very good ideas, and I'm eager to write them out.

Also, my beloved readers, I appear to have become rather broke. If anyone would be willing to donate some gold to their favourite authouress, they would be much loved. D

Or else.