Quest 08: Mark of Zemouregal
Chapter 1 - Everlasting Fire
Because of Jahaan's betrayal of Zamorak during their heist of the Stone of Jas, Zemouregal takes the matter of revenge into his own hands. When Jahaan looks to get even, he enlists the help of his Mahjarrat allies to take the fight to Zemouregal…
Jahaan trudged for a while before he reached civilisation again. He wasn't sure he wanted to risk Ardougne, not just because of what happened last time, but a few Zamorakian Mahjarrat had their strongholds nearby, and considering his role in the heist, he figured he wasn't the most popular man alive right now. He also had to avoid the Legends' Guild because, well, reasons. So, accepting that the people he'd probably pissed off the least were the Guthixians, Jahaan made for Seers' Village, deciding to stay there for the foreseeable future. Acquiring some papyrus and a quill pen, the first thing Jahaan did after placing his order at the town's largest tavern was to write to Ozan, telling him in brief the events that had unfolded, and asked if he was near enough to Seers' Village to stop by for the tale in full, along with a hearty meal. Once Postie Pete came around the next morning, Jahaan made polite conversation with the decapitated skull pulling along a parcel sack on wheels. Postie Pete had seen and done it all, and if you could catch him for long enough, he was a delight to chat to.
However, he never explained the story behind just how he became Gielinor's resident postman with nothing more than a skull and cart to his name. But hey, he got the job done. In fact, the very next morning Jahaan received a reply from Ozan, saying he was just leaving Catherby and would stop by in a few days on his way to the Fremennik Province.
During the days in between, Jahaan bumbled about the town, looking in all the quaint little shops and taking a somewhat tourist-y trip up to Camelot Castle, feeling rather embarrassed with himself after gleefully grinning like an idiot when he saw Sir Bedivere walking across the courtyard.
When Ozan arrived, Jahaan regailed him with tales of the heist of the Stone of Jas, enrapturing him and the entirety of the local tavern at the same time. Taking a leaf out of Ozan's book, he used his storytelling ability to keep their plates and cups full to the brim for days on end.
He didn't notice the one man in the back, listening on with concerned surprise, before making a subtle exit.
The next day, he was still so overjoyed with retelling his story to the new patrons, and even the old ones who came back to hear wild stories of Mahjarrat and Zamorakian fortresses, that he didn't even notice the headlines in the Seers Weekly publication that talked of an assassination in Falador park, details to come after the investigation is completed, with no suspects at present.
No, Jahaan was quite enjoying his time in Seers' Village with his best friend at his side.
But all good things…
Jahaan had slept soundly in that rather comfy bed every night he'd been there. This night, however, he was oddly awoken by a weird sensation - that of moisture around his hand. Groggily, he opened his eyes, ready to figure out how his beer had gotten onto the pillow.
Staring back at him were eyes, bloodshot and lifeless, inside a head with skin as white as the sheets had once been. The face was old and shrivelled, wrinkled before all the life had been sucked from it. Jahaan shot upwards, scrambling backwards until his hand landed upon something solid, yet squishy. Warm, yet deathly cold.
Lit up by the pale light of the moon, his eyes landed upon them.
Two decapitated heads.
He recognised them both, despite the warped contortions death had brought to their features. He wished he didn't recognise them, but oh gods he did…
Sir Tiffy Cashien and Thaerisk Cephire.
Panting heavily, desperately fighting back the urge to vomit, Jahaan's shaky hand made for the dagger that was usually on his bedside table, but it was gone.
"Looking for this?" a voice rose from the shadows, full of teeth and menace, holding a runite dagger. Jahaan was too terrified to move, completely frozen in place between the severed skulls around him.
The figure moved into the light from the moon, an incredibly tall and bulky figure with ashen skin, covered in a combination of armour and robes.
"Zemouregal," Jahaan had wanted to sound a lot more fearsome than he did, but it came out more like a stutter.
"In person," he snarled, twirling the small blade around his fingers.
Jahaan's eyes darted to where his armour and swords were piled up in the corner, closer to him than Zemouregal was, but that little look betrayed him, and when he went to move, he found himself ensnared in pulsing black and purple binds. Hissing in the pain they inflicted, tightening his arms to his sides, Jahaan was rendered immobile by the simple spell.
"Do you like the gifts I brought you?" Zemouregal sauntered closer to the edge of the bed, malice layered inside his smugness. "I put a lot of thought into them."
Jahaan's eyes burned through Zemouregal like fire.
Fire, like…
What a second, what's that smell?
Jahaan's nose started to twinge at the foreign, invading odour seeping into the room, pungent and clogging. Once it finally reached his throat, it scraped downwards, drying his throat out instantly.
Panicked eyes darted back at Zemouregal; he struggled in his binds.
Laughing maliciously, Zemouregal snapped Jahaan back to unwavering attention by throwing the knife into the headboard beside him, splitting the wood on impact, only an inch from his ear.
"I'd say it's not worth fighting, but by all means, continue. It's fun to watch you squirm," Zemouregal's dry lips cracked into a sneer. "After all, I won't get to enjoy your suffering for that much longer. It'll be sweet while it lasts."
"What the fuck is your trauma?!" Jahaan bellowed, sweating already from the intense heat. To himself, he racked his brain, wondering, How the hell had this not woken me up before?
"You really have to ask?" Zemouregal spat in return. "Did you really think betraying Zamorak would go unpunished?"
"Please, if this was Zamorak's doing, he'd want to kill me himself! This is all YOU, isn't it?"
His grin widening, Zemouregal replied, "You're a sharp one. Your insolence has rather started to grate on me. I'll be doing Zamorak a favour by ridding the world of you."
Struggling once more, Jahaan knew there was no escaping this hold, not while Zemouregal was in the vicinity. Desperate, Jahaan tried a new approach. "So what, you're not even going to finish me yourself? Too scared I'll beat you - again?"
From the flash in Zemouregal's eyes, it looked as if Jahaan had succeeded in striking a nerve. If I just get him to release me, to fight me, I might stand a chance
However, once Zemouregal's malevolent smile returned, Jahaan knew his approach had failed. "Nice try, but a quick death just isn't as much fun. So as every fibre of your skin is being melted away, slowly and agonisingly, know this - this is of your own doing, World Guardian. The deaths of the knight and the druid are on you. The death of your close friend, the dark skinned one you entered with, is on you. He's still here, by the way. My spy managed to slip something even stronger onto his beverage, double the dose of yours. It would have knocked him out for the night, but he'll wake up once the flames reach him. Now you'll be able to hear his screams as he burns."
The crackling of the flames was now much louder, thumping in time to Jahaan's heartbeat. Hearing the impending inferno beating against the door, Zemouregal looked satisfied. "I guess this is goodbye, World Guardian."
With that, he was gone.
Jahaan assumed the restraints would vanish alongside Zemouregal, but their hold remained, cutting into his sweating flesh like wires. Writhing and twisting with all his strength, Jahaan tried to wriggle free, to break the binds, to escape… but it wasn't to be.
The heat was unbearable; the fire had yet to break through the door, though it was only a matter of time.
He had no runes to teleport out of the binds, and no weapon that would cut through them.
Jahaan didn't want to resign himself to the fact that this was going to be his end, that he was going to die screaming, helpless, and by Zemouregal's hand.
By Guthix, Tumeken, Saradomin, Zamorak, Seren, Zaros - SOMEONE help me! Jahaan internally pleaded, knowing that if any time was the right time to start praying, it was now. Then, like a lightning bolt, it struck him - prayers! Not in the conventional praying to a deity sense, but curses. Zarosian curses, to be specific. Jahaan's bedtime reading since the Mahjarrat Ritual had included Infernal language books, Senntisten history tomes, and texts about the Zarosian religion. The latter talked about curses, a Zarosian practice that were a hybrid of conventional spells and combative prayers, things that warpriests were mainly skilled in. They didn't require runes, and they could be performed by anyone against an enemy of Zaros.
Considering Zemouregal was Zamorakian, Jahaan figured he stood a chance.
Trying to reduce his panicking, Jahaan worked to calm his breathing and clear his mind, focusing on remembering how to chant went.
"A gentes cervarum's non habere, Zaros liberabo te fidelis…" Jahaan mumbled to himself, growing in fervor as his urgency rose, "A gentes cervarum's non habere, Zaros liberabo te fidelis!"
Come on Zaros, I know I'm not a Zarosian but you fucking owe me one! He internally added, sweat dripping from his brow as he continued aloud, "A gentes cervarum's non habere, Zaros liberabo te fidelis! A gentes cervarum's non habere, Zaros liberabo te fidelis! A GENTES CERVARUM'S NON HABERE, ZAROS LIBERABO TE FIDELIS!"
Suddenly, miraculously, the binds shattered. Panting in unbelievably relief, Jahaan wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes, shaking violently. Gasping in a lungful of thick, smoky air, he scrambled to his feet, unfortunately unable to forget that he was covered in the blood of his friends. Desperately, he tried to fight past it, snatching the dagger out of the headboard and scooping up his bag on the way to the door. The handle, conductive to heat, was beyond scalding to the touch. Fortunately, the door was weak from the battering of flames, and Jahaan broke through by throwing his shoulder against the less-than-sturdy oak. Pulling his shirt over his nose and mouth, Jahaan managed to at least somewhat protect himself from the escaping cloud.
Once he opened his eyes and tried to readjust to the imparied vision, he saw the extent of Zemouregal's damage.
It looked as if the world was on fire.
Jahaan watched the deep flames of the enraged inferno through blurry eyes.
What of the other residents? he allowed himself a fleeting thought, one that sunk his soul. He hoped - no, prayed - that they had all escaped. Perhaps they had gotten more of a warning? Perhaps they could escape through their windows?
Shaking his head clear, Jahaan tried to focus, not wanting to dwell on the horror for too long as he made his way to Ozan's room at the end of the hall. Jahaan tried to call out his name, but the ensuing inhalation of smoke caused him to collapse to his knees, a coughing and spluttering mess.
Like his own door, this one was weak too, and he managed to kick his way through.
Inside, every wall was crawling with a furious red heat, scalding with flames. Thick smoke engulfed every ounce of sweet air and replaced it with a heavy, suffocating blanket of pungent smog.
And in the centre of it all, Ozan.
He looked so helpless, laid out on the bed. So peaceful, the only still thing inside this inferno.
Deathly still, Jahaan's mind stabbed at him, Why hasn't he woken up? Has the smoke...
He refused to let the thought overcome him, refused to let it be true. Stepping over the smouldering remains of the bookcase, Jahaan tried to fight past the violent heat and towards his friend. He could barely see anything past the flickers of orange among a sea of grey and black, but once he'd set his eyes on the murky outline of Ozan, he refused to let them waver.
Tingling heat pricked at his bare skin like daggers, relentlessly. The temperature was unbearable, but he pushed forward, driven by adrenaline alone, careful to keep to the centre of the floor and away from the scorching orange embers on the walls.
The bed was quickly growing in flames, and they'd started crawling across Ozan's clothes, charring the skin underneath.
A loud crash came from behind them; darting around, Jahaan looked on in horror as the southern wall - where the door was - had started to cave in, and the floor was looking like it was the next in line to go.
That only left the window, but it was a straight drop down three stories onto concrete pavement. While Jahaan might, MIGHT survive the fall, in his condition, Ozan would not.
Seeds of helplessness started to sow themselves, nurtured by desperation.
Why don't I carry runes? Jahaan internally whimpered, regretting his near-hatred of magic for all these years. If I could just teleport out, I could-
Suddenly, it hit him. Quickly, he removed his backpack and scrambled through it until he pulled out the tiny invitation box he'd acquired all that time ago. Not wasting another second, Jahaan firmly grabbed onto Ozan's arm and, with his free hand, pried open the lid of the box, feeling them both get whisked away...
Jahaan and Ozan collapsed onto the relievingly cold marble of the Empyrean Citadel chamber, the former coughing up a lung in the process. Wiping the soot from around his eyes, he hurried to toss his backpack aside and check on Ozan, who still hadn't regained consciousness.
Putting his ear close to his mouth, he tried to listen for any signs of life, but there weren't any. Shaking him didn't help, nor did shouting his name. Luckily, Jahaan remembered the resuscitation training he'd received in the Imperial Guard, and set to work on chest compressions, counting back from thirty. This was followed swiftly by rescue breaths, two short and sharp exhalations into Ozan's mouth. He repeated this process a handful more times until finally, mercifully, Ozan spluttered to life with a series of coughs.
Letting out the most tensed, shakiest breath he'd ever held, Jahaan felt tears of relief trickle down his face.
Thanks for letting him stay, Icthlarin, Jahaan whispered internally to himself, getting out his waterskin and knife from his backpack. Gently, he helped Ozan take small sips to clear the dust from his throat. The man tried to speak, but it only resulted in a dozen more coughs.
"Take this and don't talk," Jahaan instructed. Ozan was in no position to argue.
While Ozan dozily held onto the waterskin, Jahaan carefully cut the burned and charred clothing from around Ozan's more severe burns, seeing as most of it had already fused to the skin and couldn't be treated just yet. When he heard the waterskin drop, Jahaan saw that Ozan was shaking, severely. Fighting back the poisonous worry, he helped lay Ozan down flat on the cool citadel floor, using his backpack to try and elevate his feet somewhat. With the discarded, yet still almost full waterskin, Jahaan tried to rinse clean some of Ozan's burns, causing the man to jolt and shudder with the contact. Wincing through it, Jahaan continued until the waterskin was nearly empty, saving just enough in case Ozan needed a drink later. Feeling the aching dryness in the back of his throat, Jahaan fought the urge to take a gulp for himself. Ozan needed it more.
Jahaan didn't notice the sun start to rise, but being so high up in the clouds, once he clocked onto it, he could get a magnificent view. Ozan was sleeping now, uncomfortable and charred and ragged on the citadel floor, but sleep was the only cure for his injuries right now. Jahaan couldn't leave him up here without treatment for long, but he couldn't bring him back down to Gielinor's surface. For all he was aware, Zemouregal assumed them both dead, and as long as the wicked Mahjarrat kept thinking that way, they were safe from him trying to finish the job.
No, until Ozan was able to stand - gods know how long that would take - they would remain in the safety of the skies. The invitation box would plant them right in the centre of the clearing north of Ardougne, a town with guilds and medical supplies that could potentially aid them.
It was also the closest town to Hazeel's hideout and Khazard's territory, making the large city home to who-knows how many spies and soldiers loyal to the Zamorakian Mahjarrat.
What if they had sent word out about me? What if the word got back to Zemouregal?
It was these thoughts that helped focus part of his mind on something other than his wounded, half-dying best friend lying beside him. These worries kept him sane, and they kept the anger bubbling up. Jahaan did not resent this - subconsciously, he welcomed it. That hate he'd felt for Lucien for so long, the longing to slit his throat and watch the blood drain from his eyes, to see him torn apart by a pack of hungry hellhounds, to see his head caved in by a crude hammer...
...now all that was redirecting itself at Zemouregal, and it made him feel alive. The skin on his arms and hands fizzed with nervous energy, and his breathing was ragged and out of sync. It was exactly how he felt before he cut down that knight outside of Al Kharid, where everything inside of him coiled up and spat out this violence, this hatred, this blind and murderous rage.
He'd felt like this many times before, and Ozan was one of the few that could help him control it. After the murder of Guthix, Jahaan knew that his wires were frayed, and when he finally snapped, Ozan was the only one that could calm him down, that could bring him back to earth.
He needed to get to Zemouregal before the element of surprise was over, before the Mahjarrat realised the two of them escaped alive, albeit barely. He'd find him, and however he damn well could, whether it was by a sword, axe, arrow or his bare hands, he'd kill him.
"I'll fucking kill him," Jahaan muttered under his breath, repeatedly, his teeth chattering as his pulse started to race.
Due to his frayed nerves, teetering his sanity on a knife's edge, as soon as Jahaan heard the whisper of a teleport spell enter the citadel, he slashed his dagger from his belt and shot up from Ozan's side, ready for war.
However, when it was Sliske who walked into the chamber, he managed to relax his stance, though only slightly.
"What are you doing here?" he snapped.
"I could ask you the same question now, couldn't I?" Sliske returned, sauntering closer. His eyes conveyed something unfamiliar to Jahaan. Something that combined curiosity with apprehension. Something almost akin to worry. "I told you, I like to come here to watch the sunrise. But what are you doing here? What happened to you, and-" his eyes fell to Ozan, and his tone was a lot more stern when he demanded, "What happened, World Guardian?"
Sheathing his dagger, Jahaan replied through gritted teeth. "Your Mahjarrat friend, Zemouragal, happened. Apparently he didn't take too kindly to me siding with you over Zamorak."
Sliske let out a tight exhale, muttering something in a harsh vocabulary that hurt Jahaan's ears. Turning back to Jahaan, he asked again, slowly, "What happened, World Guardian? Tell me everything."
That was all Jahaan needed to unleash everything that had transpired in the short evening that felt like a lifetime. How he woke up next to the severed heads of Sir Tiffy and Thaerisk, with Zemouregal looming over the edge of his bed; how the Mahjarrat had set fire to the inn, causing the flames to engulf the building at an unprecedented rate; how he and Ozan barely escaped with their lives thanks to the invitation box Jahaan had held onto and, finally, how Zemouregal was going to pay.
Once he'd finished his heated rant, through which Sliske had listened patiently, not reacting much at all, Jahaan felt breathless. Panting, he didn't even notice just how red in the face he'd gotten, or how the vein in his forehead had started to bulge. After a few short breaths, Jahaan looked straight into Sliske's yellow irises and demanded, "I need you to teleport me to Zemouregal's fortress."
Sliske blinked. "Come again?"
"Teleport me to the fortress, NOW," Jahaan barked, his teeth chattering again.
"Yes… no I'm not doing that."
"I'm going to kill him, Sliske, and all I need is a teleport," Jahaan felt sick with impatience, his nerve-endings alive with electricity.
Again, Sliske refused. "A teleport to your demise? I don't think so."
Throwing his backpack over his shoulder, Jahaan declared, "Fine. I'LL FUCKING WALK."
Blocking Jahaan's path to the scattered invitation box, Sliske said, "Hey now, you only best Zemmy once and, if you're being honest with yourself, that was a fluke. If you give him home turf, well... if the cold and the bandits don't kill you, his undead army will finish you off before you even reach him. And besides, you've lost your armour and your weaponry - are you really going to try and murder a Mahjarrat with that little butterknife? Think this through."
Admittedly, Jahaan began to hesitate, gravity slowly clawing him back down to the ground.
It was only when Sliske added, "And besides, what of Ozan? You really expect me to babysit him while you get yourself killed?" that Jahaan finally tossed his bag back down to the floor and dropped to his knees.
Gravity had brought him down, and now it was suffocating him. Gazing over at Ozan's near-lifeless body, the nausea churning in the pit of Jahaan's stomach caused him to wretch, but he swallowed it down. His head was spinning at a rate of knots, the lump in his throat choking him. One by one, tears started streaming down his cheeks, but he didn't even bother to wipe them away. The salt stung, but he held his eyes on Ozan.
His disjointed, weighted thoughts were interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, Sliske had those very same eyes again, ones of sympathy - a state of mind that Jahaan didn't know Mahjarrat were even capable of, least of all Sliske.
"Come with me," he said, quietly, offering Jahaan a hand to help him up.
Taking it, Jahaan dazedly began, "B-But what about…"
"In his condition, Ozan will sleep for hours. I'll hide him in the Shadow Realm," Sliske assured, "Zemouregal won't be able to find him. Don't worry."
Sliske knelt down beside Ozan and placed a hand on his chest. Then, with a wave of his other hand, Ozan was wrapped in shadows and mist, and when it cleared, he was gone.
Holding out his hand again, Sliske repeated, "Come with me."
"Where are we going?" Jahaan managed to ask, hesitantly holding out his arm.
A small smile crept into the corners of Sliske's lips, but for once, it bore no malice. "I don't get to say this and mean it often, but trust me, Jahaan."
And you know what? Jahaan did.
He took Sliske's hand, and they were whisked away.
DISCLAIMER:
As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.