Quest 08: Mark of Zemouregal

Chapter 2 - Eye for an Eye

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…

Ahh, Prifddinas. The greatest city of the elves. Nay, the greatest settlement in all of Gielinor! Since hearing the tales of a crystal empire as a child, Jahaan had always wanted to visit. However, they didn't let just anyone in, and their seclusion was part of why they'd survived since the First Age without external conflict. Throughout the God Wars the elves protected themselves by erecting massive granite walls across their eastern border, refusing to involve themselves in the conflicts of the other gods, as was their goddess' intention. The aforementioned goddess? Seren, a name spoken in curiosity among the other races of Gielinor. Nobody really knew too much about the origins of the crystalline goddess, only that she brought the elves from their homeworld of Tarddiad. The legend goes that Seren became mesmerised by the elves and their way of living, and upon seeing one of them die of age, was overcome with such great sorrow that she tried to use her godly powers to extend their lifespan. However, in doing so, she accidentally tied them to her, causing them to grow ill and perish when out of her presence for too long. Thus, when Guthix's Edicts required Seren to depart, she shattered herself into a million crystal fragments so that a part of her would always be with her elves. At some point towards the end of the Fifth Age, Seren had been reformed, and lived among her elves once more. At some point during its history, tales claim that Prifddinas had somehow, miraculously, reverted to the size of a single crystal seed. Yes, the largest settlement in all of Gielinor had shrunk to the size of an acorn, with the residents inside frozen in time. To top it all off, the legend claims that the elders of Prifddinas sung the city back to life.

Whether that was true or not, Jahaan was very skeptical. The saying goes that stranger things have happened, but, really, have they?

But when Jahaan emerged on a tall hilltop, surrounded by luscious forests and looking down over the crystal walls of the city, elven history was the furthest thing from his mind.

He'd never seen such shades of green before. Not murky likes the swamps of Morytania, not artificial like how greenery in Falador felt, not tainted like the plant life in Canifis and Draynor. Even the gnomes couldn't lay claim to such a brilliant shade of nature's favourite colour; this was what the elder gods had intended when they wove forests out of the anima. But the only thing more brilliant than the shades of nature were the crystals, shining like diamonds in the glow of the morning sun.

The entire city was constructed from these crystals, a substitute from the bulky wood and crude stone seen across most of Gielinor. The craftsmanship, the way the crystal bends to the will of the architect… Jahaan didn't know enough about Prifddinas to know how the city was built from these crystals, or where they came from, and one day he hoped to find out, just as he hoped to walk through the city gates and up to the Tower of Voices, rumoured to be one of the tallest structures in all of Gielinor. Considering how it reached up into the heavens even from this distance, Jahaan could clearly see the rumours had some merit.

It was rare to see elves outside of Prifddinas. After all, why would they ever need to leave? Everything one could ever need was inside those crystal walls, from banks to bars, sawmills to staff shops, altars to anvils. It was a compact Gielinor. There were elves roaming the territory just outside of their walls; there had been a civil war among them not too long before Prifddinas' supposed 'restoration' and smaller factions were still camped out south of the border. Alongside this, their were whisperings about elves in West Ardougne, and they were grave tales indeed. Talks of death guards, a fake plague, regicide and the intended mass killing of all of West Ardougne's residents in order to summon a 'dark lord'.

The thought of it made Jahaan's head spin and his stomach churn.

So little is known about the elves, it's hard to know what to believe. That's why Jahaan wanted to go to Prifddinas, to search for information that his people in the Khandarin Desert had never concerned themselves with, being at opposite ends of the world and all.

This is the closest he'd ever come to the elven city, and after taking just a brief view from the hilltop, he never wanted to leave.

"Whoa…" was all he said, exhaling a shaky breath.

"Do you like it?" Sliske asked, but he knew it was a rhetorical question. Shifting his robe out of the way, he took a seat on the thick grass below. "This is about as close as, ah, someone like me can get without entering into the Shadow Realm, but it's still quite a view."

"Yeah, I do like it," Jahaan's eyes were transfixed on the crystal city as he took a seat beside the Mahjarrat. There was a peace inside him he hadn't felt in hours, a respite from the anguish and worry. "I like it a lot."

The two stared at the horizon for what felt like an eon, enjoying the serenity of the sunrise as it crept over the crystals in the distance.

Finally, it was Sliske who broke their content silence. Smiling without humour, he quietly whispered, more to himself than to Jahaan, "It must be nice, knowing there will always be a world after this one."

"Huh?" Jahaan didn't quite hear that.

"I said, it must be nice, living in a place like that," he 'repeated', nodding his head towards Prifddinas with a wistful expression.

Jahaan didn't completely believe that's what he said, but he didn't press it further. There was a peacefulness between the two of them, and Jahaan didn't want to be the one to ruin it. Instead, he moved slightly closer to Sliske, and didn't shy away when the Mahjarrat wrapped a warm, protective arm around him, pulling him softly against his chest.

It was the first time he'd felt at peace for a long while.

The two of them remained in quiet contemplation after that. Jahaan spent too much of it wondering what was going through the Mahjarrat's mind. Sliske was an enigma, a puzzle to him, the quiet and the storm, but moreover, he was one thing Jahaan was becoming less and less reluctant to admit…

He's not as bad as he seemed.

Jahaan began to struggle to remember why he hated the Mahjarrat in the first place. He didn't particularly want to remember. He had enough enemies, enough Mahjarrat enemies at that, to actively want another one.

Suddenly, his throat began to sour and the calmness inside his mind began to cloud.

Zemouregal.

The storm in his head was brewing once more, manifesting as a knot in his stomach and a lump in his throat.

"I want him dead, Sliske," Jahaan's voice was grave; he didn't need to say who he meant. "I want him dead, and I won't wait five hundred years for it to happen."

The Mahjarrat kept looking towards Prifddinas as he said, "You're not the only one that wants him gone, you know. I can help you... but at a cost."

Jahaan didn't blink. "Name your price."

"I want your soul."

Now Jahaan blinked. "E-Excuse me?"

"I want your soul," Sliske repeated, returning his gaze to Jahaan.

"Why? Do you want to… to make me a wight?" Jahaan shook his head in unnerved disbelief.

Quickly, Sliske replied, "Asking questions isn't part of the deal. You accept unconditionally, or you don't accept my help at all."

Jahaan thought for a long, hard moment, challenging Sliske's satisfied expression. Finally, he declared, "If you help me kill him, you can have whatever the hell you want."

And so it was settled. They were going to kill Zemouregal. Not just the two of them, mind - Sliske stated that it wouldn't be too hard to persuade Azzanadra and Wahisietel to eliminate the threat he poses once and for all. Just by being a Zamorakian, Azzanadra already had skin in the game. Wahisietel might take a little bit more convincing, and Jahaan offered to talk to him while Sliske went to Azzanadra. Knowing the strained relationship between the two brothers, Jahaan knew he stood a better chance than Sliske did at enlisting Wahisietel to their cause.

Firstly, however, Jahaan had to get Ozan somewhere more permanent to recuperate. The poor man was still sound asleep, comatose, but at least he was alive.

"Do you have anyone you trust he can stay with? Anyone that can protect him?" Sliske inquired.

"You mean, do I know anyone capable of fending of a Mahjarrat?" Jahaan shook his head. "No."

"They shouldn't have to fight off Zemmy," Sliske assured. "He thinks you're dead, remember? And one of the upsides of being dead is that no-one comes looking for you. So as long as you don't parade him in Varrock Square, he should be safe."

Considering this, Jahaan replied, "In that case, I know where he can go."

Jahaan emerged just in front of the bridge connecting Draynor to the Wizards' Tower, dropping to his knees and sending Ozan tumbling to the ground upon landing. Sliske hadn't stuck around long enough to ensure a smooth landing, it seemed. Groaning in pain, Jahaan quickly realised that once the adrenaline had worn off, he was in no fit shape. Wincing with a silent apology to Ozan, he tested out his legs again before picking up his friend and carrying him over the bridge.

It didn't take long for the Wizards' to allow Jahaan inside, seeing the state of the poor man he was holding. The wizards were well acquainted with Ozan by this point, and Jahaan had met a fair few of them on his travels too.

Ushered into the medical bay, Ozan was set down on one of the cots as someone went to find Ariane. It didn't take long for her to make it down, rushing to Ozan's side with her heart in her throat. "What happened to him?"

Gulping, Jahaan stammered as he explained, "T-There was a fire… I w-was attacked, and he was d-drugged, and…"

Trailing off, Jahaan's head was so foggy he honestly had no idea where to begin; he felt like he was trapped inside an awful dream, the edges of the world blurry and faded. Reality was far too much to handle.

"You were attacked? So it was arson..." when Ariane turned to Jahaan, the man noted her eyes were much more accusational than concerned, and he was taken aback, especially as she was quick to demand, "What have you got him mixed up in this time?"

Mouth hung agape, Jahaan took a few paces back, his wide eyes held captive by her glare. "W-What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Jahaan," Ariane snapped, the soothing hand she wrapped inside Ozan's lifeless ones juxtaposed harshly with her seething tone, though she tried to keep her voice down to a quiet hiss. "You're a picture of guilt. Let me guess, you ticked off the wrong people and they came back for revenge. Only this time, Ozan was collateral damage. Ozan told me about the company you've been keeping; was it the same Mahjarrat who killed Guthix that did this to him?"

"N-No… I mean, yes it was a Mahjarrat, but not the same one," Jahaan stated, nervously rubbing the back of his head, injured from each of Ariane's cutting words that felt as if they were closing in around his throat. "Yes, this is all my fault. But I'm going to make it right."

"Make it right?" Ariane replied with incredulation. "You're only liable to make things worse! Why Guthix ever chose you as-"

She cut herself off there, taking a long breath to calm herself. Even Ariane looked slightly regretful at where her words were leading her.

The sentiment, however, had already stung, and Jahaan had no words to say.

Despite mutually knowing each other for years through Ozan, Jahaan had always gotten the impression that Ariane had never taken to him. Occasionally he'd ask Ozan if this were the case, and he'd laugh and deny it, saying it was all in Jahaan's head. But deep down, he always knew, and now he had confirmation.

Sighing heavily, Ariane continued, in a much lower and measured voice this time, "We'll heal him as much as we can and keep him safe. When he's awake, you can come and visit him. After that, I don't want you seeing Ozan ever again."

Jahaan used the invitation box to make his way back to the Empyrean Citadel. He needed time to deliberate his encounter with Ariane, but now wasn't the moment. Work had to be done, and the more time he wasted, the more likely Zemouregal would find out he was alive, and thus the element of surprise would be lost.

Sliske had offered to teleport Jahaan to Nardah in order to avoid the magic carpet debacle again, something for which Jahaan was incredibly grateful. He didn't think his head could take another round of motion sickness.

The dust settled, and Jahaan was back in Nardah. Well, about half a mile outside Nardah; Sliske didn't think a Mahjarrat springing into their town centre would go down well for anyone, except for the pitchfork selling business.

Trudging through the sand, Jahaan was almost thankful his armour had been destroyed, but less thankful that he hadn't refilled his waterskin, making a mental note to do that when he got to the town's fountain.

When he reached Ali the Wise's house, he barely had to knock before the door was thrown open, stern and suspicious eyes darting past Jahaan and into the distance. "Come inside," he ushered, quickly, taking one last look behind him before he closed the door.

"What's the matter?" Jahaan inquired, puzzled.

"Sliske was nearby," Wahisietel stated. "I felt his presence. Thought you might be him at my door."

"I think he's got a few inches on me, can't see how you could mistake us," Jahaan chuckled.

Wahisietel furrowed his brow as Jahaan's relaxed demeanour. "Are you not concerned? It was you who came here to escape him not that long ago."

"Sliske brought me here," Jahaan explained, smiling at the reaction it brought to the disguised Mahjarrat's face. "Don't worry, I'll tell you everything. You might wanna sit down for this one…"

While Jahaan conversed with Wahisietel, Sliske went to go convince Azzanadra to join their plight. He slipped off his disguise as soon as he entered the Temple at what used to be Senntisten. Azzanadra, having sensed his arrival, was pensively waiting at the other end of the chamber, nearest the altar.

"Sliske," he gruffly greeted, folding his arms over his chest. "You have got quite the nerve to be showing your face around here after your excommunication."

"Ah yes, well," Sliske clapped his hands together. "I was hoping we might be able to sweep that one under the rug, for now at least. I have a proposition for you. One I think you'd rather enjoy..."

Wahisietel nearly spit the tea out from his mouth. "You're going to kill Zemouregal?!"

Hushing him, Jahaan hissed, "Why don't you shout a little louder, I don't think the barber in Falador heard you."

"My apologies, I just…" shaking his head, Wahisietel composed himself. "This is no small feat. Zemouregal is not to be brushed off lightly, as you know. While I do wish to see his head unattached from his shoulders, I-"

Looking down at Jahaan's expression, Wahisietel winced. "Apologies for my turn of phrase. Sir Tiffy Cashien was a noble knight, and Thaerisk Cemphier seemed like a good man, in the brief time I spent with them. I am truly sorry for your loss."

"Their loss has to be avenged," Jahaan resolved, gravely. "I know the risks, but I can't let them be murdered in vain. What would you do in my shoes?"

From the change of expression on his face, it appeared as if this was a turning point for Wahisietel. "It would be hypocritical of me to say I would act any differently. They may call me 'Ali the Wise' in these human lands, but I am still of the Mahjarrat. One thing that still sticks in my craw, though, is Sliske's involvement in it all. Why is he helping you?"

"He wants my soul," Jahaan replied as nonchalantly as possible, amused by the look of surprise that elicited from his Mahjarrat companion. "Obviously I'm not going to let that happen. Your brother is-"

"Half-brother."

"Your half-brother is… he's not as bad as you say he is, but even I have limits."

"I must ask, why do you defend him so?" Wahisietel inquired, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "He murdered Guthix in front of you, tricked you, betrayed you, lied to you, stalked you, and from what I've heard from Azzanadra, he's attacked you as well. I don't understand your loyalty. You know, you remind me of Azzanadra, but at least I can understand that one. Well, somewhat."

Crinkling his brow, Jahaan asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you see - and this stays strictly between us, you hear? - back in the Zarosian Empire, and even on Freneskae, Azzanadra and Sliske went through a period of being… close."

Jahaan blinked. "Close?"

"Close," Wahisietel reiterated, his hands conducting an invisible orchestra in front of him as his mind danced for the right words. "You humans might refer to it as a relationship."

Now it was Jahaan who nearly spit out his tea. "Sliske and Azzanadra were an item?!"

Jahaan didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and it seemed Wahisietel was struggling with the same dilemma as he replied, "I know, it's baffling why they'd waste their time on such things. But Azzanadra was the leader of the church, and Sliske was the leader of the secret police. No-one would dare speak out against them. On Freneskae, few were aware of their dynamic. Those that were kept silent, for they were outpowered. I understand Sliske's charm and charisma, things he used to his advantage whenever he was bored in Senntisten. Such a trivial past-time. People fell under his spell, and it was always their downfall. Even Zaros' most beloved pontifex could not escape."

Wahisietel returned to his tea. "After all these years, it still baffles me why Azzanadra resolves to trust Sliske, and now you're following his lead. Heh. As long as-"

Wahisietel froze, his cup glued to the tops of his lips, his eyes wide with realisation. Slowly, he raised his head and glared through Jahaan with a strange mix of confusion and abject horror. "Please, for Zaros' sake, please tell me I'm wrong…"

Jahaan winced, breaking contact with Wahisietel's eyes. It was all the confirmation he needed, yet the Mahjarrat pressed, "What did he do to you?"

"He didn't do anything," Jahaan assured, biting the inside of his lip. "He… he tried, but nothing happened. Believe me."

Wahisietel's unwavering glare bore holes through the man. "But you wanted to, didn't you?"

Jahaan's shameful inability to meet Wahisietel's gaze said everything that needed to be said.

The Mahjarrat mumbled something in infernal, rising to his feet as he paced the room. "I warned you about him, Jahaan. But I never knew that… never could have DREAMED that… that you would…"

Stopping to face Jahaan, he stated with unwavering assurance, "He does not harbour feelings. He is incapable. He just uses people for his own amusement, then he discards them when they stop being entertaining, or when they are no longer useful. I don't know what game he's playing with you, but he's playing a game, Jahaan!"

"Don't you think I know that?" Jahaan shot up, ever so slightly taller than Wahisietel when he was in his Ali form. "I know what he's like, Wahisietel - I've got first-hand fucking experience with that. But damnit, he's inside my head, always inside my head, and I can't take it!"

Suddenly, Jahaan whirled on the thing closest to him - a bookshelf - in order to expend the pent-up rage his outburst had summoned. Unfortunately, the books were a little less forgiving than Jahaan would have liked, and the thick novels put up a decent defence; Jahaan clutched his battered hand, the knuckles already forming a purple bruise, his fingers shaking and unable to move. "Gods, FUCK!" Jahaan cursed, turning back to Wahisietel with an indignant expression akin to, 'do you see what they did to me?!'. Muttering lowly, though with the slightest hint of an amused smile, Wahisietel went to get a medical kit.

A few bandages and another cup of tea later, Jahaan had calmed down, feeling rather embarrassed about his childish flare-up. Miraculously, nothing had fractured; Jahaan deduced he was too exhausted to give the punch all he had. That, or he just had a pathetically weak right hook, which he'd rather not be the case.

The silence that followed was awkward, each man lost in their own contemplation of the preceding events. Eventually, it was Wahisietel who broke the quiet, carefully beginning, "I have said my piece in regards to you and my half-brother. I trust that you know what you are doing."

"You shouldn't, because I don't even know what I'm doing," Jahaan sniffed a humourless laugh.

"I just wish I knew why he wanted my soul. I thought he wanted to make me a wight, but when I asked him, he deflected. I don't think that's the case, but why else would he want my soul?"

Stroking the beard his human form had adopted, Wahisietel replied, "Sliske has always been fascinated in souls. He used to talk to me about a Teragardian magister by the name of 'Oreb', who experimented with the power of souls and hypothesised that souls can be transferred from one body to another. This is the same magister who took in Nomad as his pupil, much later in life. Sliske was particularly interested in his theories."

"Why was that, do you reckon?"

"Well, for one, Mahjarrat don't have souls. Therefore, we cannot pass onto an afterlife, for a soul is required to do such a thing. For all his blustering, there is one thing Sliske fears: death."

Suddenly, it clicked into place, the phrase Jahaan thought he didn't quite hear outside of Prifddinas: 'It must be nice, knowing there will always be a world after this one'.

"So, he wants my soul so he can go to an afterlife?" Jahaan surmised. "But that would leave me with the inability to go to one myself."

Frowning, Wahisietel grimly restated, "He uses people. He doesn't take interest in them unless they have something to offer."

"But…" Jahaan rubbed the bridge of his nose. "But why my soul? Why not just anyone?"

Shrugging, Wahisietel confessed, "That I cannot be sure of, I'm afraid."

"Is there anything I can do to protect myself, if he tries to take my soul by force?"

His frown deepening, Wahisietel replied, "There is no spell, prayer or curse that I'm aware of that can do such a thing. My advice is to not get into a situation where your soul in vulnerable. Though how you would go about that, I am not sure. I don't even know how he would go about transferring your soul into himself."

This uncertainty didn't exactly fill Jahaan with much comfort. Then again, Sliske was uncertainty incarnate; sipping his tea, Jahaan continued on, "These random, bizarre acts of kindness from Sliske... I don't know what to make of them. I can't ever tell if he's being genuine, or if he's just messing with me. I know, I know, you say he only ever uses people, but… but maybe he can be nice - even a broken clock is right twice a day, right? I mean, he saved my life at the Ritual, he helped keep Ozan safe…"

Jahaan neglected to mention their recent excursion to the outskirts of Prifddinas. He didn't quite know why, but sharing that information so freely just didn't feel right. It was like a secret he promised not to tell, unspoken though it was.

Wahisietel did not look impressed. "You do not know him like I know him, Jahaan, and I hope you never meet the Sliske I once knew."

A crooked smile broke into Jahaan's features, one devoid of humour. "I've heard stories."

"Stories do not do his actions justice, but that is a conversation for another time," setting down his teacup, Wahisietel closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, like he was trying to shift Sliske's ghost from his thoughts. "Now, about Zemouregal - are you serious about killing him?"

His resolve returned, Jahaan stated, "I am."

"And you say that Azzanadra is aiding us in this?"

"Sliske's gone to convince him."

"Then perhaps it would pay us to join him," Wahisietel declared, reverting to his Mahjarrat form. "We're going to need to strategise, after all."

Meanwhile...

"Hmm… well, we certainly have enough firepower on our side to outmatch him," Azzanadra was pondering aloud, running through the idea in his head. Sliske wasn't all that surprised he could talk Azzanadra into killing Zemouregal so easily; there was no love lost between the two, after all. "It would be one less opponent at the next Ritual. Out of all the Zamorakians, he certainly is the most insufferable."

Turning towards Sliske, he declared, "If the World Guardian manages to get Wahisietel on our side, then you have my support too. Zaros can only be pleased at us for sending that traitor into the void."

Knowing he'd succeeded, Sliske grinned. "Oh, the Empty Lord will be most pleased. The World Guardian is convincing my brother now. He agreed to meet us here if all was successful."

Looking around at the renovated chamber, Sliske admired the attention to detail Azzanadra had put into the restoration. Whomever the carpenter was, Sliske made a mental note to ask for their information if he ever decided to renovate the Barrows. "I like what you've done with the place. Brings back memories."

Sighing wistfully, Azzanadra replied, "It feels like home."

Raising an eyebrow, Sliske countered, "You don't feel like Freneskae is your home anymore?"

"I stopped feeling that way as soon as Zaros took us in," Azzanadra gazed longingly at the symbol on the far wall. "There is no home without him."

"Right…" Sliske awkwardly rocked on his heels. He'd never felt the devotion his Mahjarrat companion had to the Empty Lord. Oh, he'd been loyal. He'd even been a follower. One might have called him devout, at a pinch. But Azzanadra was on an entirely different level.

Then again, Sliske agreed it did feel nice being back in the temple. It reminded him of a time when he had a role in society, and while that inevitably grew boring, such times had a treasured place in his memories. Those were days that would never be seen again.

It was then he turned to study Azzanadra, who was repositioning the candles on the altar. His robes draped perfectly over him, like a royal coat, and while he did insist on wearing that ridiculous hat, he managed to pull it off with prowess and grace.

So to did Azzanadra bring back some welcomed memories.

Sliske saw an opportunity, and he decided to test the waters.

He slipped closer to Azzanadra, his shadow a sneering presence that towered over them both. With a coy smirk, he smoothly remarked, "You know, it's been such a long time since you and I have been alone together."

There was no way Azzanadra didn't get the insinuation; he met Sliske with stern eyes. "There's good reason for that."

"And what, pray tell, is that?" Sliske gently brushed his hand over Azzanadra's, who to their mutual surprise did not immediately flinch away.

"Don't act so innocent," Azzanadra snapped. "You know damn well what I mean."

"The excommination?" sniffing a faint laugh, Sliske looked up at the taller Mahjarrat with half-lidded eyes and moved closer to him, so that their chests touched. "Since when has Zaros ever gotten between us before? I seem to remember a certain Pontifex Maximus regularly calling the Praefectus Praetorio into his office for more than just matters of state..."

Sliske let the words linger, hot breath on Azzanadra's cheek.

At that moment, Wahisietel and Jahaan emerged inside the temple. Catching the scene, Jahaan forced himself to suppress a smirk as he remarked, "Are we interrupting something?"

Wahisietel just shook his head with disappointment.

Sighing with frustration, Sliske whirled around and commented, "Crackerjack timing, and here I thought Wahi would take longer to convince."

Despite himself, Jahaan felt like giggling, and covered his mouth with his hand until he was certain he'd contained himself. During this, Wahisietel spoke up, "Jahaan has told me of your plan, Sliske. What say you, Azzanadra?"

"I am willing to partake," Azzanadra declared. "We have three times his power. It is the perfect opportunity. And," he turned to Jahaan, trying to muster what to a Mahjarrat would pass as 'sympathy'. "We finally have the incentive to remove that stain from this world. I am sorry at the price you and your comrades had to pay, Jahaan."

Jahaan nodded solemnly in way of thanks. "So, when do we go? Tonight?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Sliske was the first one to cut in. "You are running on nothing but fumes. You need to rest if you are to be of any help to us."

Jahaan opened his mouth to protest, but the action betrayed him, turning into a yawn. Smugly, Sliske grinned.

"Fine," Jahaan conceded, admitting to himself that he was exhausted. "When then?"

"Five days," Azzanadra stated. "While I admire your enthusiasm, Sliske's right - you need to be of use to us, and you can't do that unless you have armour and a weapon. Your previous set was destroyed in the fire, yes? I will provide you with another set, specially made."

Gobsmacked, Jahaan had to shake his head to order his thoughts. "That… that is incredibly generous of you, Azzanadra. Thank you, deeply."

Azzanadra managed the faintest of smiles. "It is the least I could do. After all, it was you who brought my lord back to me."

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.