Chapter Twenty-Four:

Dwarves and Barbarians Arise

"Askeladden!" A young Fremmenik warrior yelled as the Fremmenik child Askeladden sprinted off and disappeared behind the houses. Another young warrior nearby laughed.

"He stole my fish!" The first warrior said. His companion, again, laughed.

"It's stolen fish, remember? We got it from the fishmongers, free of charge." Said the second warrior.

His companion appeared not to have heard him. "I'm gonna boil that kid..." He muttered, as he stalked off in the direction Askeladden had taken.

"Gigawolf he's just a kid. Forget it. You can't just kill people anymore, anyway." The second warrior called at his friend's receding back.

Gigawolf sighed and returned to the hut where his friend was. "You'd want that kid dead if he'd stolen your fish, wouldn't you Skwerlguy." He said. Skwerlguy shrugged, and was about to answer when the town bard walked past.

"All warriors are called to the longhouse! All warriors to the longhouse!" The bard called.

Skwerlguy and Gigawolf looked at each other questioningly. "It's probably something about the cloud or dagganoths." Skwerlguy guessed. They went to the longhouse, accompanied by the rest of Rekella's fighters.

"Hey, look." Gigawolf grinned, nodding towards a towering white, hairy monster. "It's the King of Miscellanea."

Skwerlguy looked. The former Miscellanea king, who had been transformed incurably into a white monster on one of his adventures, was indeed here. But why?

The two warriors listened to the individual conversations taking place in the longhouse as they looked, surprised at the hundreds of barbarians and dwarves that congregated in the building.

"How do Miscellanian people live with that as their king?"

"They don't; I heard some random adventurer married the King's daughter, only he's never there to run the country so the advisor rules it..."

"Forget that, Gunthor? He never leaves his outpost."

"I heard the white knights kicked them out."

"Keldagrim dwarves, in Rekella?"

"Yep that's right me tall friends, the Red Axe arose and won over most the council except the Green emerald and the purple..."

"...Yeah mate, that's great. Explain again why you's short people can't just have a chief like us?"

"Nice armour!"

"Yes, dagganoth hunting has been good this year."

"Cousin Gunnjorn, how goes the agility outpost?"

"From the agility outpost...? When did all you guys get here?" Asked Gigawolf of a nearby warrior.

"If ya spent less time robbing us blind you woulda seen it! The tribes are meeting!"

"…So you're saying that some totally random adventurer turns up, marries the princess, gets himself elected king, runs off and no one's ever seen him since?"

"Gunthor my friend! Is it you only from your clan?"

"The draugen's still out there, I can feel it..."

"Look mate, every single man here who's passed their trials 'as killed that draugen."

"Swensen, a strange name? Shall I say nothing of yours? I am named such for a crucial reason, though I doubt your name hold similar significance."

"Askeladden bring that back! Oh Guthix forbid the day when that lad becomes a Fremmenik!"

"SILENCE!" Roared Chieftain Brundt, over the general hubbub of voices.

Silence fell, the warriors turned towards the stage.

"Right you lot, shut up and listen! Gunthor 'ere says that they adventurers destroyed his entire village! Are we supposed to sit here and dye wool when something like this happens?"

A resounding "NO!" echoed across the longhouse from the throats of the warriors.

"And what of Miscellanea? Some other adventurer married the princess, agrees to run the kingdom, then skips off hunting dragons and picking flax? And should naught be said of those who use the agility course incessantly, showing no common courtesy to us, to we who own, run and keep it going? Guthix himself knows how many have taken advantage of our guard there's inability to read, and just snuck in without completing the bar crawl! And now we get word that these same adventurers have trampled the dwarves and the druids! My clansmen, are we going to stand for this?"

"NEVER!" Yelled the warriors.

"AND IT ISN'T ONLY US! They dwarves 'ave turned on each other and are almost been wiped out of them's city! And the adventurers," he spat on the last word, "helped kick the good fellows out, and steal some of them's stuff! Only to rebuild the statue they broke in the first place! Since what age do barbarians sit back like rabbits while our small friends get trampled?"

This was greeted with a tumult of outraged voices.

"I THOUGHT NOT!" Roared the chieftain over the clamour. "You lot have until dawn tomorrow to gather your weapons and such, and meet outside the city. I want ever able-bodied man and dwarf there. Anyone missing and I'm sending real men to drag you out by the scruff of your neck!"

Laughter greeted this last statement.

The chief smiled. Without any more words or introduction he announced that the feast should begin, in honour of every barbarian clan around Gielinor meeting here today.

Dawn rose over a dusty brown scene. The ground was dark brown and fertile, most of the trees were stripped bare. The skin of the some hundred warriors was tanned brown and their clothing was much the same colour. As the sun rose, it glinted off a myriad of axe blades, metal helmets and notched arrows. Roosters greeted the dawn, barely heard over the friendly jests and exchanges of the men outside the town.

"RIGHT YOU LOT, GET MOVING!" Brundt the chieftain wasn't heard by everyone, but those who could hear him started south, and those who couldn't followed everyone else. The march, if it could be described as such, was full of friendly chatter that would sooner be found at a reunion than a march to war.

"What's that kid doing here?" Grinned Skwerlguy, nudging his friend and gesturing towards a short, but compact, figure. If it had been anyone else watching him, they may have seen the short, cloaked and hooded figure as a dwarf. But Skwerlguy and Gigawolf were too acquainted with the Fremmenik boy, Askeladden, to mistake him now.

The morning sun was still casting shadows over the barbarians from the eastern mountains when they reached the river. Holding all weapons that were apt to rust above their heads, the warriors entered the freezing water, laughing at the shock of cold water in the true, crazy way of the barbarians. Despite the fact that there was a bridge that spanned the river, few if any made use of it for fear of becoming the source of jest for their fellow clansmen. Even the dwarves swam, as akin to the barbarians in almost every way except height.

"Captain Leafdarking, there's heaps of barbarians, they're coming this way and they're all armed!" Said a small, scared noob.

"Where? Which way?" demanded Leafdarking.

"Umm... that way." Said the noob, waving his hand in the general direction of north. Leafdarking strode north a ways, and could hear her enemy before she saw them. With a squirrel's agility, she raced up a tree so as to get a better view of her enemy. Her mouth dropped open as she gaped at the mass of warriors, the last barbarians and dwarves living in Runescape.

A piercing shout detached itself from the rest of the barbarian's clamour. Shading her eyes against the early sun, Leafdarking noted an archer, bow drawn, arrow aimed at her. She jumped to the ground, disregarding the distance as an arrow the size of a javelin clattered into the branches where she'd been less that a second earlier.

Pain shot through her legs as she landed. Allowing her no time to recover, she ran towards the village once known as Seers village, messaging Rorthan as she ran.

"Barbarians are coming. We need reinforcements. Lots of reinforcements."

Rorthan's heart froze as he received her message. With the quick logic of a born tactician, he ordered her to retreat to Burthorpe. He sighed. First the kalphites invaded Al Kharid, forcing Killerbum's group to retreat, then Morytania annihilated Radune's entire command save himself and the lazy thief Luthandros, now this. Now the only land they truly could hope to hold once the Kalphites, Morytania and Barbarians had moved in was the lands around Taverly and Burthorpe. By Zamorak's iron fist, did the great war god not want the campaign to succeed?