As for the story I started writing a long, long time ago (2008), I found a copy of it on my old hard drive.
Here it is.
The writing's quite bad, and it is slightly different to ol' Lord Reudh's character sheet, but nonetheless I found it entertaining to write.
Andox was a real player, when I first started playing. At least, I think that was his name. Morton is just a made up character.
My first real death in that game was by a highwayman; i tried to run away after fighting hard, but died.
What, you say the Champion’s Guild wants to hear about the life story of their people? For the Varrock Herald?
I suppose you already know my names, but I have to introduce myself for the good of the readers, right? Edit as much as you like, just make me look more awesome.
Well, I’m Reudh by birth, but I’m Lord Reudh now. Do you want to hear my titles? I suppose you do.
JalYt-Ket Lord Reudh, Bane of Agrith-Naar, Slayer of Delrith, Saviour of Crandor, Advisee of Roddeck, Friend to Kings, First Regent of Miscellania! I just love how I can take a line up by merely saying my name. Anyway, yeah...
Well I can’t let my brethren and sistren down, now can I? Well let’s start! All righty then! You shall hear my story.
I was born in my family’s manor, near Yanille, and we were a fairly wealthy family. I don’t really remember much of them.
What I do remember of our house was that it was on this little hill-on-an-island thingy, and it was a really nice house. I was six or so, when the ogres came and everyone died.
*face glazes over for a moment*
Mother... father... brothers and sisters... aunts and uncles... all gone...
The ogres left me alone though. I don’t know why. I vaguely remember one saying ‘Dat little jooman is on faaaiyaa.’ Another said ‘Let him stay dere, faiyaa burns.’
Probably ‘cos of my hair. Really bright red.
I ran away, fast, really fast, more than I had ever run before.
Into Yanille I ran, I guess to the gate, but I don’t really remember much about it. The guard captain just watched me blindly. Stupid bastard was being complacent.
Here I was, a young child, dripping with blood and gore, covered in dirt, wearing a silly bobbled jester hat and the guards did nothing.
Pathetic.
They didn’t care about what happened outside the wall. It was every man, woman and child for themselves.
Not even Zavistic cared. I grabbed his bellpull and tried to summon him, but he shooed me away.
In desperation I dove into the fountain, to get the stench off me. Scrubbing... scrubbing... anything to get the gore off me!
I hopped out, and slept next to it overnight.
It was late morning, and I was already rather hungry. I did have a rather pathetic breakfast of fallen plums, which hurt my stomach.
Oh, they hurt! But I needed to eat. I was rather thirsty, too... so I drank from the fountain... the foul taste of corroded iron and blood tainted the already murky water, but I needed to drink.
Almost four days later, one of the guardsmen kicked me out of Yanille, thankfully on the eastern (ogreless) side. Let them stay there and die. I don’t really know what happened next. I wandered from place to place. I remember finding a little house on an island. There were huge spiders all about, and one bit me. It was absolute AGONY.
I woke up later; I really don’t know how much later... but it was a lot colder than it was before I got bitten. There was a strange, tiny little brown skinned man standing over me, muttering away in an odd language.
Outwardly, he resembled a human but he was even shorter than I was.
I know now he’s Hazelmere, but then he just looked like a short midget human. I do remember waking up with a start, then feeling this searing pain on the side of my stomach.
The little man’s face crinkled with a grin, and he said “You’re awake! Wonderful!”
I croaked out a pathetic whimper, and he frowned. “Lucky for you I was outside when I saw you get bitten. It took a lot of my strength to drag you inside, and it’s taken me nearly four months to even get you healed… you are very lucky indeed.”
FOUR MONTHS?
I had been unconscious for FOUR MONTHS? Yes, indeed I had been.
Over time, I became well enough to hop up and walk; by the time I was fully recovered Hazelmere insisted on training me in hand-to-hand combat, as well as basic swordplay using two whippy sticks. Over the years, I trained with Hazelmere and we became fast friends.
By the time I was nearly sixteen, I felt fidgety, a hungering, clawing need to explore- Hazelmere noticed this and one afternoon he came to me and said “Reudh, I can see you are outgrowing this place. I think you should go on an adventure. It might be the making of you. Or, you could stay here and rot, like me, or you could do anything. What do you think?”
What was I to do? I owed Hazelmere my life, but I felt like I should indeed do something with my future. I couldn’t stay and meditate for hours on end; my mind shifted to other things. I voiced my worries to Hazelmere and he replied “Very well, Reudh. I shall miss you. I will pack you a bag of supplies, and I shall give you this sword.”
“Dagger,” I interrupted.
“It’s a sword to me. But do not worry, I’m more than capable of defending myself unarmed. I will send you to anywhere in Gielinor that you want,” Hazelmere said with a solemn voice.
I had heard my father mentioning a fishing business up in Port Khazard a long time ago; perhaps I could find work on the trawler if it was still there.
“Hazelmere, could you send me to Port Khazard? I can get to anywhere from there, and I remember my father talking about a business I could get employed by there.”
Hazelmere sighed. “Very well, Reudh,” he said. He presented me a woven bag, and his sword/dagger/whatever. Concentrating for a moment, he gathered his strength, and I felt a purple magic envelop me and whisk me away.
The sound of the busy port town was deafening after the years with only Hazelmere for company. I strode about purposefully to the docks, finding a blue-clad fellow I asked him where I could find a job.
“I be Murphy. This is my trawler. I’ve been looking for some strapping young lads as want to work on my fishing ship,” Murphy said gruffly.
I agreed- what else could I do?
Two weeks later, we set off on the first trawl of the season. All was well and good; fifteen of us workers onboard, and Murphy at the helm. I was to work the nets, along with three other chaps my own age. So we were there, bringing in turtles and manta rays and sharks, among other things. Then there came an almighty crash, and water began flooding in through a hole in the ship’s hull…
Chaos ensued. I was positioned next to the ladder, so luckily I could scramble up---
My shipmate had grabbed my leg! I was not going to drown, not after all this! My grip was quickly fading, so I kicked him in the face with my free leg and felt his nose crack. I clambered up the rotten ladder to find Murphy on a small rowboat, already rowing away. The ship was sinking and the ladder had collapsed under the weight of ten terrified teenagers… I shuddered. I couldn’t stay watching this. I grabbed an empty barrel, rolled it over the side of the stricken ship and jumped off with it. The anguished howls were shocking, but I tuned it out as I kicked hurriedly away from the trawler. I knew that if it sunk, I’d go down with it too, so I swam as hard as I could. Once I’d reached what looked like a hundred metres away from the trawler, I rested. I was so tired. Working and repairing the trawler was tiring, and now this…
I drifted for hours and hours and hours. So sleepy… mustn’t sleep… if I just rested my eyes for a moment I would be fine, wouldn’t I?
I awoke with a start a few hours later. I was barely conscious, and my canteen was lost, even my prized dagger Hazelmere gave me. I felt my heart lurch--- was my jester hat gone? That last link from my family? If it was missing... I simply wouldn’t have the strength to continue—but there it was, in my pocket; waterlogged but still there. Exhausted by even this simple effort I fell back into unconsciousness.
*******
Now, faithful reader, you would think that to be the end of ol’ Reudh, wouldn’t you? But I’m hardier than that! Haha... Of course, if I had’ve drowned there, then I wouldn’t be here now? Unless there was something like guthix ex machina or something like that.
Well, let’s continue! And you, dear journalist, you can pick what you like out of this and make it as you will! It will be wonderful.
Yes.
I found myself bound and gagged, with some ugly, green, vile-smelling creatures standing next to me.
“What we do? We kill this human? We sell him to human town? Or do we eat smelly human?”
“You stupid, Wormbrain. We sell him to town. They pay well for lost humans.”
“You right, Grubspear. We will sell him. That good idea.”
I heard a strange ululation from next to me. “For Vallance!” a huge man roared, and he impaled one of the goblins with his longsword. The one called Wormbrain was captured while trying to run away by another huge man.
The rest of the goblins all escaped, but at least I was safe...
Where on earth was I? A third man stooped over me and removed the ropes from my back and took the gag out of my mouth.
“Gosh, what happened to you? How’d you manage to get yourself captured by GOBLINS?” he demanded.
I shrugged. I didn’t want to talk at all. I mean, my life had been a Zamorak-cursed comedy of errors up until then.
What was I to do?
The man sighed, and proffered a meaty hand. “I’m Wysin, head of the Port Sarim Militia,” he muttered. “We protect Port Sarim because the guards won’t. Highwaymen, goblins, thieves... all abound in our wonderful town.”
I finally managed to find my voice- curiosity had overwhelmed me.
“Why won’t the guards defend this town?” I asked querulously.
Wysin frowned. “I don’t know. But they’ve given up; we merchant militia men do a better job than the guards ever have. But all that aside, follow me, young chap. We need an able hand to help, the goblins have never come this close before.”
Quietly I followed Wysin up the main street. He opened a rickety door, to what appeared to be a smith.
“Brian, this young fellow needs a weapon.”
A short, brutish man looked up at me. He said “You need a weapon? Here.”
He handed me a remarkably well crafted axe- iron I think, judging by the dark grey colour.
I finally managed to find my voice. “I can’t help you. I can offer you nothing but gratitude. I need to be on my way.”
Wysin’s eyes narrowed and he said quietly “Alright then.”
I handed the axe back to the smith, who said “Keep it, off with you!”
They glared at me and I left the smithy, gingerly carrying the axe.
Port Sarim wasn't an especially large town then, so I left the town by its northern exit, hoping to get somewhere safe soon. As I reached a fork in the road, there came a shout.
“STAND AND DELIVER!”
A masked man in long pants and an awful looking shirt leapt out from behind the bushes. He held a dull silvery coloured sword.
“Pay me the toll or taste steel!”
What could I do? I was merely carrying a small iron battleaxe, and he was better armed and stronger than me.
“If you call for help I'll run you through AND take your money!”
Darn.
So Mr Journalist, what do you make of that? You'll never guess what happens next!
What's that? I defeated the highwayman and moved on? Well, wait and see! Or hear.
I shouted to him
“All I have is this axe! Take it from me if you can!”
Ulp. Wrong thing to say.
“That's the way this one likes it, hehe,” the highwayman shouted back at me. He lunged forward, and I dodged, with his blade missing me by a hair. All the swordplay I had learnt from Hazelmere was impossible to apply to an axe, but I learnt on the fly.
I knocked his blade aside with the flat of my axe, then reversed my grip on the handle, intending to wind him with it. Rammed it forward, and then he gasped and stumbled back. I prepared to run away, but before I had made it two steps, he recovered and I felt a blinding pain in the centre of my back. I looked down to see the blade protruding from my chest.
It felt very strange. Then my vision went entirely white, and I was nude for some reason! Oh for the love of Guthix! I hurriedly covered up myself with my hands, and then nothing happened. What... was this place?
I wandered around in that semi-senseless state, and then suddenly I found myself in the courtyard of a small town, fully clothed, with only my axe still with me. I patted at my chest, and there was no wound. Odd. Beyond odd. I had never seen this town before. As I was looking around, two men in bright, shining blue armour with their curved swords hanging from a scabbard on their hips spoke.
“Hey Andox, look, it's another one!” one said, and threw a bag of gold at me. It hit my leg, and they laughed.
“You're new to these parts, right? This is Andox, and I'm Morton,” the one who threw the gold said.
Andox spoke as well. “When we're bored, we both have a pint to drink, and go sit here to wait for new people to end up here after dying.”
“Is this the afterlife?” I asked.
Both Andox and Morton burst out laughing.
“No! No! This is the town of Lumbridge! Some of us have this blessing---”
“Or curse,” Andox interjected.
“--this blessing,” Morton continued, “where when we die, we come back to life! When it first happened to me, I thought I was Saradomin himself! But it turned out that there were others who it happened to, too.”
What on GIELINOR? Resurrection?
Andox spoke more quietly. “You have to be hush-hush about it, yes? The Church of Saradomin don't like the fact some of us are immortal.”
“I don't believe you!” I shouted. They were mad!
“Oh, you should believe us. Watch this.”
Morton pulled his scimitar out of its scabbard, as Andox pulled his armour off. Then, with a lightning fast movement, he bisected his friend.
I tell you, Mr Journalist, it was absolutely horrifying, to see all that gore up close.
But, again, wait and see!
Andox appeared behind me, with no injury in the slightest.
How strange this was. It must have been some sort of magic trick; until I looked around and saw multiple similarly-clad warriors fighting each other, some dying and resurrecting on the spot, and others enveloping themselves in a purple light, then disappearing. This was beyond strange.
“You see, we can't die. Well, we can, but we can't, yes? Some of us, when we die, we return to this town fully intact, as if we'd just been asleep! I've heard of a few others who arrive in other towns too, but this has the highest amount of 're-spawners' as I like to call them,” Andox said.
“There is a catch, though. We lose everything we carry but our three most valuable objects, and our clothing. It's pretty useful to know that we have no permanent death, because it stirs us to better acts of courage in combat,” Morton stated to me with an odd smile.
Andox's eyes glazed over for a second, and then he hurriedly cast a spell, and faded away.
“What happened to him!?” I shouted
“He teleported to Varrock, a nearby town. He's just gotta get some armour from the Grand Exchange.”
This was gibberish. Grand Exchange? Varrock? What were they?
Shortly after that, someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was Andox!
He held a large sack up and handed it to me.
“Here. I got this for ya,” Andox said. I looked inside, to find a magnificient set of grey armour, along with a kiteshield emblazoned with the words “COOL DUDES” on it.
“Go on, put it on!”
I slid the helmet onto my head, and pulled the visor up so I could see what I was doing. Then I bolted the chestplate on, and the leg plates too. At last, I slung the kiteshield onto my arm.
“Who are the 'Cool Dudes'?” I asked them, overwhelmed by their generosity.
“That's us! And you, now. We go around righting wrongs, saving people from murders, killing dragons, etceteria,” Morton said.
“What?” I asked.
“Ah, just a joke. In the North, there's a country called Etceteria. It was a play on words, ya know... Etceteria, etcetera?” he replied.
I can assume that these two were inviting me to their clan, but why? I knew nothing.
It was also unfinished. D:
I laid my RP character to rest in a fantastic session; Lord Reudh 'went missing' in the depths of Daemonheim. He may well come back, I left it open ended, but he will be vastly changed by his time in Daemonheim.
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Topic: Describe yourself! (Read 10304 times)