The Crypt

Chapter 1

Prologue


The night was quiet…

'Too quiet,' thought Yaeran as he walked under the silent stars. Normally the night echoed with the sounds of nightlife, deer running gracefully beneath the underbrush, the insects chirping their numerous songs to the trees.

Tonight something was different. No insects sounded. No deer. Nothing but the haunting echoes of his own footsteps echoing throughout the forest.

As Yaeran walked slowly along the small, winding dirt path in the middle of the woods, he reflected upon why he even decided to venture out this late at night. He had been away for a long time, working hard, fervently mining the bountiful outcrops of ore deep within the confines of the Muerten swamp, the source of his family’s modest income. His house was within a day’s hike from the mines, but the swamps were treacherous. No one ever went alone into the marshy wastes without a friend. He even knew a man that had disappeared not long ago trying the same stunt he was.

“Fantastic…” muttered Yaeran as his steps brought him directly into a beautiful puddle of foul smelling swamp muck. He bent over, corded muscles wrought from the mines busily scraping away the foul debris from the soles of his leather boots.

As he straightened, his head became entangled within a huge spider’s web, the silky strands sticking to clothing and skin alike.

“Makes me glad I shaved my head…” muttered Yaeran, the feeble moonlight sparkling off of his round head.

As he began moving forward along the trail, a difference in texture along the road ahead caught his eye.

Although the dusty road continued along, another puddle of disgusting tar lay obstructing the path ahead. Something extending from the puddle pulled his gaze away from the road. He strode over, trying to keep calm as anxiety about his location threatened to turn into panic.

He bent down, to get a better look at the object.

A sudden scream rent the seemingly calm night air. A giant leap carried Yaeran across the puddle of muck safely to the other side. As powerfully muscled legs carried him as far away from the horrible scene, Yaeran screamed again. Anxiety had turned into panic. Sweat poured from his body as adrenaline tried to take him to the apparent safety of Densgrove.

Once more, the night was calm.

Silence.





~Chapter 1 - Part 1

The sun sparkled through the broken remnants of glass in one of the windowpanes. A cold autumn breeze blew, feebly waving the tattered curtains. As the gust blew, Naia was awoken from a deep slumber by the sweet smell of cooking bacon.

Wrapping the torn sheets around her for warmth, she headed down the short hall to the kitchen, which also happened to be the living room, family room, dining room, and her small brother's bedroom.

Passing a small mirror on the wall, she noted her reflection with pride. With piercing blue eyes, long, straight silky blonde hair, her looks were definitely the best thing going for her. As she looked down herself, her pride withered somewhat. 14 and still having the body of a young boy? It was embarrassing.

She passed her little brother’s bed quickly, the pangs of hunger driving the sleep from within her. She plopped herself at the board resting on blocks of stone that they used as a table and patiently waited for food to be served. She glanced over at the rumpled sheets of her brother’s bed and waited for the obligatory reprimand of an unmade bed that would come his way soon.

Little Geoffrey was growing up fast. His mother prided herself on his dirty blond hair and bright green eyes, and was enormously pleased with the brand new shoes she had been able to afford for him with the sizable emerald that Yaeran had brought home.
His dream was to someday become a Castle Guard at the fortress, and jumped at the chance to see the men on patrol doing their duty. He constantly looked for pieces of scrap metal to make armor out of, and because of this was best friends with the blacksmith Kurg Ironhammer. Many a time he could be found with his miniature hammer, pounding away at some tiny chunk of steel scavenged from who knows where.

“Mother, why isn’t Papa home yet?” asked Naia a bit worriedly. “He was supposed to be home already by now this morning.”

“Well, honey, the swamps are very difficult to cross, especially alone. He probably ran into a bit of sticky ground and had to make a small detour around it…that’s it. I’m sure of it.” said her mother, Dianne.

Secretly, however, Dianne was worried. Lots of strange sounds came from the swamps, and no one really knew who or what made them. Lots of strange, mysterious tales from a “friend of a friend” or my “mother’s cousin’s aunt” contained everything from strange occult practices to hideous creatures living deep within the foul borders of the bog.

She hoped her husband was all right.





Chapter 1-Part 2

Arleton. Commercial and economical hub for the prosperous Kingdom of Crandolin, not to mention being its capital. Home to thousands of hard-working people, and a few other not-so-hard working denizens.

Sasha slowly walked along a quiet street, away from the clamor and crowds of the bank and fountain square. Her short and spiky dark brown hair moved very little with the cold autumn breeze. She pulled up her tattered excuse for a jacket farther up around her skinny shoulders, and wondered where today’s meal would come from.

As she walked by the clothing shop, a brilliant pink skirt caught her eye. ‘I really need a new skirt’ she thought, taking a glance down at the remnants of her old pink skirt, torn in several places revealing pale white legs covered in goosebumps.

Her light brown eyes carefully surveyed the street, taking in all of her surroundings. An apothecary here, a crowded magic shop, paper charms warding off evil spirits fluttering in the wind.

“Here we go!” she exclaimed, eyes finally taking in the stand she was looking for. “A cup of tea would really hit the spot.” she muttered, slowly and nonchalantly sauntering up to the tea stand. Smells of freshly brewed hot tea wafted to her nose across the breeze, as the steam from the white porcelain cups drifted away along the wind.

A man in burnished chain mail and a steel kite shield next to her quickly reached out and grabbed a cup of tea, clearly not worrying about paying his tab.

“HEY! YOU BETTER PAY FOR THAT!” came the loud cry from the tea salesman. “Guards! Guards! I’m being robbed!” he loudly proclaimed.

A huge watchman came running, his thickly muscled legs eating up the ground as he ran after the panicked man, who clearly was having second thoughts about risking his life for some hot tea.

Quite accustomed to scenes like this, Sasha took advantage of the confusion to quickly and carefully grab a cup of tea. As she walked away, she heard sounds of a vicious beating, clanks and thumps of sword on sword, and blades screeching across metal. She heard a scream as she contentedly sipped her tea.

Yes. She was right. It certainly DID hit the spot.



Chapter 1- Part 3

The rusty creak of a gate that had seen better days sounded in the early afternoon. Dianne peered out one of the few whole intact panes left in her windows and saw Geoffrey racing as fast as his short skinny legs could carry him towards the house.

She attributed it to the coming rain, the dark gray clouds killing what little warmth the feeble autumn sun carried. She sighed, and began hunting for scraps of dirty cloth to cover the windows with, to try and prevent the coming rain from entering the house.

Another protesting squeak of rusty hinges sounded as the old door was flung open and a quick hard slam as it hit the wall and rebounded back into the frame.

Geoffrey’s bright green eyes were livid with excitement, and it was clear he had found something of immense interest to a 7-year-old boy.

“Mother! Mother!” called Geoffrey as he ran into his mom’s waiting arms. He panted a bit from the exertion of running so very far but managed to gasp out, “I found something! I (pant) found something (wheeze) in the swamp!”

Worry immediately crossed Dianne’s face, followed very rapidly by motherly anger.

“I have told you HOW many times to STAY AWAY from that swamp?!” she grated out angrily. Seeing imminent danger in his future, Geoffrey hastily made up an excuse that he thought would hopefully lessen his punishment.

“I wasn’t! Honest I weren’t goin’ ta go into the swamp, but I was…I was…walking to Jacob’s house, and I had to pass the swamp an’ I noticed something in it! Come see!” he rapidly exclaimed.

Dianne sighed, and began replacing the dishes she had been drying into the crooked cupboard. “I really need to stay and clean up here,” she said, momentarily glancing around at the filthy dirt floor and random items from her children scattered about along the floor.

“Pllleeeeeassee?!” whined Geoffrey. “It’s really neat…” he cried as his shoulders slumped, the excitement withering.

“Fine, let’s go see this ‘thing’ you found.” Dianne sighed. “Yay! You’re the best, mother!” Geoffrey called as he raced out of the door.

The chilly wind had picked up Dianne noticed, as she left the house, being led by the skirt by little Geoffrey. The darkness of the clouds made for a somber mood as they made the short trek to the edge of the mire. She smelled the swamp before she even cleared the rise separating the land from the bog.

Withered, gnarled trees stuck up at crazy angles from the sticky tar and mud. Bubbles of who knew what coming from who knew where plopped thickly and grotesquely from the thick ponds of scum.

“Ugh…” Dianne wrinkled her nose both at the detestable smell of rotting who knew what as much as at the swamp itself. “Are you sure this ‘thing’ is in here? Why don’t we just go home.”

Geoffrey paid no attention to his mother’s repeated complaints, as he was far to intent on finding this ‘thing’ again. Dianne flinched as a very cold fat rain droplet dropped its watery payload directly onto her cheek. “Geoffrey, can we please go home? It’s going to rain very hard very soon.” Dianne stated, crossing her arms across her stomach.

Once more not hearing, Geoffrey called, “There it is!! There! See?!” Excitement veritably oozed off of his face, but she couldn’t tell if that was just the rain or not. Rapidly the sticky heat of the swamp turned into cold rain, and thunder rolled in the distance. Darkness began creeping in, and the thick tree cover made for quite a bit of darkness already.

A flash of lightning in the west above the Kingdom of Crandolin made her jump, but she turned and started heading over to find this ‘thing.’

“Neat huh?” Geoffrey exulted, intent on getting his mother’s approval.

She didn’t hear a word he said.

“oh…oh...Oh Damely protect me.” Came the fear stricken voice of his mother. Clearly she wasn’t as enthralled by his discovery as he had hoped. The rain worsened, and thunder clapped loudly only a mile or two away.

A shrill piercing scream ripped itself out of her throat as she turned and fled, running blindly away from the ‘thing.’ Geoffrey was afraid now. He began to cry as he tried to keep up with his mother as she fled, not caring about the thorns or brambles that raked across his skin or the fat rain that kept pounding.

He had been into the swamp before, but never this far. He began to cry harder.


He was lost.


Chapter 1 – Part 4

“Get out of here before I call the guards you drunkard!” the large bartender called as the bouncers threw yet another boozer out of the Blue Moon Inn. The bartender was a round man, with an apron that probably was white at one time, now covered with the miscellaneous stains of work.

The bar was dingy, but aren’t all bars dingy? The wooden floors obviously hadn’t been swept since the 20 Years War, and the only lighting in the dim place were a handful of torches on the wall, dull orange flames guttering in the poorly ventilated room.

“…hit!…ugh…me. Ba’tenda’…” said Rennin clumsily, narrowly averting a fall off of his barstool.

“I reckon you’d had enough, Rennin. Just a’cuz you missed a bounty don’t mean ya should drink away your problems. Besides, if all your doin’ is trying to prove ya’self, I seen lesser men dead passed out from that many Crandolinian Ales,” said the bartender with a shake of his round head.

“I...said…HIT ME!” yelled Rennin loudly, again nearly falling off his stool. His yew longbow clattered to the dirty floor, and several steel arrows dislodged from his quiver.

His long, straight, dirty blond hair still lay matted to his head because of the pounding rain, and his steel chain mail was beginning to rust from long lack of proper care. Leather boots still caked with mud covered his feet. A large broadsword hung on his back, and his chest was crisscrossed with several bandoleers of shiny steel throwing knives.

It made Joe the barkeep sad to see his old friend in this sort of state, withering away in a bottle. He used to be feared, quite famous, but lately he seemed to be losing his touch. He had failed to capture the last 4 bounties he had taken, and people were starting to lose interest in who used to be a household name. Rennin Dominar, Sword of Light, the Burning Blade. Even his substantial wealth was beginning to decline, most going into his new addiction: alcohol.

“Don’ make me call the bouncers on ya. Now, why don’ ya let me getcha a room, eh?” Joe said.

“yesh…I believe…that…that…THAT!!” Rennin loudly called as he slumped forward onto the bar. ‘Great,’ Joe thought as he beckoned a bouncer over. Corded muscles trained for throwing out rowdy customers easily hefted Rennin up onto his shoulder as he began walking to a room upstairs.


__________________________________



Rennin awoke to the pain of an axe being forced into his head. He quickly opened his eyes, to see the attacker, but shut them immediately as the light threatened to burn out his eyes. He realized it was the pain of a hangover, and his life was in no mortal peril.

“Ugh…my head…” whined Rennin as he rolled over, quickly placing the pillow over his head.

Sleep overtook him once more.

Rennin awoke again, the pain a bit lessened. As he forced himself to climb out of the bed, he noticed he had no idea where he was. He was fully clothed, and fully armed. A window on the east wall was covered by curtains, and he forced them open. Afternoon light spilled in, and he realized he was still in The Red Moon Inn, in a room upstairs.

“Man…I musta been wasted…” stated Rennin as he opened the door.

He slid down the banister into the now empty barroom, and noticed Joe “cleaning” a filthy table with an equally filthy rag.

“Hey Joe,” Rennin called over his shoulder, “thanks for the room.”

“No problem…I just wish you’d give up that habit o’ yours…” Joe sighed.

Rennin started towards the old dilapidated door, then stopped. He turned and walked back over to Joe.

“You know of any good bounties? I’m a’ gonna try to climb out of this.” Rennin said confidently.

‘Nope, I got nothin’ in the way of bounties, but one o’ my customers said some mighty strange happenin’s was going on down at Densgrove. What, he didn’t say.” Joe casually said, moving to another table.

“Huh,” Rennin exclaimed as he moved towards the door.

“Go figure.”


Chapter 1- Part 5

Rain lashing, heart pounding, legs pumping, Dianne quickly bolted out of the swamp. After catching her breath, she looked down at her condition. Soaking, sopping wet, clothing tattered and torn more than usual, bleeding slightly from the numerous scrapes and cuts from the myriad thorn bushes, and, to top it all of, she was covered nearly head to toe with disgusting and putrid-smelling swamp muck.

She glanced down at her side, ready to reprimand Geoffrey severely for bringing them out that far into the swamp during a thunderstorm.

Geoffrey wasn’t beside her.

Geoffrey wasn’t behind her.

In fact, little Geoffrey was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh Damely!!” she cried out, quickly turning back to the swamp. Tears mixed with dripping rain as she got to the edge and looked into the mire.

“Geooooffreyy! Geeoooffreeyyy! “ she repeatedly yelled, thunder and crashing of rain drowning out her feeble, panicked voice. The pitch darkness of the cloud, rain, and bog mixed together to make a nearly impassable mess out of the treacherous bog.

Sobbing wildly with fear of what she had seen and with anxiety about the whereabouts of her child, she reluctantly turned from the swamp to find help. She began to sprint to her house to get Yaeran to help her, but she realized with a sickening feeling that crept from her toes all the way up her spine that he had never returned from the swamp.

“oh…oh…OH NO! What if…that…tha…” her whispers dissolved into helpless sobs as she began wondering if what she had seen was the remains of her husband.

_______________________


“Have a good’un Joe,” called Rennin over his shoulder to the rotund barkeep.

“Aye, and you too,” the barkeep called back.

As Rennin stepped off the stoop of the Inn into the busy streets of , he began to wonder if he should go to Lumbridge to check it out. He glanced over southwest, in the direction of Densgrove. A massive black thunderhead was directly overhead the river city, and the day was already freezing cold and very windy in Arleton.

“Methinks I might stay here a bit,” Rennin said under his breath. The idea of traveling in a vicious thunderstorm didn’t strike his fancy just then.

A young girl in an old jacket with a tattered skirt bumped into him hard as he rounded the corner.

“Hey! Watch it, wench!” Rennin called to the girl. She flipped him off and kept walking, obviously muttering obscenities under her breath.

A night in a good bed and breakfast sounded good to him, and he traveled to The Dancing Mare, an inn on the northwest side of town. As he walked in, the smell of cooking stew wafted across his nose, and he felt his mouth begin to water.

Good food was starting to get a bit hard to come by at the onset of winter, but being a bit hard on money didn’t help his state either. ‘I need a job,’ he thought, and decided after the storm cleared he’d travel to Densgrove to check out this deal with the swamp.

As he sauntered over to the clerk’s desk to pay for his stay, he reached for his wallet.

‘Ok, not in my back pocket,” he thought.
‘Not in my front pockets either…’ he said to himself.

He patted himself down and turned out every single one of his pockets. Except for random stuff and a good deal of lint, they were totally empty.

Yelling an oath to make the wallpaper peel, Rennin hastily grabbed his cloak and bolted out the door.



Still Chapter 1 – Part 6

“Mo-mo-…mommy? Mooooooommmy!” the frightened young boy called to the black, mysterious and sopping wet swamp.

“W-where a-are y-y-y-you?!” Geoffrey cried, his sobs causing him to stutter uncontrollably. His salty tears mixed with the still-pouring rain and mud on his face as he stumbled blindly in the midst of the bog.

Lighting cracked directly above him, sending a veritable wall of sound crashing down around him. He narrowly avoided getting crushed by the struck tree, still sparking with nature’s fury.

He began to sob uncontrollably, his fear and loneliness forcing him to his knees. He bent over and sat down on the wet, soggy ground, somehow remembering through his fear what his mother told him to do if he ever got lost in the swamp, especially at night.

‘I’ll just stay here and wait until mother returns, that way I won’t fall into a pond of swamp muck and drown.’ He thought to himself. Rationality began to regain control of his body.

Thinking calming thoughts, he sat and let the soothing pounding of the rain wash some of his fear away.

As he stopped crying, he took some more comfort in the interesting shapes the shadows from the lightning made on the trees. He to turn what once frightened him into a game. He decided the rules would be try to make as many shapes out of the shadows as possible before mommy came.

This worked for around 20 minutes. He was even enjoying himself.

Until one of the shadows didn’t disappear when the lightning went away.

Geoffrey noticed this odd fact while counting other shapes. He was up to around 48 or so when he noticed this strange shadow.

He watched it for around 5 minutes or so, in that while making 9 new shapes. This one was certainly strange indeed. I even looked like a man he decided. A man in robes.

Lightning lit up the swamp for a brief second and he tried to discern what it was. He was sure it wasn’t a tree, but it wasn’t moving.

As lightning once more turned night into day, he thought to himself, ‘It even looks sort of…reddish…colored.’

He began to slowly take steps over to it, but only when lightning showed him the path was clear.

Until the shadow moved.

And not from the lightning.

Geoffrey froze, the icy hand of panic once more gripping him around the throat. It began moving towards the frightened child, closer and closer.

Closer.

Until the shadow was standing right in front of him. He saw through a haze of fear that indeed it was a man, clothed in robes of the foulest color. Trying to overcome his fear, he decided the man was a rescuer.

“Mo-mommy?” the frightened child hesitantly intoned.

Goosebumps crawled up Geoffrey’s spine as the hideous, sickening voice that sounded as dry bones being crushed replied, “I am not thy mother.”

A hand withered and dried, almost mummified, suddenly shot out of the long-sleeved robe, clenching Geoffrey round the throat so hard he could not even scream, much less even whimper.

As darkness consumed all his vision, that last thing he noticed was he was able to place the color of the man’s robes.

They were the color of dried blood.



Chapter 1- Part 7

“What’s the first thing I should buy?” Sasha wondered out loud, a fat, heavy purse jingling at her waist.

‘I know,’ she thought, ‘I’ll buy that new skirt. Shoot, why not even some nice robes?’ she continued on mentally.

As she pushed through the crowded streets of Arleton towards the clothes shop, she noticed the huge, black cloud coming. The enormous black thunderhead filled the entire western sky, as far as she could see.

“Oh well, at least the sun is still shining!” she happily thought, the feeble rays of the sun attempting to warm up the chilly afternoon. A breeze whipped through the holes in her worn pink skirt, and she hurried her steps a bit, not wanting to be in the cold any longer than necessary.

She felt happier than she had in a very long time, probably no small part played by her first hot meal in a long while. ‘That guy was a sap,’ she thought, “like taking candy from a baby.’

Meanwhile, Rennin was beside himself. Running from place to place in a near-frenzy, he had run into around 6 or 7 people by the time he got to the Authority.

“I’d like to report a pickpocketing!” he frantically cried, as he whipped his head from side to side looking for a Marshall.
“Heh…you and every other unfortunate sap who doesn’t have the brains to look after his own cash,” came a raspy voice from an old desk littered with random papers.

Rennin leaped over to the desk with a fiery glint in his eye. “I’ve killed men for less than that, buddy. You better watch who you’re dealing with.” he menacingly stated.

The owner of the voice was just as gnarled and grizzled as his voice had been.

No hair on his head whatsoever and a big, bold white mustache was the first thing Rennin noticed about him. Next he noticed the large, puckered white scar leading down his temple, through a black eyepatch and then down his cheek.

As he continued to sweep his gaze over the man, he noticed slightly wrinkled skin, and a face like stone, harboring a gaze that even with only one eye could probably melt a hole in a cliff. Green cloth covered steel chainmail and a oiled steel longsword sat in an old worn leather scabbard, currently propped up in a corner.

“My name is Drake…Drake Dulrien. And I don’t care who you’ve killed or what you done, or anything about you.” came the rough reply. “Heh…you better respect your elders, kid.”

Rennin rolled his eyes. “Whatever, Elder…” he said, sneering with sarcasm as he walked out of the door.

‘He was a lot of help,’ Rennin glumly thought to himself, idly scanning the streets. He was pretty amazed so many people were out on such a cold day. ‘I’ll bet it’s pretty crowded on a nice day,’ he thought.

Suddenly, a flash of bright pink amongst the browns and greys of armor caught his eye.

It was her! The girl that had run into him!

“You! Stop! I need to talk with you!” Rennin yelled, suddenly sprinting into the midst of the crowds.

He tried to keep his eye on her, but rounding a corner, a group of five people got in his line of sight. Just as soon as he had spotted her, she was gone.

Muttering a vile oath, he began scanning the streets and windows of shops, hoping fervently to find her.

_________________________

As Sasha happily browsed the weapons shop, she tried to decide which she liked better: magic, melee, or archery. ‘I think they’re all so cool…’ she thought, ‘but which one do I want more?’

‘I’ve always wanted to be able to have a weapon, but I can’t think of what I want. Geez…I never thought this decision would be so hard.’ she continued to think while perusing the scimitars.

“Well, I better check the other stores again to make sure I want to be a mage before I buy a staff,” she thought to herself out loud as she walked out the door.

As she was walking down the street, she heard a large commotion to her right. A man wearing crossed bandoleers of steel throwing knives as well as a steel kite shield was forcing his way through the crowd, pushing and shoving his way towards her, yelling at the top of his lungs.

“Stop! Girl in the pink skirt! Hold on!” the strange man repeatedly yelled. He continued until he forced his way next to her.

Panic gripped her. She realized this man was the one she had stolen the purse from.

‘Oh no…what do I do? How did he find me?!’ she frantically thought as he began yelling at her.
“Give me my purse back! You will seriously regret it if you don’t!”

“Ummm…I…uh….kind of…spent…almost all of it.”

“You did what?!” the man yelled.

Steeling herself, she yelled back, “Yeh! I spent it all! So tough luck! Not my fault you can’t watch your own wallet!”

The torrent of curses and oaths flung at her made her cringe.

Finally, after he had gotten most of his anger out, he said, “Fine, I’ll let you have a deal. Instead of me turning you into the Authority and getting your hand cut off for thievery, I’ll let you work for me until you’ve paid back your debt.”

Seeing the options lain so starkly in front of her, she chose the one she figured would involve less pain.

“Wait…I won’t be your brothel girl or nothing!” she indignantly yelled.

A long sigh proceeded his words. “Fine, nothing of the sort. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Still Chapter 1-Part 8

The clap of thunder and the relentless pounding of the rain roughly woke Geoffrey from his unconsciousness. The swampy, marshy ground passed beneath him in jumps and bounds from what he could tell, although the world swam in circles. A dull ache in his shoulders and ankles gradually forced him more awake.

“W-where am I-I?” Geoffrey asked, stuttering with fear. He was able to see shapes surrounding him, but with the lack of any real light, it was hard to tell who or what they were. He gradually came to the realization that he was being carried, a long pole thrust between his wrists and ankles, trussed up like a boar fresh from the hunt.

A swift, dull thud came from the midst of the blackness and once more darkness overcame his vision.

__________________________________

A sharp pain in his shoulders once more awoke him from the deep sleep of unconsciousness. A deep, dark crimson red light penetrated the all-consuming darkness, and more dark shapes moved around the thickly-made room. The walls were coated with a thick green slime, and were made of dark grey stone bricks. The dark red light came from very slow-burning torches mounted on the walls, and also from the brazier of coals that shone on the scratched wooden table beside him.

The table had a moth-eaten cloth that looked red, but in the light, everything looked red. Lying on the cloth were thick 6 inch long steel spikes, a heavy wooden mallet and a few other things Geoffrey could not identify.

After a bit of readjusting, Geoffrey realized he was resting on a slightly inclined wooden table with long grooves running down the sides and middle. Five dark shapes stood around the table, each slowly chanting some evil archaic language that Geoffrey had never heard before, nor could understand.

As his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, harsh light, he realized every one of the shapes around him had on the same sickly dried blood colored robes that the man in the swamp had had.

“Mfhgg…MGHH!” A gag muffled his terrified moans and sobs as the one of the dark shapes moved over to the cloth covered table sitting next to the one he was on.

Another sharp pain in his right shoulder brought a renewed spewing of sobs and yells.

As his eyes fully adjusted, he realized what the rest of the things resting on the table were.

An assortment of wickedly curved knives and hooks glistened blood red in the crimson light that bathed everything in the same cast of blood.

Another quick, hard thud and an intense, sharp pain in his ankle fully brought him to his senses.

He whipped his head from side to side, looking at each shoulder, or, more appropriately, looking at the thick, long steel spikes that fastened him to the wooden table. Dark red blood made darker in the crimson light slowly oozed from each shoulder, and from his right ankle, darkening the grooves in the table as they ran down.

Thud.

An intense pain in his left ankle. More muffled high-pitched screams from the young boy.

The chanting increased as a long, rusty needle connected to a glass syringe was drawn from the table.

Geoffrey’s eyes rolled in his head with panic, showing white around the entire eye. “MFGh!! PlLESFG!” he continually tried to yell, the gag muffling his attempts at pleading for his life.

The long syringe was plunged into his gut, 4 inches of thick rusty metal disappearing into his pale skin. The plunger was pushed in, and a viscous reddish liquid was injected into his stomach.

“AggHHhh…AHHHHH!!!” The gag could not muffle his scream. The intense pain caused by the needle and the fiery burning sensation caused by the liquid forced his vision to swim, the world spinning.

The last thing he could recall before blackness consumed him was another increase in chanting, and a long, serrated knife being drawn from the table.


Chapter 1- Part 9

Back in Varrock, the sky was darkening. Longs streaks of purple and blue lightning raced across the night-looking afternoon sky. Thunder rolled in the near distance, becoming gradually louder and louder as the mighty storm blew closer. Wind howled through the old wooden shutters of the Red Moon Inn.

As Sasha and Rennin had a drink in the bar, rain began to fall. Well, maybe fall was the wrong phrasing.

Rain began to pound, beating relentlessly at the old wooden shingled roof. A clap of thunder sounded nearly directly above the inn, causing a mighty flinch from Sasha.

Rennin chuckled. “Bit skittish of storms, are we?” Rennin managed between snickers.

“Not skittish, just…I…Don’t like…the-EEE!!” she squealed loudly as another huge clap drowned out her words. Even Rennin jumped, so mighty was the blast from the heavens.

Thud. Thud. Crackle thud crack.

The roof creaked and moaned as hail began to fall. A scream of pain wailed outside, and rapidly approached.

The old door’s hinges screeched loudly in protest as the door was flung open, and a women raced inside, holding her apron over her head as a feeble shield from the hard ice.

Her brown hair flowed down her white-clothed shoulders, and a flower-patterned dress clung wetly to her small body’s curves. She was nursing a bump on her head as she approached the bar.

“Vicious storm, eh, Brianna?” Joe asked, calmly “cleaning” a dirty mug with a dirty rag.

“Ugh. Caught me right on the ole ‘ead.” Brianna replied, still rubbing the lump on her head. “Might you ‘ave a towel to dry off with?” she inquired, glancing momentarily at her soaked dress and apron.

Joe tossed her a surprisingly white towel, which she proceeded to use to dry herself.

“Hailin’ that bad, Brianna?” asked Rennin, taking a draft of his ale.

“Aye.”

“Mayhap I might stay a little longer after all, Joe.” Rennin said, turning to the rotund barkeep.

“I don’ mind a’tall, considerin’ you got the money to keep paying for the rooms. What about the wench?” asked Joe.

Sasha whipped her head around, blushing furiously. “I am no wench, barkeep! Just because I am being forced to accompany this…this…man along on his journey to wherever he is going does not make me a wench!”

She continued to mutter under her breath as she stormed out of the bar and up to her room.

Joe shrugged and continued cleaning.

Rennin decided to take a look outside.

He opened a window shutter a crack and saw nothing but the skies opening up a veritable waterfall of rain onto the large city. Hail the size of half a hen’s egg fell from the sky, damaging crops and breaking whatever was left out.

Lightning constantly and continually streaked across the sky, but not limited to the sky. He saw two separate buildings get struck in the 5 minutes he spent watching the storm. Thunder didn’t clap any more, it just was a background sound, a continual rumble occasionally punctuated by more severe cracks.

He had never seen a storm this bad in his life…never out of nowhere like this. It had been sunny this morning, if not particularly warm. The wind howled, and he felt a twinge of dread sieze him.

‘This storm…just feels…wrong.’ He thought to himself. The feeling that something was going on that instant gave him chills up his spine. His hair stood up on the back of his neck, and not from the electricity in the air. The storm howled, and he fancied he saw shapes in the patterns of rain and wind, strange shapes that took on stranger forms.

His sense of unease continued to grow. He had always prided himself on his amazing intuition, which had gotten him out of many a tight spot. His gut feeling was seldom wrong, and his gut was definitely not broadcasting good signs right now.

Why this storm would feel any different from any other thunderstorm he had been in was a mystery to him.

Rennin turned from the window, his fears taking the better of him. He moved into the relative comfort of the bar, re-closing the window and shutter as he turned. He sat in front of the fireplace, the merry crackle of the logs nearly totally drowned out by the roar of thunder.

Fires had never failed to comfort him, but even the shapes in the fire seemed to mock him and raise his fears. Finally, he turned and headed to his room, next door to Sasha’s.


Chapter 1 – Part 10

Pain beyond all reasoning abruptly shook Geoffrey from his tortured unconsciousness. A feeling of pain so intense that his body automatically convulsed contorted his small face and chubby cheeks into a grimacing rictus of pain.

He tried to scream, to yell with every ounce of life he had in him, but he couldn’t move his mouth. The only movements he was making were the fevered convulsions of his tiny body. Just as quickly as they started, the convulsions quit, his body pacified by the steel spikes embedded deep within his limbs.

His eyes were the only part of himself he could move and white rimmed both of his eyes, whipping back and forth around the room both unfeeling and unseeing, the pain blinding him.

His eyes were dry, all tears possibly shed having already done so. The crimson light that seemed to cascade across the room nearly hid from view the thick coagulating stains surrounding him.

Beings in robes the color of dried blood surrounded Geoffrey, the click of knives, hooks and other instruments of torture and dismemberment as they worked being the only sound echoing throughout the chambers.

A horrible ripping sound echoed throughout the chamber, and Geoffrey’s eyes saw no more. His eyes grew dull and lifeless, and his body grew cold very quickly.

Bodies cool rapidly without any skin to hold the heat in.