Lucas was a young boy only about the age of twelve, with wavy black hair and grey, expectant eyes. He was too tall to be a child, but too short to be considered an adult. Since he was twelve already, he applied to become a squire. Now, a squire was asked to polish the armor, clean the stables, and do other odd-jobs for the knight. But noooooo. Sir Pent, Lucas’ master, said Squires don’t deserve to do that. So he was stuck collecting manure and running around doing unnecessary errands for Sir Pent.

This time he was assigned in the Falador party room, playing as one of the “White Knights” and singing one of those corny songs composed by Party Pete. Party Pete paid well, giving each of them a hundred gold per performance. Of course the pay had decreased ever since he bought that new afro. Now, they were paid only 50 coins each.

Dancing on a large wooden table, wearing worn out bronze armor painted white with a bunch of other sweaty squires wearing bronze armor painted white was not how he imagined what a squire would do, but it was much better than cleaning out the various chamber-pots of the different knights. Ugh, just thinking about it made him feel sick inside.

Even though he was assigned to collect manure, clean out the expels of the various knights, and dancing like and idiot wouldn’t stop him from becoming a knight. He was determined, and when he was determined to get something, he would kill to do it. After this task, he would be assigned a Quest Journal, a squire’s dream. Just thinking about made saliva dribble out of his mouth.

An hour passed after dancing in the Falador party room, and his shift was done at last. He quickly but carefully unchanged from the rusty armor into his black tunic and polished boots, excited to be receiving his Quest Journal on this wondrous day. Leaving the Falador Party room, he headed for the park, looking for Sir Tiffy Cashien, one of the closest friends he has.

“Hey, Sir Tiffy!” Shouted Lucas from a distance, waving his hand.
Sir Tiffy waved back, smiling as Lucas ran towards the bench he always sat on.
“Well, today is the day.” Said Lucas, leaning back onto the bench.
“It sure is, my boy!” Sir Tiffy said, stroking his short, white beard.