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Pottsy6

Zatih: The Legend Of Dungrix

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Zatih: The Legend of Dungrix

 

I have found myself of late continuing the story I began long ago, and as such, have decided to continue it on the forums that birthed it. For new readers, Its a fairly decent, fairly long story and I don't think you'll be dissapointed. For readers familiar with the tale of Zatih, Sirlokken, Dungrix and friends, I have gone back and rewritten the story. The result is a definite improvement, and if you bare with me, I'd like to take you to the end of this epic tale. Enjoy :wizard:

 

Pottsy6

 

Prologue: Oloron

 

Oloron’s eyes darted to and thro as he stepped out into the failing light. He knew it was dangerous to go out now, hell, it was dangerous everywhere these days. There were only three or four safe havens Oloron could think of, seemingly tranquil places scattered across the world: bright burning lights in an impossibly dark night. However, these places were expensive, and they came with their own unique dangers. He scoffed. Such places were pathetic. Weaklings huddling together only made it all the easier to kill them. Saved such a character the effort of rounding them up. He had learnt since a young age, that true protection only came from the scimitar clenched between your fingers, and the strength of your person. Everything else was doomed to fail.

 

The bitter chill of the night stung him like a rain. He slid one hand into his pocket, and rested the other against the runite-crafted scimitar that hung at his waist. If things went the way he wanted, he wouldn’t need to use it. If things really went the way he wanted, he wouldn’t have to shell out the gold pieces in his pocket either. Fresh, warm bread, the type that gave birth to clouds of wafting steam when you broke it, came easy enough if you had a fast hand and a tired stall keeper. It would be good to finally have some real food for a change, even if it meant interaction with the fools in Varrok. Oloron began walking.

 

The land around Oloron’s shack was long, long dead. The pale, grassless landscape sprawled out in every direction: an enormous corpse, infested with the worse maggots imaginable. Lakes of lava were the beast’s slowly flowing blood, and the air in its lungs still escaped, birthing the patrolling revenants that made life just that much harder. Even in the darkness, he could see the forming tempest clouds above him, as well as a million beady eyes glinting in the darkness.

 

 

Oloron threw his shoulders back and ventured further. Under the light of a distant sunset, he could only see a few feet in front of himself. Each step he took brought him further from his house and closer to unknown dangers. Sure, he could fight if he needed, he had the skill, but he wasn’t the kind to go swinging his sword at every shadow in sight. He had restraint.

 

That being said, it was a useful measure if someone came too close. Oloron was a lone and that was the way he liked it. Any one who had even considered befriending the man had been frightened or intimidated away. That arrangement was better for both parties. He enjoyed being seen as a cruel fellow with no charity in his mind. Friends could be more dangerous than enemies, he had found. With thoughts of crackling bread, pies overflowing with rich gravy and hearty, brothy stew taking root in his eager brain, he let his hand fall from his sword.

 

Something snapped behind him. His body straightened immediately, every muscle stretched to its full elongation. This was a crucial decision now. Imminent danger, or paranoia. If he was making a mistake, only the darkness would know. He whipped out the cruelly serrated sword and held it ready. He had lived with danger all his life and was constantly the target of highway men looking to make a quick fortune through killing and stealing. That simple snap could be a foot carelessly trotting on a small twig. That foolish mistake was going to cost whatever was there its life.

 

He dived towards the source of the sound, driving his blade at the spot with one ruthless thrust. His sword cut through air, and nothing else. Idiot! He was jumping at sounds in his head. He had given into paranoia. Oloron laughed nervously, placed his sword back in its sheath and turned away.

 

They were immediately upon him. The first goblin landed on his back silently, forcing him to the ground and winding him. He spluttered and coughed, his sword forgotten as he writhed on the ground. The four goblins that followed snarled with excitement and satisfaction, spinning their bronze weapons with new-found excitement.

Then, they were upon him. The first goblin landed on his back silently, driving him to the ground. The four that followed snarled with excitement and wielded their bronze weapons with new excitement.

 

One goblin came in front of him, and forced his head down with its foot. Oloron couldn’t move. He cursed the world, and received a mouthful of dirt for his trouble. The little beasts were stabbing and slashing at his helpless body, and he only blamed himself.

 

A mace came crashing through the air with all the authority of Zamarok himself. It struck his head with the most sickening of crunches and for a moment he thought he would die. His own blood was matting his hair and blinding him, and he felt the darkness take him. Oloron passed out.

 

Chapter 1: Zatih

 

 

Zatih eyed down her opponent, studying every blemish on his wart encrusted face. Several things were sharp in her mind as she noted his appearance: His dark green skin and folds of brown armor, his long, crooked nose. She paid special attention to his circular wooden shield, his long pointed spear and his flat feet. These she could work to her advantage.

 

Zatih’s mithril scimitar flickered through the air, twisting and slicing at goblin flesh. The monster howled as the dull metal blade cut through his skin, showering Zatih with warm beads of blood. She delivered a ferocious blow and took the fiend’s life, watching as it slipped and fell to the ground. Smiling, she turned around to meet a small chorus of applause.

 

Behind her stood her two closest companions, observing her with careful eyes. Daralis watched from beneath battered bronze armor, his eyes occasionally straying to nervously observe the other goblins. Every time one looked back he would pull his bronze square shield over his eyes and yelp like a distressed puppy. He was young and easily intimidated. That sparkle of fright in his eye was just part of his character. Zatih knew he would grow out of it in time but loved that flaw all the same. It brought familiarity in unknown environments.

 

Sirlokken was everything that Daralis wasn’t. He was tall, powerful and could easily bind the spirits of magic into doing his bidding. As if Daralis, this trait spilled into his fiery green eyes. He was dressed in jet black wizard robes and carried in his hands a much sought after skull scepter. Sirlokken had taken Daralis and Zatih under his wing when they had first arrived in Lumbridge together. Since then, he had been a reliant source of food, shelter, runes, arrows and weaponry.

 

Zatih stopped low and gently cut the goblin from its armour. Then, she buried the corpse and felt Saradomin smile down on her as she did. With that, she turned to her friends and beamed a triumphant smile. Sirlokken gave her a sharp strike on the back, showing his pride. He stepped back as Zatih nudged him off and they both laughed lightly. It was a great day for her, she had defeated her first enemy in a matter of blows. Daralis was yelling in excitement and preaching his respect. This enlarged the smile on Zatih’s face. She took Daralis’ bronze long sword from his scabbard and placed it in his arms.

 

“Your turn” she grinned.

 

Daralis eyed off a nearby goblin, and then bowed his head. Zatih smiled sympathetically and patiently waited for Daralis to choose a new target. An eight legged monstrosity came crawling over a moss covered rock just a few metres behind. Daralis gave his sword a slight swing, and his eyes were calculating. Zatih could almost see the cogs turning in his head, as he sized up his potential opponent. Half his own height, easily pierced skin. The writhing legs and snapping fangs, they were the thing of nightmares, but Zatih reckoned she could slay the beast in one strike herself. So too, it seemed, did Daralis.

 

With a loud warcry, a warcry made comic by the pubescent breaking of his young voice, Daralis sprinted at the spider. He caught it on the upstroke with his sword, rending it in two. He slashed again, again, again and again. The creature, in death, keeled onto its back. It’s death throes tried to curl its legs into a ball, but the way its body had been mangled, only three of its limbs followed orders. The rest dangled about in a way that horrified Daralis. His expression soon morphed into a smile as he heard Sirlokken’s whooping cries of praise. He shone with pride as he buried the body and hurried back to his friends.

 

 

“That will do for today,” Sirlokken said. “Shall we return home?”

 

Daralis nodded and Zatih followed suite. Sirlokken’s house was a gigantic building located in the small city of Rimmington. It was tall and grand and equipped with everything from a small parlor to a marvelous study. His gardens were expensive, lush playfields and he had rooms to enhance skill and strength in a number of ways. They would retire to the dining room while Sirlokken helped his maid cook a simple dinner and brew ale in the kitchen. After that, they would hobble off to bed and the maid would clean. Zatih was proud to live in such an abode.

 

They walked through Draynor Village, where the inhabitants weaved through the willow trees and fished in the rich seas. Then, they headed towards Port Sarim where great adventurers sailed off to unknown lands. There was even talk of a brave fool who was on his way to Crandor to settle a score with a great dragon. Zatih pitied him; chances were he would not come back. At least not in one piece.

 

They arrived in Rimmington just as the sun disappeared behind the horizon and left only a faint, orange glow in its absence. Zatih smiled as Sirlokken pushed open the gates and entered the formal garden that ran the length of the properties outskirts. A fountain carved into the shape of a mischievous imp greeted them with a wicked smile.

 

Zatih waited patiently as Sirlokken rapped on the door with his sceptre. In a few minutes, a short girl in a black dress appeared. She wore an apron and held a plate of shrimp in her hand. She offered them all food and then volunteered to hang their armour in the display hall. Zatih handed her the mithril scimitar she was holding, as well as her plate body. Daralis did the same with his bronze equipment. Sirlokken handed her his Skull Sceptre and walked with her to the Display Hall, telling her about his adopted children’s individual accomplishments.

 

They ate together, lived together and trained together. They were a family and just as close as any regular one. Zatih was so happy with her life that she rarely gave any thought to her biological parents. Sirlokken was her whole life and that was that.

 

They ate a quick meal of lobster and various herbs before quickly retiring to bed. Sirlokken handed his maid her weeks pay before hobbling upstairs to his Master Bedroom. Zatih dimmed her candle and stripped out of her clothes. She lay in bed, pulled her quilts over her head and smiled. She found herself falling, drifting into the world of the dreaming…

Edited by Pottsy6

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Alright, I have several questions regarding the story's content itself. First off, you make it seem like RuneScape has suddenly become a dangerous place, but you don't go into any explanation as to why. It would be nice to know why the world was so hate-filled in this story, and why the protaganist always felt the urge to kill others. Secondly, Oloron seems to be an incredible swordsman and warrior (even weilding rune, whichs should be quite difficult to obtain), dedicating his entire life to war. However, four goblins weilding bronze spears are able to overcome him? That strikes me as odd. Also, in this paragraph, excitement is repeated several times:

They were immediately upon him. The first goblin landed on his back silently, forcing him to the ground and winding him. He spluttered and coughed, his sword forgotten as he writhed on the ground. The four goblins that followed snarled with excitement and satisfaction, spinning their bronze weapons with new-found excitement.

Then, they were upon him. The first goblin landed on his back silently, driving him to the ground. The four that followed snarled with excitement and wielded their bronze weapons with new excitement.

 

And lastly (but not leastly :wizard:), in the final paragraph you make it seem as if the force behind the blow is coming from Zamorak, but don't goblins worship Bandos?

 

Other than that, there were very few conventional errors and I found the story entertaining to read, something to spark up this subforum in these late summer days. Please continue. :box:

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Alright, I have several questions regarding the story's content itself. First off, you make it seem like RuneScape has suddenly become a dangerous place, but you don't go into any explanation as to why. It would be nice to know why the world was so hate-filled in this story, and why the protaganist always felt the urge to kill others. Secondly, Oloron seems to be an incredible swordsman and warrior (even weilding rune, whichs should be quite difficult to obtain), dedicating his entire life to war. However, four goblins weilding bronze spears are able to overcome him? That strikes me as odd. Also, in this paragraph, excitement is repeated several times:
They were immediately upon him. The first goblin landed on his back silently, forcing him to the ground and winding him. He spluttered and coughed, his sword forgotten as he writhed on the ground. The four goblins that followed snarled with excitement and satisfaction, spinning their bronze weapons with new-found excitement.

Then, they were upon him. The first goblin landed on his back silently, driving him to the ground. The four that followed snarled with excitement and wielded their bronze weapons with new excitement.

 

And lastly (but not leastly :wizard:), in the final paragraph you make it seem as if the force behind the blow is coming from Zamorak, but don't goblins worship Bandos?

 

Other than that, there were very few conventional errors and I found the story entertaining to read, something to spark up this subforum in these late summer days. Please continue. :box:

 

Yeah, I can see why you'd be confused. Runescape really isn't any more dangerous than it is now, Oloron has just been raised to believe everyone and everything is out to get him. He has chosen to live in the wilderness and that's why the landscape is so barren. Most of Oloron's past is a mystery, even to me, but he's quite the established warrior. His skill gives him the ability to defeat most, his upbringing makes him paranoid. But he's mostly all talk :/. Most things in the wilderness would kill you in an instant, and I know I wouldn't hesitate if something came up from behind him.

 

I'm not a fan of runescape's fighting system to be honest. In real life, if even a reasonably strong warrior was attacked by four foes, he wouldn't stand much of a chance. Oloron is pinned to the ground before he knows whats happening, and its not surprising that he's dispatched so quickly. And the Zamarok thing, thats not representative of any actual god powered attack, its a metaphor, I suppose, for a the strength and finality of the attack, sort of how a meteor is sometimes referred to as being 'the hammer of God'.

 

Anyway, thanks for the feedback, Part 2: Zatih should be up soon.

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