Coming of Age

The snow had covered Varrock completely that Christmas Eve, from the Palace to Aubury’s rune shop. The alleyways looked surprisingly peaceful coated in the thick white snow, and the south side of town looked respectable for the only time to this day. Carol singers sang aloud in the Square reciting songs to Saradomin in the festive period beneath the lights of the tall Wintumber tree which residents and visitors alike marvelled at.

“Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” called a man with particularly rosy cheeks.

He was stood next to a fire warming his hands, while cooking several Asgarnian delicacies he had brought in for his neighbouring kingdom to try. There were decorations up in all the shops around the city; apart from one.

“Christmas by back side!” exclaimed the owner of Blake’s Books.

Bernard Blake was eccentric and bad tempered; he was sat in his chair in his book store reading a tome on the origins of Christmas which he had found lying around.

“I can’t stand all this festive nonsense!” he snapped, downing another mouthful of Misthalanian wine. “This stuff is much better than that rubbish being sold out the front, how ‘’dare’’ that Asgarnian filth tread near my doorstep!”

He took another sip, and threw the book to the floor, making the untidy, cramped store all the more claustrophobic.

“What the Hell are you doing boy?” asked Bernard angrily.

Tarqinder was a young man of nineteen years and had been working in Blake’s Books since he had left school at sixteen. He hated being shut in every hour of the day with little sunlight thanks to Bernard making him fix boards over the windows after claiming it was ‘too bright’.

“I was just reading something,” Tarqinder replied, putting down a book which described weaponry and armour.

“Get back to work you lazy child before I hang you from a bookshelf upside-down!” Bernard exclaimed, hurling an empty wine bottle at him.

Tarqinder dodged it as the bottle shattered against the wall sending pieces of glass all over the floor.

“Look at that mess! Clean it up!” Bernard snapped, leaning back in his chair opening a book called The Art of Winemaking.

Tarqinder got down on his knees and began to pick up the pieces of which had been scattered across the floor, being careful not to cut himself. He looked at himself in one of the shards, he saw his reflection, that of a nobody; and he pondered on that thought for several moments. “What in the name of Misthalin are you doing? That glass won't clean itself up! Do you want to find yourself out of work at Wintumber?” Bernard asked.

“No Mr. Blake, I do not. I'm cleaning it up right now,” Tarqinder answered modestly.

Bernard sat reading another tome when there was a knock at the door.

“Open the door!” Bernard yelled.

“Yes sir,” Tarqinder replied as he kicked wood from a broken shelf out of the way allowing him to pull the door open to reveal a group of carol singers.

“Who is it?”

“They’re carol singers.”

“Merry Christmas and peace be upon your shop,” said a round-faced middle-aged woman in dark scarlet robes.

“Clear off you Merry-”

The carol singers did not hear the blasphemous end to the sentence as Tarqinder had quickly given them a few coins from his pocket, nodded at them and closed the door.

“Do you enjoy Christmas?” Bernard asked.

Tarqinder turned to face him as he sat facing with dark piercing eyes.

“Well, yes,” Tarqinder replied.

“What is it about it that you lot like?”

“I’m not sure, it’s just tradition, it’s the time of year when you’re at peace with everyone, and a time to give and a time to take, a real celebration of selflessness to put it simply.”

“Sounds like a load of nonsense.”

Bernard leaned back in his chair and felt around the floor with his hand, the wine having definitely gotten to his head. He then picked up a pipe made of iron which was lying on the floor and threw it to Tarqinder.

“Here, Merry Christmas, now I won’t have to give you a damn bonus,” Bernard sneered, his voice slurring slightly.

The evening had dragged and dragged, but finally it was over. Tarqinder made his way home relieved to be finished for the day, and glad to be away from the madman Blake who he despised.

“Merry Christmas,” Tarqinder murmured to himself as he looked at the large tree in the square, knowing that he at least had the next day off for it was Christmas Day, and not even Blake was opening for business.

The snow was falling lightly and had given Tarqinder a light coating which he brushed off, and then he pulled his scarf on tighter. He had taken the scenic route home, as he wanted to avoid his parents for as long as possible due to him not having received any bonus money at all.

“You should get home to your family, young man!” called a stall owner in Varrock Square who was packing up for the night.

“You’re right, I should,” Tarqinder replied as he headed westwards in the direction of his home.

As he passed the dimly lit buildings he decided he would go somewhere he never thought he would go.

The church in the north-east of the city was quiet, with only a few candles lit reducing it to near darkness. Everyone else inside it was asleep and snoring faintly, so Tarqinder sat as far to one side as he could, and bowed his head in prayer in the direction of the altar of Saradomin.

“Holy Saradomin, I ask of you this Christmas to give me some hope, for I feel I have failed myself, and worse, my family. I know I haven’t been religious, and I haven’t been to church in some time, but I do believe that your actions are interwoven in our daily lives, so please give me something, just a small sign that there’s more to life than this. I just need something; anything,” he asked in prayer.

Tarqinder looked around, waiting for his prayer to be answered, but nothing came of it. He decided he couldn’t hide from his family forever, and began to head in the direction of home. As he left the church, he shivered as the cold air hit him and snow blew in his face.

“So much for Merry Christmas,” he murmured to himself.

A snowman stood before him on the other side of the path, its stick arms pointing outwards, as if directing him.

“Look at me, following instructions from a snowman,” he murmured.

He followed the lead of the stick arms which pointed to his right, and looked down the path in front of him and saw a shape moving about amongst the trees.

“Hello?” Tarqinder asked aloud.

“Run, run now! It’s not safe around here! I have a job to carry out!” replied a voice.

“Is this some kind of wind-up? Don’t tell me, is it you Farrell?”

“No it bloody well isn’t, and if you don’t hurry up and go you’re going to ruin EVERYTHING!”

Tarqinder backed away, deciding to leave the scene, but as the figure became out of view, he sneaked behind the back of the Varrock Museum and followed the Varrock Wall northwards, eager to see what was happening. As he crept onwards her reached the northern gate of the city, and heard a tremendous roar. He froze, feeling terrified yet excited at the same time and looked out the front of the city to see a large green beast standing beside the ditch to the Wilderness; it was a dragon.

“Oh my Saradomin,” Tarqinder murmured to himself.

The dragon was not that big, and Tarqinder had studied the species very much, and knew that a dragon didn’t belong in Varrock.

“Now’s my chance,” he said to himself, and glimpsed a discarded shield lying on the floor as well as a skeleton.

“That poor man, it must have got to him,” he added.

The creature had lit a tree on fire, and now it was nothing but a flaming stick of bark sticking out of the scorched ground of the Wilderness. It roared up at the sky and stood on its hind legs before crashing back down on the ground. The dragon was not ‘’too’’ big, and it hadn’t attacked anyone – yet.

Maybe I can take care of this,  Tarqinder thought to himself. ''It’ll be worth it if it goes right, no parents moaning at me, no more Bernard Blake or book shop. I have to try. ''

Tarqinder then found himself standing at the city’s gate; and face to face with the scaly beast. He then leapt to the side to pick up the wooden shield, pushing the skeleton away and narrowly avoiding a blast of fire. His luck had ran out though, as the dragon was angered now and was about to launch a strong blast of fire at him – until a man leapt in front of the path of fire with a large orange shield.

“You stupid moron! You’ve ruined everything!” the man exclaimed; he was the man who had called Tarqinder when he had left the church.

“I was trying to help you!” Tarqinder called back as the man pulled out a large sword and pushed Tarqinder aside.

“Stand well back young man!” the man ordered.

The beast launched its fiery breath at him, but the shield absorbed it again, and then launched the fire back at the dragon, temporarily stalling it as it screeched in rage, preparing to kill the man. Using this delay to his advantage, the man took his sword and struck the beast with it, causing it to yelp in pain. He then tried to slash at its scaly skin again, but it clamped its mouth shut upon his sword, its tremendously sharp teeth crushing the rune metal.

“Son of a-” the man was cut off as the creature threw the disfigured sword directly at him, almost hitting his legs but taking his shield clean out of his hand.

“Take this!” Tarqinder yelled as he pulled out the iron pipe Bernard had given him and threw it to the man as well as the wooden shield.

“Many thanks!” the man called as he armed himself, but within seconds fire hit the shield, incinerating it on impact causing Tarqinder to gulp at what could have happened.

The man hit the beast in the legs, but it kicked at him knocking his armour loose. He rolled over the grass and got to his feet as the dragon knocked the pipe away and advanced on him. Just before it launched a final blast in the man’s direction Tarqinder knocked the dragon out dead as he slammed the pipe on to its head.

“I did it!” Tarqinder exclaimed in surprise.

“We did it. That was nothing, that dragon was young, but had wandered off with ill intent. I’ve dealt with much worse than this you know, three-headed dragons, metal dragons, and one of every colour!”

“Who are you?”

“Me? I’m Thomas Venright, and I’m a Dragon Slayer at the Slayers’ Union.”

“You’re a Slayer? I didn’t think they were actually real.”

“We are as real as the ground that you’re standing upon, but we don’t make ourselves too well-known, or else everyone will realise just in how much danger this city is in every day nearly.”

“What poses a danger to us? Morytania is sealed off by the River Salve and there’s nothing coming from the Wilderness-”

“Then what was that dragon?”

“So it’s all covered up?”

“Most of it, think how much uproar there would be if everyone knew about the carnivorous swarms that have been sighted in the sewers, or the ghosts that infested the south side of the city a few years back.”

“A few years ago? Was it on that Moevyng Day?”

“That’s the one.”

“I told my parents there was something in the house throwing the cutlery about; they said I had been drinking potions from the Apothecary.”

“Well then, there you go young man, you were right.”

“What now? Am I supposed to keep all this hidden? And go back to the book shop?”

“Yes.”

“I want to train as a Slayer, the school said I was one of the best swordsman they had ever seen!”

“I don’t care, being the best swordsman in the school isn’t going to help you against Vampyres, Dragons, Wolves, Demons, Giants, Spiders and whatever else Gielinor throws at you!”

“But if I was to train-”

“If you were to train you’d cost a lot of time and money, besides, you’re far too young.”

“Can’t you make an exception?”

“No, now listen to me when I say go home!”

“Fine, your loss though good sir,” Tarqinder said, walking off.

“How old are you?”

Tarqinder turned around; Thomas was standing still in the snow.

“I’m nineteen years of age,” Tarqinder said.

“How long is it until your birthday?” Thomas asked.

“It’s about four months away.”

“Well, in four months time I’ll come for you, I’m sure I can pull you off as being twenty-something. You can be my apprentice, but I’m not promising you anything permanent, or much action, or safety in fact, you’d be putting your life in danger most days of the week, even on the day of rest.”

“I’m prepared to do that.”

“And where is it you’re lumbered for now?”

“Blake’s Books, the dirtiest shop in town, you can’t miss it.”

“Why don’t you work in another shop? There’s the magical weaponry store, the clothing store amongst others.”

“They wouldn’t take me on, I’m from the south side of town.”

“Ah, I see. Thought I think they have a point, I ran into a bunch of scrawny children a few weeks back from the south side, de Fillo, one of them was called, he was petrified of the giant rats outside of town, I had to fight one off from him, the poor boy.”

Tarqinder laughed at the thought of it, and then brushed some snow off his clothes.

“Still, you’re not bad, well, certainly not in combat I must say,” Thomas added.

“Thank you, it seems I might finally have a Merry Christmas,” Tarqinder replied.

“That’s right! It’s Christmas tomorrow! Goodness I forgot, I have my brother, his wife and their children coming to me tomorrow, and I haven’t got anything in to eat!”

“See, you’re still human, however tough you try to make yourself.”

“You’re right, but being a Slayer is not like any other profession, and you’ll need background knowledge on the main species, so I advise you to actually read something in that book shop you work in, it’ll come in very handy.”

“I have been, and I’ll read even more if you say so.”

“Well then, what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t, it’s Tarqinder.”

“Right then, Tarqinder. Tarqinder the Dragon Slayer, it sounds suitable enough as a name!”

“Merry Christmas.”

“And you to Tarqinder, and remember, do not spread the word of our activities, this city thrives on false information and biased ideas, that’s why it’s split down the middle between the poor and the rich, and sadly it’s going to take an awful long time to fix that, in fact the economy of this city is so out of balance we’ll end up in an economic crisis one day.”

“I’ll keep hoping, I have faith in my city, however bad things may be at times.”

“Enjoy the Holidays, Tarqinder, and I shall see you in four months exactly.”

Thomas then turned and began to head in the direction of the shops while Tarqinder stood and watched the snow falling around him. He couldn’t believe that the city was so imperfect, but for one day, just one day, the whole kingdom would forget about money and death and danger, and focus on peace and goodwill to all. Tarqinder looked at the snowman he had seen earlier, the stick arms had fallen off and were buried under a mound of snow. He picked the sticks up and brushed the light snow off, and attached them back on, this time pointing one in each direction.

“Merry Christmas,” Tarqinder said to the snowman as he turned to make his way home.