On The Run

Lumbridge

Stan sat on his comfortable rocking chair, quietly sipping a cup of milky tea and considering the past day's events. What had Xenocrates come for? What bounty other than gold would she find in the Exchange? What secrets lay behind her veil? All of these questions ran through Stan's head as he stared into the depths of his marble fire. He knew one thing - if Xenocrates could escape, he would be on her bounty list.

But would she know where to look? She may ask for an elderly bank teller. Would that poor, poor person know him? Was Stan safe in his squalid little town? He looked out of his window at Lumbridge's daily ramblings. New adventurers came blinking into existence, and the souls of the dead culminated in Lumbridge courtyard. Stan dismissed these worries and went over to the stove to make himself another cuppa.

Before he could do this however, there was a sharp knock on the door. Stan sauntered over and opened it half-way to check who it was. Standing on the door-step was a rather plump Varrockian Guard. He was humming to himself with his eyes closed, and was tapping his foot on the ground.

"Yes?" said Stan in a voice that was louder than he would have normally used. The guard stood bolt upright, clearly embarrassed.

"I have a message from a politician in Varrock." He then handed over a scroll tied in a frilly blue ribbon over to Stan. He then casually marched over the river Lum, beginning to skip as he did so.

Stan closed the door and sat down. Carefully he unfurled the scroll, placing the ribbon in his pocket. The first thing he noticed was the hand-writing. It was, in a way, perfect. It was not too posh, yet not too illegible. There were no serifs, no curls and not a hint of a joint letter. He was more interested, however, in the contents of the letter itself.

Dear teller,

''Our first meeting I felt was quite brief and abrupt. I will wish to meet you again, not to argue but to apologize for the fact that I had to kill your good colleague. You are a long-lived man, and your wisdom must have been gathered over a very interesting lifetime. I fear that soon you will forget me, and I do not wish to be forgotten by such a noble man. I suggest we meet in your home. Send this message back with that incompetent guard and we will be able to meet again. I am sure that my message is clear. ''

Your friend (and brief enemy),   Xenocritus 

Stan read through the note with disbelief. Was this the clinically insane woman that had attacked his place of work? Why were some of the words underlined? What did she mean by " I am sure that my message is clear. "? Then he had a brain-storm - he put the words together.

'' I will kill you very soon. I am sure my message is clear. Xenocritus ''

The game was up. Xenocrates (or "Xenocritus") was at large and there was only one thing Stan could do to avoid certain death.

Run.

Quickly Stan ran upstairs and ripped open the doors of his carved wardobe and threw a leather back-pack onto his bed. He took out some swordfish, a horde of runes and several pieces of weaponry. Then, sighing, he opened his small chest and fitted himself with full Steel (minus the helmet).

Stan tied up his pack, fitted it on his armour and ran downstairs. He sighed. Has his life really gone so wrong in the course of an hour? Why was he running from a Stranger he could easily kill? Was it fear, pride, his morals or simply a wish for a new life, a changed life? He took his Camelot Tele-tab and cracked it, falling down to his destination.

Dammit, he thought. He was lost in the tele-portation matrix. Only, for some strange reason, there were no appendages on the walls. Stan was stuck in a deep, pink pit. The walls were lined with encrusted gems and pink vines. Above Stan was pitch black, an empty void. Beyond that void lay something as obscure as Stan's fate, and as he settled down in the deep pit, he felt that once again he was trapped. At least, he thought, he was safe from Xenocrates.

2 hours later

A noise broke the silence. It was a knocking, the knocking of steel against wood. A bright light erupted from the bottom of the pit, and Stan shuffled back. Another portal opened up in the base of the pit, and despite his struggling to grasp onto the murky pink of the walls he was sucked into it. When he opened his eyes he found himself knocked to the ground in the middle of a stone floor, his bad back aching from the strain.

With great effort, he managed to sit up. He grasped at his armour, undoing the thick leather straps and discarding the metal plates that bound him. He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt a chilled breeze flow over him. He was inside a windmill, and the doors were open, allowing a curtain of sunlight to penetrate Stan's defences. He stood up and wandered over to the doors, looking out upon an expansive sea view. The windmill, despite its relative size, was perched on the edge of a large cliff-face in a place that Stan only knew as the south shores of Isafdar.

Footsteps arrived from upstairs. As Stan turned to meet his possible savior, he noticed something rather odd. The feet were skeletal and thick, with sharpened toes. The legs and the torso seemed to be made of solid stone, as did the bulky hands and the thick, tormented wings. The figure's face was like that of a bat with half the charm. The stranger stretched out a stony limb in welcome.

"Pyrogom," he said, "I can see you're a stranger round here."

"Yes, I am. I was struck in the Teleportation Matrix for a few hours."

"Hate it when that happens," he said, walking over to the doors and looking out at the sea. His gaze suggested to Stan that he was waiting for something. Pyrogom stood back in anticipation, and from the chalky cliff-side a fountain of water erupted and then formed into a beautiful woman much like those Stan knew in his youth.

"This is my lover, Aquacept. We were the ones who helped you out of the Matrix," he said, throwing an arm around the watery woman.

"We see you needed help." she said, in what sounded like a permanently seductive tone. "It was our pleasure to help."

Stan shifted uncomfortably.

"Well, you were heading for Falador. That's rather a long way away; you might as well stay the night here with us," Pyrogom said. Stan agreed, and that night he slept on a small bunk on the second floor. Just before he went to sleep, he felt safe that he was at last far from the terror and paranoia of Xenocrates.

Later that night, Stan awoke to the sickly smell of smoke. He opened his eyes to find the entire windmill up in blazes, the stench of the resin filling his nostrils as the smoke blinded his pursuit of the truth. On hands and knees he crawled over to the ladder, which had so far escaped the flames, and made his way down them, then moving as fast as his legs would carry him out to the cliff-side.

It dawned on him. His saviors were still inside. He took a quick look around the shoreline, and then ran back into the flames. As he climbed the ladder the base was consumed by the heat. Never mind, he thought. Stan climbed the next ladder up to the top floor. Pyrogom and Aquacept weren't there. Over the flames he heard shouts from outside. The flames on one side of the building began to hiss as a torrent of water hit them.

Stan remained curled up in the corner, and as Aquacept arrived up the ladder she had a stiff ambivalence on her face. She looked down the ladder and frowned, before looking back at him.

"You need to come with us." she said, in a tone that Stan really didn't like.

Not Finished