“I WANT TO KNOW I WON’T GET MUGGED”
Early in the morning on 30 Ire of Phyrrys, a woman's body was discovered buried under the rubble of a decrepit building in Southwest Varrock. While nothing conclusive can be said at this time, authorities suspect foul play.
For years, gang activity has been an ever growing problem within the city of Varrock. Whether this most recent casualty is related to the gangs of Varrock cannot be said, but the people have their concerns. "I don't ever leave my house after dark," said one citizen. "You never know what's lurking behind the next corner."
Many citizens blame the gang problem on a lack of discipline in the City Guardsman regime. "It's like they don't even care!" Danica Halloran, recent winner of the TGT lottery, stated earlier this week.
"When I go out," Halloran said, "I want to know I won't get mugged for a scrap. The guards don't care about us Southies. It's dog eat dog out here."
Unfortunately, many of South Varrock's citizens feel the same way, claiming that nothing will change. While the authorities promise that everything is being done to bring justice to this most recent casualty, citizens are not convinced.
Any information pertaining to the case should be taken to the Guardsmen of Varrock. The deceased has not yet been identified.
Lia Blake - Misthalin Correspondent – The Gielinor Times
TRAPPED CORPSES – THE NEXT BATTLE?
Throughout Gielinor, eyewitness accounts suggest that bodies are “alive and dead at the same time.”
Observations are that bodies have their ghosts trapped inside their own bodies, both shrugging and squirming as they try to part. This has unsurprisingly not surprised many people. “It’s Zamorak, he’s trying to raise an un-dead army – it’s obvious!” states a Lumbridge citizen.
In places such as Monvallis who are still battling against the mountain trolls, this is posing a large threat to them as like the rest of the world, they are unsure as to what exactly is happening. We managed to claim an interview with a member of the Monvallis Legion: Captain Sandra O’trinkers. “We’re wasting resources now. We’ve had to call in mage’s and doctor and all manner of Saradominian priests and vicars to try and crack this. We can’t bury the bodies – they’re still alive! Or could be.” She explains.
This has caused a lot of problems – evidently. However, for some, it’s causing catastrophic damage to societies. Due to the recent Battle of Lumbridge, most people – even if they’d deny it – think that the second godwars has began. As such, they think that this phenomenon is in fact the next step into this dark period – The second battle.
Murder rates have increased in all kingdoms due to rivalries between religions: Most commonly Saradomin Vs Zamorak. As well as thieving rates and all illegal activities rates have reached a new high since the last world war.
As death rates continue to rise, more and more trapped souls are being found all over Gielinor; with a battle between Monvallis, The Longclaws and The Sicarius on it’s way, we expect even more of these bodies to appear.
The question is: What exactly is happening?
Like with all god related events, many people have different theorys as to what these trapped bodies are:
· Death has died or is neglecting his duties. It is well known facts that death is responsible for making the dead souls pass over to the afterlife… So, if they’re not passing – what has happened to death?
· Zamorak is stopping them from passing. Due to his loss in the recent battle, some people believe that Zamorak has plans to raise an army of the un-dead to wage war on the Saradominist citizens to act a Gielinor-wide scale revenge with severe consequences.
If you have any information regarding this event, please get in touch.
Roland ‘Rielly - God wars 2 Correspondent – The Gielinor Times
LONGCLAWS RETURN TO GIELINOR
As you may or may not know, The Longclaws, formally known as the Claws of Peace, are the notorious combat group who push religion aside for the sole purpose of keeping the peace and protecting Gielinor’s citizens from harm.
I managed to seize an interview with the groups commander, Rannerie Longclaw. He began by explaining what the first version of the Longclaws did. He explained how the original ruler of Burthorpe, now known as Monvallis, “requested our support to help with the trolls.” He then went on to say that when Varis Grey was voted King of Burthorpe, the Longclaws were to be the ‘higher power’. Should anything go out of line, they were the ones who were to remove the person from power with immediate effect – The power behind the throne, as it were.
After their new understanding with Burthorpe and its new king, The Claws of Peace remained loyal to the cause: protecting the citizens of Burthorpe and Taverly by keep the troll infestation at bay while also keeping a watchful eye on Mr Varis Grey and his running of Burthorpe.
However down south in Falador, management changes were being made. Axareas Tryke was put on the throne along with his consort Benjamin who’s second name is unknown to us. For reasons unknown, Axareas was accused of ordering an assassination on enemy soil for “no reason at all”. This caused Sarimia to call upon their allies Burthorpe and Kandarin to eradicate Axareas from power.
This is where the Longclaws loyalty ended.
With knowledge that the claim is false, the Longclaws went to aid Tyke and fight against Burthorpe and Kandarin. “We managed to hold the bridge for some time against both the Kandar Army as well as the Burthorpe military. We had skill and determination with the wind on our side” explained Longclaw. “We fought against them as what they were doing was wrong. Their intel was corrupt, we had to try to help the unfortunate” he continued.
With an impressive opinion on citizen safety and world justice, after their considerable amount of time on hiatus: The LongClaws are back with a bang. Having only returned for a mire few months, The Claws of Peace already have their first target: The Sicarius.
The Sicarius are an infamously evil family, known for their lack of mercy and assumed deep supporting of Zamorak. Not much is known on them, only that shold you stand infront of their goal: they’ll do everything in their possession to ‘move’ you.
What is known, however, is that hostilities have already begun with reported sightings of fights in several different locations in Gielinor and reported killings on either side. We are unsure of if there will be a proper, full scale battle or just numerous small scale attacks.
Esmeralda Salmassi - CEO and Editor – The Gielinor Times.
THROUGH FRACTURED GLASS – PART TWO
[dimgrey]Beside the article is a colored illustration depicting a good-sized heap of rubble, parts of which seem to have been recently moved. Around this dark heap stand a number of people, mostly common folks native to the place- though there are two Varrock guards in place, easily recognizable by their polished armor.
The focus of the group's attention seems to be a clear, white, definitely human outline partway into the rubble.[/dimgrey]
But, moments after he'd uttered his goodbyes, a warmth came over the skeletal building and the sounds of life burst around him.
Alistair eased his eyes open to survey the area- and not even the crackling fire could stop him from freezing in place. Before him he saw the wispy smoke that lifted from Mister Lyddell's pipe as he leaned back in his deep green chair. Missus Lyddell sat knitting in a wooden rocker next to him, and Lissy sat at her feet with their small calico cat.
"Where am I?"
The world looked so very real, but Mister Lyddell didn't turn to the sound of his voice. Missus Lyddell didn't set down her knitting and Lissy only continued to stroke the cat's calico fur. All around them, the house shone in golden firelight; everything fresh, everything rich.
From the corner of his eye, Alistair noticed a shadow flash by an open doorway. He slid off the piano stool, following the darkness
In the kitchen, a thick, sickly sweet odor permeated the air, choking out any hope for a fresh breath. The table was marked and stained with deep knife cuts and fresh spilled blood that dribbled over the edge. A silver, lid-topped platter sat in the center.
Gasping for breath, he reached out feverishly to throw the silver lid up and away from the platter. Blood welled over the sides of the platter and spilled across the table. On the platter sat a great pig's uncooked body, in the typical roasted style, and a butcher knife stuck out from deep in its back. But the head- the head of this uncooked meal was that of a young black-haired boy with an apple driven in his mouth. His unfortunate blue eyes wide open, tears streamed down his cheeks.
Alistair's dark hazel eyes stood wide as could be, reflecting the unimaginable blue. Then, he heaved heavily to the side, knocking the platter down as he retched.
The platter clattered to the floor and the contents slid across the tile and connected with tiny, ash colored toes. A dull grey doll-child stood amidst the warm light and rich colored blood, her dress torn, moth eaten and dirty. Her black hair hung in long stringy locks that fell in her face, uselessly tied with a dull blue colored ribbon. Her diaphanous voice was the same voice that had told him to run.
A gurgling sound came from his throat as he tried to scream but only a whimper left his body.
The child's steps dragged across the bloody floor. A thin, boney arm flashed pale in the warm candlelight as she stretched a hand out to him. He brought his hand up to tentatively meet hers, an undeniable fear in his eyes.
The girl's skin was cold and rough against his as she led him back through the doorway and into fresher air. When they passed by Mister Lyddell's chair, it was empty, as was Missus Lyddell's rocker. Lissy wasn't there either, leaving behind the calico cat. As they passed, the beast's mouth curled into a wicked grin.
"Are they...Dead?" Alistair could hardly form the words.
The translucent way her voice hissed broke the quiet air.
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, she stopped and pointed up. At the top of the stairway the last few steps disappeared into a black nothingness.
"...There's nothing there."
She stood still and pointed, the chilling silhouette of a child-statue.
"...Fine." Alistair placed a shaking hand on the railing and moved up into the dark with hesitant footsteps. As he ascended the steps the candlelit world dissipated. The air turned chilly and each step he left behind returned to its rotting state.
The moment he reached the hall at the top of the stairs he ran, trying to escape the house. There was hardly any light by which to see and what light there was put a strain on his eyes. The hall seemed to go on forever, with a single door at the end.
Rot-weakened, the door burst open, splintering against his force as Alistair slammed himself against it. Set back in a corner of the room was a tall structure covered by a thick blanket. It wasn't too noticeable on its own, but, aside from spiders and dust, it was the only thing in the entire room. Squinting, Alistair stumbled over and pulled the blanket away.
Underneath rested an elegant golden-framed mirror, untouched by time. In the glass he only saw himself, but his sight soon moved towards the reflected cobwebs of the room and he wondered what might be lurking in the corners. The little girl from the kitchen flashed into sight behind him, gripping a butcher knife that dripped with a thick, oily black ooze.
As they stared at each other in the mirror's reflection, Lissy Lyddell crept into the room, each step an agonized jerking motion that lunged her forward. Her body was bone thin and ash colored and her face was gaunt. Two voids stared forward, empty sockets that had once held lively eyes. The same black ooze from the knife ran down from them. She opened her ashen lips and a hollow gasp came from her.
Alistair cried out in disgust.
Lissy drug herself toward him with agonizingly twisted steps. Mister and Missus Lyddell crawled into the room across the ceiling, looking and acting the exact same way as their unfortunate daughter. Soon, the three bodies blocked the only path toward the door.
"Run," the little girl hissed at him.
But there was no way out and nothing he could throw at the beasts as they encroached.
And then an idea hit him. Bracing for the impact of sharp glass on his skin, he ran towards the mirror.
To Be Continued...
Lia Blake - Columnist – The Gielinor Times
THE MAN ON THE SAND
Much has happened since this reporter last sent his pigeon circling into the sky in the direction of mighty Misthalin. With what one hopes is a little more decorum this time, this article aims to address the events following where the previous left off.
With the ship up on the shore, I did indeed climb in to have a look. Below-decks I was met with a sight very similar to the one in the captain's cabin; all was as it should have been. Hammocks and cargo were stowed neatly in the lower and crew decks, much of it stowed so efficiently that even as the boat listed to port as it did upon the sand, very little came loose. Indeed, the only thing that was out of place down there was a smell unlike any I've encountered before, but surely as chilling as any known on Gielinor. Somewhere between honey and sulfur it sat in the nose, lingering faintly in the close air below.
After much searching and rifling through the contents and cargo of the ship, it was clear that the vessel had not been robbed. Yet there was no sign of any of the crew - it was as though everyone had simply vanished.
It was only when I emerged from the vessel that I met another soul. There on the sand he stood, a Karamjan staring up at the word "Kharazi" upon the underside of the ship. He was dressed in ordinary northern clothing, rather than the reed skirts and tribal attire usually found on the island. He greeted me politely enough, if rather coldly. Though I was initially (and, I think, understandably) suspicious of the fellow, he seemed happy to speak to me, especially when I told him I worked for The Gielinor Times.
He asked to be referred to as Pall, though he made it clear that was not his real name. I asked him if he knew anything about the boat, the disappearances or this mysterious "Kharazi."
'You know what Kharazi is, northerner? It is an old word; not just a word, but a name. A name given to many different things, places and ideas.
He went on:
'Ask your northern legends, in their guild, what Kharazi is. They will tell you it is a jungle - inhospitable and savage - and they tell the truth. But they tell only part of that truth.
How many gods do you know, northerner? You know your Saradomin and your Zamorak, maybe others. Perhaps you know the others crawling slowly from the woodwork.'
Here he looked to the south, as though seeing past the impenetrable jungle that lay several miles in that direction. I had to press him to continue.
'But there is something here that lies forgotten by your civilized memories. A mystery beyond clues and riddles, unlike the hidden, betrayed god so many of your angsty teenagers take an interest in. That god left clues and memories everywhere, yet still is referred to as a god of mystery; but this, this left nothing. Nothing but a name, now attributed to locations and ideas.'
Like many young men of my generation, I had been thrilled to hear the southern coastline and its inland areas beyond the jungle had been mapped by a bold adventurer from the guild of legends. So, I asked him, do these recent events have anything to do with the jungle, or with this idea of "Kharazi?"
'Kharazi is far more than just an idea, but yes, they are related. Though not as they should be.
It wants to remain hidden. But this? Kidnapping colonists and carving the very word itself into woodwork where journalists will see? Something wants to draw it out, and reveal its secrets.'
He became quiet again, and drew what appeared to be a runestone from his pocket. I was unable to see what type of runestone it was, though he turned it over in his hand several times before replacing it. I was able to press him for one final question: what, in his opinion, will the next move of this strange group be?
'Their next move? The next move will not be theirs, northerner. Count on that.'
He said no more and wandered back into the jungle, vanishing among the trees. We can only guess what his final words meant.
Tame Locke - Karamja Correspondent – The Gielinor Times