Transcript:Tales from earlier ages

''It's been a fairly relaxed month for me: I'm especially grateful that no one has written to the penguins, as I still haven't got all the frost out of my jaw from last month. The pirates were remarkably friendly once they realised I had no loot to plunder, and even gave me some 'rum'. I'm glad I don't have a stomach to be poisoned.''

Dear Renelda,

It has been an age since I coiled myself round a quill, and quite literally so: the last time being in the Second Age, when my quill came from Armadyl himself. Alas, it is a story from an irrelevant time; I would far prefer to hear any of yours.

Anyway, the stones you talk of are too brittle for any purpose other than His tears - a symbol, if you like, of how soft and unready the world was for great Guthix. To use the rocks for jewellery or your own benefit would be disrespectful and not particularly thankful for the lessons the tears have taught you.

I apologise for being a little strong in my warning. Do come and tell me a story sometime.

Juna

Arr? Be ye wantin' te go on account with our gang o' fillibusters?

Arr, I guess I won't be getting out o' this one quite so easily. Ye've obviously got yerself ahold o' our Little Book o' Piracy, so I be answering ye squarely.

Abaft, Matthew Swor, abaft!

Me cutlasses be cutlasses, straight 'n' true (well, maybe not straight), but they not be fer yer ev'ry day use, they be antiques, museum artefacts; what ye be buying from me be historical pieces. Aye, Brass Hand Harry's cutlass be shorter than yer average, but so be the man himself. Fair enough he be trading 'em back ta me on a weekly basis, but ev'ry one be unique. As fer Unlucky Jenkins's Lucky Cutlass, well that one be more of yer good luck charm than a weapon, see.

Us pirates like our cutlasses on the shorter side fer that up close 'n' pers'nal feel, see. We likes ta sees the yellow of our enemies' eyes. If ye be too binnacled ta see that, ye've got less pirate in ye than a duffle on his athwartships. Look that one up in yer little book, drivelswigger.

If ye've still got issues with me wares, then I be directing ye to some o' me land-pirate chums, the 'friendly' folk o'er at Carruthers, Landsbottom and Og. Get yer corkscrews ready...they love a good game o' Davy's Grip.

Pirate Smith

Loyal soldier,

I am troubled to hear that the traitors still live - I especially bear no love towards the dog Lucien. His betrayal was greater than most, so I encourage you to do all you can to eliminate this abomination. Die for our cause, if you must.

As to the number of my tribe that remain, I must concede ignorance - though I should be surprised if there were only six of us left. We are near-immortal, and only die very occasionally. During the time of my imprisonment no more than a dozen are surely slain, and no doubt a few more are weakened or entrapped as I was. In my time we ruled these lands like gods; times, it seems, have changed.

Before I was imprisoned there were many of us, the most powerful of which you have named - but do not forget Sliske the serpent-tongued, who delves the shadows, and the impostor Zamorak, who calls himself a god.

For strength and our Empty Lord, Azzanadra

Hail from Rellekka, young Fremennik!

I am afraid the last time Postie Pete tried to deliver our mail ended rather badly: we saw him being carried off by one of the great eagles of the west! We were all very glad when he returned with the post this time.

You are eager, and that is commendable, but aye the frozen lands of Acheron are a terrible vicious place. We do not fear the cold but there are things up there that live where no living thing should survive. The stories tell of icy winds with intent so malicious they will wrap themselves around your heart until it freezes like stone.

But do not let your resolve falter, for we are the mighty Fremennik and bravery is not in short supply amongst us! In good time we will venture north and warm the very winds themselves with our battle cries and song; unlike the scurvy pirates we possess qualities other than fearlessness. We are patient and know the time is not yet right, the dangers of the daggermouths have not been overcome yet and until they have it would be prudent to wait.

Your spirit is noble, warrior, and I have no doubt you will be standing on the prow of the first Fremennik ship to break the ice floes of the north, but until the time is right your lust for adventure will have to be satisfied with this painting of our mighty warriors landing on Waterbirth Isle to continue the ongoing struggle against the Daggermouth Kings.

May the winds favour you, Chieftain Brundt

Bold warrior,

It is good that you show interest in the great heroes of the past, though it is sad that so much of our history has been lost in the ages. We of the Heroes' Guild have always tried to keep the stories alive for the younger generations, hoping that they would be inspired to acts of heroism. Alas, even we know little of Camorra's great acts.

What little we can be sure of is that she lived some time in the middle of the Fourth Age, and that she defeated the dragon Garak, who had laid waste to a number of villages near the Wilderness. We're quite sure that there is more to be discovered about her, but the Heroes' Guild library is woefully inadequate!

Perhaps we should send one of our apprentices to Varrock and Falador to find whatever there might be written about her. Should you discover anything yourself, we would be glad to hear of it.

With honour, Achietties

My Dearest Mr. Hilart, Sir,

Sir's concerns are understandable, but I can assure Sir that us demon butlers are never anything less than professional. Demon-butler training is very assiduous and most strict. I remember how conflagratory and irascible Mr. Mordaut got with the younger students; he was very drag-onian, haw haw.

It is true that us demon butlers have to prove our worth, what with our more, shall we say, pugnacious siblings being most people's experience of demonkind. All one can do is inform Sir that one does not partake of inebriating substances, nor does one have friendly acquaintances...aside from Sir, of course.

To allay Sir's fears, while Sir is indisposed or abroad, one does much cleaning and tidying. Indeed, one chased away a veritable horde of ninja implings from Sir's prize petunias just this morning.

Salutations. Alathazdrar

Ti83 Plus,

You remind me of something from when I was a wee lad.

I was just starting out as an archaeologist, having passing my Dig Site examinations weeks before. I had struck up a diet of adventure fiction from the Varrock Library and would spend my afternoons with a book on my lap, daydreaming of plundered pyramids. In short, I was brave and impressionable.

On my way through Shantay Pass (although it was called something else at the time) a young gentleman swung me about and told me of a tunnel nearby where a magical object, scarab-like in shape and of the richest colours, was awaiting a brave adventurer. It was made of a mysterious element, fabled but never before seen. It was made of kalphite, he said.

Morrisane was his name.

The moral, if you haven't guessed it, is don't trust what you hear. It may have just come from a Morrisane.

Historian Minas

'Ello Milandabest,

How, exactly, are claws not the most fearsome of weapons? To do away with such clunky devices as swords and shields and extend your own body into a weapon itself is a feeling like no other. The perfect symmetry between man and weapon. With my agility and speed I can slip between blows, get up close and personal and then end the threat quickly and neatly.

My student Vannaka may be strong and well armed, but what use is that when by your first swing you've already been stabbed in the back by a lightning fast creature? Besides, rune claws are just the ones I wear for teaching, I've got a special set few have ever seen back at my house for when I really mean business. Vannaka knows this and wouldn't ever want to challenge me - again.

Slayer Master Duradel

Mysterious Old Random Events
While wandering about recently minding my own business, trying to get ahead in life (ha ha!), I was accosted by the Mysterious Old Man. Rather than sending me off to find my way through a maze or to attempt to mimic a mime's actions - which would have been cruel to someone with no body - he simply threw a bundle of papers at me. I had a look at them, and what should I find but his notes on ideas for Random Events.

These are some of the ideas the Mysterious Old Man has had, but ended up throwing at me instead of making them:

UM = Unsuspecting Mug
 * Mime Racing
 * UM must defeat three other characters at mime racing. UM jumps on top of mime and holds onto beret. UM then pretends to whip the mime, which will make mime go faster. Mime jumps over invisible obstacles and takes imaginary pit stops.
 * Reward: UM gets turned inside out.
 * The Land Before Mime
 * UM teleported to parallel dimension where mime does not exist. UM must convince dimension that mime is a distinguished hobby and spread the (silent) word.
 * Reward: UM's name changed to Nigel.
 * The Feeble-minded Squirrel of Just-Right-of-Falador
 * I have captured this terrible and fabled squirrel, through a combination of mind games and sweets. UM is faced with the squirrel and must use words to confuse him, convincing him that he is actually a yew tree.
 * Reward: Unleashes the Spaniel of Unimaginable Horror on UM.
 * Where's Jad?
 * UM is blindfolded and led into a room. He must then find TzTok-Jad amongst the brightly coloured furniture. Task is made harder by the UM having owls tied to each of their limbs.
 * Reward: UM receives TzTok-Jad's toenail clippings. Note: these are awe-inspiringly powerful. Probably not a good idea to let UM have them. Might destroy world.
 * Rusk
 * An elaborate wargame where UMs must send their troops out to capture large swathes of biscuit.
 * Reward: UM gains right to gloat for 4.3 minutes.
 * Oh, Postie Pete!
 * UM find themselves in a poorly written sitcom about a postman who is only a skull. UM must 'laugh' whenever Postie Pete has a misunderstanding with the elderly next door neighbour, trips over bits of pavement or accidentally gets himself into a situation that is both embarrassing and mildly entertaining.
 * Reward: My old slippers.