All's Faire

I'm going to see if I can "filter" tab to a series of 5 spaces. Probably won't work...

No, apparently to filter a word I need to first enter one, and the replacement needs to be a minimum of three characters.

Ah well, I'll be okay with no tabs. Thanks for trying, though.

Interesting story so far, I can't wait for the rest of it to come out!

“You took your time, didn’t you?” the vagabond greeted me upon my return. Apparently, he had never heard of such concepts as “politeness” and “respect”.

“I’ve got your list,” I muttered, throwing the scrap of paper at him.

“Tut tut,” the man said, shaking his finger at me. “You’re going to be having fun with us, remember? Come on, what’s first?” He scanned the list with his finger, his face expressing disbelief with each passing idea. “Fun? Yes, of course. Naturally, going meandering through woods and facing certain death are some of the most entrancing occupations I could place myself in. What do you think, Bert?”

The man tossed the list to the weedy man in the back. “Dunno, Will, looks…interesting to me. Myra?”

“Fine, fine,” said the lone woman distractedly. She was looking at me intently, probably trying to figure out how much she could get for my sword if she could get it off me.

“Right. Lars?”

The last man, a short, squat fellow with a ruddy complexion and a face that wanted to buy you a beer, leaned over Bert to get a closer look at the list. “Er…Sure, that works. Anything’s better than sitting around here all day, heckling these fools. No offense, of course.”

I hadn’t been listening, and hadn’t taken any offense. I was merely waiting to see whether or not Will would deem my list fun or not.

He grabbed it back from Bert and looked it over once more. Then, he looked up at me and said, “Very well, traveler. Let’s head out to the fields. It looks as though we’ve got some distilling to do.”

With that, the four of them leapt up and made for the northern exit. I followed behind at a slower pace, not entirely sure of what I had gotten myself into. Surely, there was no harm in having fun with a bunch of hooligans. I could only hope that no one would find us making illegal alcohol or any of the other nonsense we planned to do.

I caught up with Will and his gang by the field. They hadn’t yet gone in search of the distillery; it seemed as though they had actually waited up for me.

“Okay, traveler. Go and look for the equipment. We’ll stay here as lookouts in case anyone comes. If they do, we’ll be sure to run away so we don’t get caught.”

I held my tongue for fear of being kicked out of the group (although I wasn’t too sure I still wanted to be in) and dashed around the side of the field, scanning the bushes for any sign of the drunk’s equipment. I found it near the back corner of the field, stashed behind some large, thorny shrubs. I pulled the stuff out and heaped it in a pile. To tell the truth, the thing looked like something Zamorak must have played with when he was little. Vials and knobs, pipes that wound and wound and wound, horrible gaping vents that seemed to scream at me…But it was only an alcohol distiller, and my moment of terror soon passed.

Will and the gang, having been spying on me from across the field, dashed up and cheered aloud at the sight of the thing.

“Brilliant!” Will shouted. “I was wrong to suspect the entertainment of these things! Traveler, you have done us a great kindness. Come on, let’s make some brew.”

There were several jars of ingredients, and there were different vents to put them in, different temperatures to set, different times to let things sit for, and no instructions at all. It was a trial and error to the umpteenth degree, especially when each member of the group called for a different type of ale. Heaven forbid that they should help, either; they were content to lounge around the field and let me do the testing. Only when the “drink” was ready did they leap to their feet, only to spit in disgust and declare that the ale was not quite right.

After several failed attempts at their drinks, I managed to make something that I might be able to pass off as beer to a man with no senses. The gang, bored by this point, gulped the thing down and gave me half-hearted thumbs up.

“Next?” Lars asked, tossing his satchel over his shoulder.

“The windmill, I believe,” said Myra, glancing behind her. The tall windmill, guardian of Ardougne’s north gate, could still be seen from this far across the field. “As a lady of high standing, I shan’t be participating in this, although I’ll be sure to have lots of fun as I watch all of you fall to your death.”

“Oh, you cheek!” cried Will happily, punching her lightly in the arm. “Come on, traveler. I’ll race you!” He ran off, whooping and shouting. I envied the man at that point. Free to do as he pleased, dizzy with life, and eager for every second.

When I arrived at the windmill, only slightly out of breath, Will was already looking for the best route up the towering edifice.

“I figure,” commented Bert, ever the architect, “that the best way up would be to wedge yourself between the door frame and then leap up and grab hold of a blade as it passes down.”

Will nodded enthusiastically and tried the theory. We got as far as the door frame before he realized that he lacked any physical prowess and that holding himself up long enough to jump onto the blade was quite beyond him. He glared at Bert, for it had been his pathetic idea in the first place, and then circled around the windmill, taking in every angle.

“How about this handsome guy tries?” asked Myra, shooting a quick look in my direction.

“Very coy,” I said, attempting some flirty banter, “but I’m taken.”

“No, you’re not,” she said, and turned away. I blushed, ashamed of my sad skills in conversation, and walked behind the windmill, partly to find Will, and partly to hide. Will, who had heard Myra’s suggestion, beamed at me as I came around to the back.

“Ah, traveler! Marvelous to see you again!” Evidently, in the thirty seconds we had been apart, Will had completely forgotten I existed. “See if you can get up there. Five coins says you can’t.” He seemed to think that five coins was an awful lot to someone like me.

Regardless, I agreed and looked for the best way to scale the thing. My superior intellect showed me the way; I climbed a nearby tree, leapt over to a windowsill, scaled a few patches in the whitewall, clambered around the thingamabob the blades are attached to, and grabbed hold of one as it passed. Then, it was merely a matter of timing, and I landed safe and sound on top of the windmill. Below, they applauded, and Will tossed up five coins, none of which landed near me.

The rest of the gang followed my approach, and soon all of them (minus Myra) were standing with me on top of the windmill.

“Nice view,” stated Lars. “Shame we have to go down and do…what was it, again?”

“Go foxhunting in the Owl’s Forest,” Will reminded him. “Although I’ve never heard of the thing. Traveler, you’ve been around. Ever heard of it?”

“No, but I might go check around the tavern. There’s usually the odd traveler or two in there.”

“Ah, fantastic! We’ll be up here, watching to make sure you don’t scamper off. Go on, find us the Owl’s Forest.”

I grabbed onto the next passing blade and rode down to the ground. Myra winked at me as I passed, but I was still too embarrassed from my failed flirt that I couldn’t look her in the eye.

It had only been an hour or two since I had left the Flying Horse, but I figured I might as well try. The man that had informed me of the foxhunting had actually been on his way out to go do it, and I hadn’t thought to ask him where it was. I hoped that he had either returned, or one of his friends had shown up late to the party.
The tavern didn’t seem to have changed much from last time, but after a second glance, I noticed a vast difference. There was a man sitting at one of the back tables, who was dressed in full plaid gear, with a hunting bow, knife, and stuffed fox lying on the seat next to him. If this man wasn’t preparing for (or coming from) a foxhunt, then he was severely messed up.

“Excuse me, sir,” I declared boldly, striding up to his table, “Do you happen to know where the Owl’s Forest is?”

The man turned to face me with a look that would have made Zamorak cry. I fervently began to wish that I no longer wanted to know where the Owl’s Forest was. Just as I was about to turn and run out of the tavern, the man spoke in a voice that would have made Saradomin cry.

“Of course, fair traveler. I know well this place of which you speak. I am heading out that way myself, and you can follow along if you wish.”

“Er…” I was thrown off guard by the man’s gentle voice and rough features. It was a few seconds before I remembered why I had come here in the first place. “Yes, but I have to get some friends first.” The man bade me leave with a gentle wave of his hand, and I hurried out the tavern, still slightly shocked from the encounter.

“Traveler!” Will called from the top of the windmill as I approached. “Have you found us the Owl’s Forest yet?”

“Yes!” I called back. “There’s a traveler in the tavern who’ll take us there!”

“Jolly good! Let’s go!”

The hunter led us through town, out the north end of town, and around in circles through endless similar-looking plains and hills until I finally spied a forest-type thing on the horizon. As we got closer, the object turned out to be none other than the Owl’s Forest, a gloomy place that was home to the finest foxes in Gielinor. The hunter forgot about us and ran off, intent on finding some foxes.

“Seems we’ve forgotten our bows,” Will said, who had put off saying this until they had gotten all the way to the forest. “Traveler, would you mind-”

“Oh, come on, Will,” groaned Bert, who had taken pity on me somewhat. “Let’s just catch them with our bare hands. It’ll be more fun that way.” The others nodded their assent, and Will deflated, his prey lost.

“Fine, fine. We’ll do it the old-fashioned way. We’ll split up into groups, then. Let’s see…Bert, Myra, and Lars, you’ll come with me. Traveler, you can go with yourself. Good? Jolly good. Let’s go!” With that, Will sprinted off into the depths of the forest, stepping off the path as quickly as he could. I was less eager to leave the worn trail, not trusting the dark recesses of the Owl’s Forest. I was quite happy to meander aimlessly around for an hour before returning to the entrance of the forest.

On my ramblings, I found a young fox or two and attempted to catch them. They avoided me skillfully, but I wasn’t to be denied. I used my incredible hunting skills to follow them (off the trail, regrettably) back to their den, where I found a few other young’uns for me to catch. They scattered in every direction, and I chased after the slowest one of them. Luckily, the young rascal seemed to have a limp, so I easily scooped him up and into my pack. The others proved a little more difficult to corner and capture, but I managed. As I was running after the last one, he crossed over the trail and burrowed into a thick patch of thorns, from which all my coaxing would not bring him out.

I stood up and looked around, trying to see which direction the path took. My eye was drawn to a large lump lying down the trail a little way. I went to take a closer look and recoiled almost instantly! The lump was naught but a dead body! He had been dead for several weeks, months perhaps, based on the decay of his skin. His clothes were torn, but the vibrant colors could still be seen; faded reds, yellows, and oranges could be seen through the mud that covered him. He was face down on the trail, and his limbs were sprawled, as though he had been running. A few inches from his head, a tattered hat drooped. The hat, conical in shape, was of the same material and color as the dead man’s shirt, although the hat was topped with a mud-soaked cotton ball. As I looked closer, I noticed similar cotton balls adorning the man’s shirt, although these had been smashed into unrecognizable shapes. It was a peculiar sight, and I didn’t want to get any closer, to take a look at the man’s face. I doubted it would be anyone I knew, anyway.

I started walking down the other end of the trail (not because I was frightened of the body, of course) when I heard a shuffling noise behind me. I turned, half expecting the corpse to have moved. It was only the fox, coming out of his hiding spot and dashing back to his den. I had forgotten about the baby foxes in my pack, and took them out, letting them sprint back to their waiting mother. After I set the last one free, I hurried off down the trail again. The remaining shuffling noises didn’t bother me a bit.

“Found one!” cried Lars happily, as he jogged ahead of the group. “I didn’t catch it, but I saw it!”

“He’s lying,” grunted Bert. “I didn’t see anything, and he just wants to look better than the rest of us.”

“Did you find anything, traveler?” Will asked. I had been napping at the entrance to the forest for half an hour, waiting for the vagabonds to return. When I heard their shouts coming down the trail, I hastily stood up and looked busy.

“Saw one or two through the trees, but the little devils were too quick for me.”

“Ah well. Good show, everybody.”

“Easy for you to say, Will,” complained Myra. “You just sat around at laughed at us as we ran back and forth in the woods!”

“Yes, well, you all know my leg’s been acting up recently. Come on, let’s have a look at that list. It’s nearly midafternoon, and I need some more things to do. Hmm…Mining ore, eh? You know, I don’t think it would hurt if we skipped just one thing on this list. Let’s see that last one. Ah, yes. This’ll do nicely. ‘Fight a ridiculously powerful monster without weapons’. You’ll have to get rid of your sword for this one, traveler!”

I grinned weakly and looked away. This was the one “fun” thing I had been dreading all day. Knowing this lot, they’d manage to pick the King Black Dragon, supposedly the toughest of the known dragons. And if not him, then they’d get it into their heads to head north into the mountains and find the so-called God Wars Dungeon, which assuredly doesn’t exist, but we’d still die of exposure if these hoodlums had their way.

“I know!” shouted Bert, a shrewd look in his eyes. “What about Officer Holmes? He’s a pretty powerful guy, and I’m sure we’d all like some payback for what happened with the baker.”

The other three looked around, each of them with an anxious look on their face. Will’s look, however, was soon replaced by one of delight. “Yeah, yeah. That old guard’s been bothering us for years! How about we give him some bother back? My dad’s friendly with the force and I’m sure roughing up one single officer won’t get us in too much of a spot.”

Will’s agreeing to the plan was all the other two needed. Myra and Lars now acted as though they had never had any doubts. Meanwhile, I was absolutely petrified. Roughing up a city guard? Aside from a few run-ins with the law in Varrock (my fire talisman had been “confiscated” by a particularly mean-spirited guard), I had never gotten in a fight with an appointed city guardian. And what exactly did “roughing up” mean? They weren’t going to kill the poor soul, were they? For the first time that day, I wondered about the innocence of my new posse.

Getting back to Ardougne was much harder than we had originally anticipated. With the lack of our friendly guide, we had to wander in circles for hours before finally finding the windmill that signaled the north gate. It was nearing dusk by this point, and I realized that I had spent all day with my new “friends”. I considered saying that I really needed to get back to my room in the inn, just so I could avoid the last thing on our Fun List. As I was about to open my mouth to say as much, when Will ran in front of the gang and stopped us.

“Okay, ‘round this time, old Holmes will be making his daily rounds near the market, right? All we have to do is dress up as a zombie or somesuch and jump out at him when he least expects it. Ha, he won’t be expecting the lemon meringue to scare him tonight! He doesn’t fear the baguettes in the least! But tonight, the bakery stall shall be the death of him.”

At the word “death”, a shiver ran over me. It was a mere turn of phrase…of course. The other three ran off cackling, no doubt to get prime seats for the spooking. I fully expected Will to ask me to dress as a zombie and scare the old man to death, but when he looked at me, it was with a little bit of fear.

“Er…do you mind getting a sheet from your bed in the inn?” he asked, almost timidly. “And if you could mash up some red berries and smear it on there, like blood, you know, that would be really swell. And just, er…, just bring it to that alley where you met us. I’ll be there. And then, er…, just head to the market and stay away from the bakery stall. Right?” With that, he ran off. It was curious; here was the man who had been so enthusiastic about haunting the old man. Now, when his moment was approaching, he seemed to be almost afraid of what might happen.

Regardless, I grabbed the sheet, mashed up some berries, and prepared a bloody ghost costume for Will. He was where he said he would be, and I handed the sheet off to him. He thanked me with a nod and ran off to prepare. I headed to the market, bought that loaf of bread I had been craving all day, and went to stand by the fur trader’s, munching on what had previously been fresh bread. My thoughts began to wander to the next day. I would probably be on the road again, eager to push west and possibly find the Gnome Stronghold I had heard so much about. I had seen a gnome once. Short fellow, funny clothes, but I couldn’t imagine a whole horde of them!

“You there!” The voice roused me from my thoughts. I wasn’t sure who it was directed at.

“Yes?” I called instinctively, but I received no answer. I looked around the dim marketplace, trying to pick out the speaker. It wasn’t yet quite dark enough for the lanterns to be lit, but the rapidly receding sunlight was making it exceedingly difficult to see things.

“Baker!” barked the harsh voice again. I peered into the gloom and could barely make out a market guard stomping towards the baker’s stall. Tufts of white hair poked out from under his helmet. I could only guess that this was the doomed Officer Holmes. “Baker, it’s nearly evening time. Do you have my jelly roll?”

“Yes, sir, Officer Holmes,” said the jolly baker, reaching down into his crates to pick out the plumpest roll. From my position, I couldn’t see much, but I could see the pale shape that manifested itself from the shadows of the market. It drew closer to Holmes, hiding behind him all the while, until it was finally close enough to tap on his back.

“Blaaaaaargh!!!!” the ghost creature cried, leaping upon the unsuspecting Holmes. The poor man only had time to let out a single, strangulated cry before he fell to the ground underneath the ghost. Howls of laughter came from the rooftop of a nearby building, quickly followed by a shushing noise. The ghost fled the scene, as the baker, noticing what had happened, cried out.

“Murder! Murder in the market! Look, there’s blood!”

This was enough for me. I hightailed it away from the marketplace, listening to the cries of the merchants drifting into the background. As I passed the alley where Will had been, the ghost came hurtling at me. It nearly knocked me over, as it had done to Holmes, but I leapt quickly out of the way. Will tore off the sheet and looked at me in a frenzy.

“Saradomin above, man! He’s dead, isn’t he? Gah, dash it all! We’ll have to flee the city now, won’t we? Blast and pieces!! Meet us by that distiller tomorrow morning. Go straight back to your room and don’t mention the market to anyone. Saradomin’s beard, what a mess!” Will ran down the alley, still shouting curses to the sky.

I was dumbstruck. I had just seen a man murdered in what was effectively broad daylight, and now I was planning to rendezvous with the murderer and his cronies. When I arrived in the next village, I would have to go see the local monk right away. For the moment, though, I wanted nothing more than to sleep. I hadn’t actually reserved a room at the tavern by that point, since I wasn’t planning on staying longer than it took to eat a loaf of bread. I paid the barman for one night and hurried up to my room. The day had wore me out, and it took only a few minutes for me to fall asleep. Outside my door, thumps, scrapes, and groans sounded throughout the night, the results of a hasty police search through the tavern, I imagine. I slept on.

Hmm...is that a good or a bad ?

good

sweetness!