The (mis)Adventures of the RPG Hero

by Hexalan

Rating: everyone
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Random, Crossover, Alternate Universe, Sad
Length: 2735

The tales of Grith, the not-very-generic RPG protaginist

Join Grith the Inconsequential, as he journeys across Gielinor (and other) with his mix-and-match companions: the dubious doubtful diplomatic divine rat, the masterful magician, and the magnificent misdirected musicians, and a combination of everything else but the kitchen sink.

Contains Canon characters, OC, crossover, and OC crossover.

Due to overcomplex continuity (I mean the fact I can't consistently write for long periods of time), Confederacy of Purple, my other horrible fic (5-stars+comments plox?) will be on hiatus.

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Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2011-11-13 03:57:32 UTC

A Tale of Two Cities

He walked through the forest. A dark path swiveled through the trees, a low fence on both sides. A few feet ahead, a bridge crossed a small creek. It was blood-red from the iron residues beneath the forest. Once an scientist had come here, trying to exploit the natural resources. Dr. Mary did not fare well against nature. Soon after Mary started digging, she went straight down into an aquifer. The resulting opening collapsed the underground water, and a river was formed. It connected to the old Light River from the north and was sustained to this very day.

He snapped awake. Grith was along the riverside, a bustling town visible in the distance. He had traveled here once before, after his parents were killed in bandit attacks. Rumour was that an ancient power laid in those woods, if only one could harness it. Years after he left, the Crashiens had cut down the forest for the wood, clearing the land. Where Creek Mary's Blood met the Vant River, they had built a strategically important fort. In those days, the threat of war against the Fich had always loomed over their heads. When the Prime Minister suddenly died, a new leader stepped up, and negotiated a treaty over the control of the Riverlands. Since then, the Fich and and Crashiens have been great allies.

The aforementioned town was the remnant of old Fort Bankforks. It was now a sprawling trade center, a hub for all sorts of sailors and craftsmen, artisians and laborers, thinkers and builders. Men of any nationality were welcome here, from Asgarnian to Zent. The native populace had grown quite service oriented. Most of the permanent buildings were inns, shops, and the such. As a result, the locals had grown quite rich and prominent. Even a royal bank had been built here. You could buy and pay with money of all sorts: Crashien silver and gold, Fich dollars, Gielinorian Gp, Meat, TokKul, crowns, nobles and bits.

Grith was a nomadic mercenary. He was skilled with his sword and bow. His equipment wasn't for show. He was hoping to find some job in Bankforks. Rich cities always enticed bandits and looters to come and try to rob caravans or boats. A good warrior was always welcomed. As he gathered his things, a mouse scurried out of his half-collapsed tent. Said mouse was then speared by a stick and tossed into a bag. Hastily packing his things, Grith set off towards the town.

Several hours later, Grith came up to the city walls. A pair bored-looking guard sat in a tower. One was tall, armoured in boiled leather, gripping a long spear in his gauntlets. He had dirty blond hair, and a short beard. The other was of average size, black hear and clean-shaven. He too, had a spear.

The tall guard called out. "You there! Halt!" He came up to the window and leaned out. "What's your business?"

"Come here looking for a work. Heard you've got bandit problems." Grith held out a pouch and jiggled it. The soft tinkle of coins was easily recognizable. "I'm no beggar."

"Very well. " replied the guard, eyeing Grith's weapons. Mercenaries weren't rare. "You may enter." The second guard stepped into the shadows in the tower, operating some machinery. A large gate swung open.

Grith entered the city. He had heard about the crowded merchant town, but he had never come before. By chance, he had come on the Sunday Markets. The tales didn't do it justice. As he approached the city center, he could hear the hustle and bustle of the city. Merchants cried their wares from every street corner. A baker store was swarmed by hungry shoppers. Dozens of naive tourists wandered the streets, gazing at stalls. A pair of pickpockets picked pockets. Another less skilled pickpocket was trying to steal from a Dog. The Dog was understandably not pleased with this. The now hobbled thief was carted off to the nearest kennel.

Grith noticed a sign.A tavern, he thought, sure to be a job there. Entering the tavern, a few heads turned. A bum by the door shook an empty bowl, and grinned when Grith tossed in a coin. The barkeep, polishing a mug with an immortal dirty rag, turned to face him. "What'll it be?"

"Ale. And put it this, I don't trust yours." Grith passed him a bottle and a copper noble. As he filled the bottle, Grith glanced around. A shadowy figure lounged in one corner, and waved him over. Grabbing his ale, he sauntered over. Sipping his mead, the shadowy man spoke.

"I have heard of you. I have a job for you." The man coughed, then took a swig from his flask. "Some merchants will be leaving the city soon. Escort them to the City of Night. Return to me when they pass." He handed Grith a small, metal coin. "Take this to the Magic Guild. Tell them 'Omnes Moriunter'." The Shadowy Man stood up and left the tavern.

Precisely twelve minutes, thirty-four seconds later, Grith approached the guild hall. He pulled a rope in front of the door, and a bell rang out. Soon a panel near the gate was pulled in, and a woman poked her head out. She had long, wavy, purple hair. Her eyes were black with a violet ring around the iris. She was wearing large, round glasses that seemed to distort the light around them. She said "Who are you? What do you want?"

"I'm here to-um...what was the word...Om-nayz More Ian tour?" Grith mumbled.

"Very well." She replied, swinging open the door. "Are you Grith?" He pointed to large, prominent yellow floating "Grith" that had inexplicably appeared above his head. "I am known as Twilight." She took his bags and quickly searched through them for potentially harmful items. These things included such as a sword, a bottle of poison, and the rotting corpse of a squirrel. "You'll get these back when you leave." She explained. She then looked behind a desk, then took out a huge stack of paper and a pen. "You'll need to sign this." Grith sat down at a bench and started looking through the paper. "I hereby agree to not do anything stupid and follow common sense." Beneath the heading was a long list of Things Not To Do, which mainly consisted of common sense things, like Don't steal stuff, and Don't kill the merchants. The last item of the list, on page 4, was "There is nothing after this so you can just skip to the end and sign". Grith signed on a line at the bottom of the back of the very last page. "Whalp. Free paper." He shoved the blank pages into his pack and returned the others to Twilight.

Twilight said, "Come to the West Gate at Four o' The Clock," as she handed a parcel.

Grith left the Guild of Magic, and looked inside his package. Inside was a list of items, and said items. "Hmmm..sword-returned...bow-returned...rancid carcass-disposed of...but what happened to the mouse?"

"Over here."

"GAH!" Grith jumped, and frantically looked around.

"Over here, mortal." Grith looked up. A faintly glowing mouse was on his shoulder. "I am the First Mouse. I do not die."

"Is there a reason you were scurrying through my camp this morning?" asked Grith.

"I was bored. I decided to look upon the affairs of mortals."

"Okiiie Dokiiie Lokiiie. Wait what? Why did I just say that?" Grith and T.F.M. ventured into the city. Grith bought some things. Things such as a sandvich. Which he got to eat. And a new whetstone. To sharpen his sword and knives and such. Because they don't work if they're not sharp. And an axe. Not a battleaxe; his sword was good enough. The axe was for cutting trees. His old axe had exploded inexplicably. And arrowheads. Which could be made into arrows. Which could be shot to make dead people.

Approximately thirty seven minutes later, Grith and T.F.M. were at the Westmost Gate. Twilight waited there with the merchants. Without a word, they set off into the Great Plains of Forinthry.

Not long after setting out, with Bankforkks just visible, they were on the road near the Light Crossing. However, some enterprising warriors had decided to set up a tollbooth. There was a large magicked sign above it, flashing phrases like "Pay to Cross". One of the merchant leaders left the caravan and walked up to the window.

"Salutations, dear ser. May I ask of the price of crossing?" asked the merchant politely.

"10 silvers a head." gruffly answered the tollboother (tollboother? Tollboothist? Is there even a word for it?).

"10 silvers? That's outrageous!" cried the bemused man.

"More for wagons." added the tollbooth-man.

"This is highway robbery! This is a major road! How can you stand for this?"

"If you can't pay, go away." rhymed the fancy knight errant.

Suddenly the river froze over, the water turned to blood. Wisps of poison smoke came out of the riverbanks. As the airborne particles faded, four men appeared. The wore mysterious, vaguely ceremonial robes. The first one, clothed in grey, stepped forward.

"Stop your actions." proclaimed the mysterious mage man.

"Oh yeah? And who are you to tell us what to do?" retorted the angry warrior.

"Glacies." The one who had stepped out turned and nodded to another one.

The one named Glacies spun his arms, and threw his hands towards the guardhouse. All the rogue knights were encased an freezing ice, rendering them immobile. All four mages worked in conjunction now, Glacies freezing them, Umbra blinded them in darkness. Fumus's smoke descended on them, filling their lungs with the vile gas. Cruor cast his deathly spells, sapping the knights already draining strength to empower his own. The battle was quickly won.

"Thank you, thank you!" voiced the main merchant master man. "I can't believe those ruffians tried to extort our earnings!"

"Your thanks are acknowledged." nonchalantly responded Umbra, searching through the smoking pile that once was the tollbooth.

"We are on Imperial business." confirmed Glacies. "We are not here for your benefit."

Cruor emerged from the ruins, brandishing a metal plate. He nodded to his compatriots.They were shrouded in smoke, then as it faded away, a huge humanoid temporarily appeared out of the shadows. She had purple skin and clawed feet. Her arms had wings like that of a bat, feathers protruding from the side. Two antenna like appendages stuck out of her head.

For a while, nothing of incident happened. A completely inconsequential flock of geese flew overhead. A pair of regular trees jumped around. A spotted yellow dinosaur popped out of a lava vent that was sticking out of shrub. Two animate cardboard boxes pushed at each other inside a ring of rope. Said rope was made off burning back hairs from a dead denobulan doctor.

"Where are we? This place is crazy." pondered Grith.

"This is Paddewwa Fief. The Empty Lord's general, Zamorak, was granted this land for his service. It's very chaotic here."

Suddenly, visible music notes wafted through the air. A woman in a shining silver dress was standing on a tree stump. She was strumming a large stringed instrument, as a man in a suit fenced with a bright-green, cone shaped robot.

"Well, Oct. Thanks for the song, I'll just be on my way." shouted the well-dressed man. He leapt at the robot, winging his blade. Falling back, their battle was taken elsewhere. Another woman from behind the stump put down her lyre, crawled forward to where they were fighting.

"Hello, there! Caravan! Care for a song or two? We don't need payment, just take us to wherever you're going." Twilight whispered a few words to the merchant leader.

"All right. You may come with us." Grabbing a few coins from the ground, they scrambled their things together and got into the wagon train.

For another period of time, nothing much happened. The two musicians were in one of the back wagons. Another wagon was full of soldiers dicing. One of them jumped up, claiming that another had cheated. A little further down, a smith repaired the wheel of a wagon. A man with a knife sat, cutting at sticks. A horse wandered about the middle of the caravan. Two men talked about Fich politics. A knight honed the edge of his sword. A pair of boys squabbled over an abandoned, rusty knife.

Grith walked back to the end of the caravan, to where the two new arrivals were residing. "Hullo!" he greeted them.

"Hello, young man. Do you want something?" responded the one with the bright green jacket.

"Yes, in fact. What are your names?"

"I'm Lyra. My disagreeable colleague is Octavia."

"I'm curious. What were you doing in that wasteland? Are you two drunk or something?"

"Oh, no. If you're looking for him, though, you'll have to go further north." told her.

"Wait, so there's an actual drunken musician? There's an official musician that has to be drunk all the time? Are you part of some kind secret musician society?"

She stared at him blankly. Her compatriot, blowing on a bread-bowl of soup, responded. "Maybe." She smiled cryptically. "We ha-"

They were all interrupted by screams from the rear guard of the caravan. They could hear the song of blades, as bandits ran out of the trees. "Well," concluded Grith, "time to earn my pay." Pulling his sword out of its scabbard, he raced towards the battle lines.

The earlier observed knight roared, leaping into the fray. He mightily swung his blade, knocking down the ill-armoured bandits. He had defeated 4 of the attackers, only to fall to a mundane rock-to-the-back-of-the-head-of-the-guy-turned-the-other-way maneuver. Grith brought down his own sword on the attackers back, cutting him down. Then he turned, spinning his sword into a reverse grip, thrusting it back in a reverse grip, slamming it into the gut of a man trying to sneak up on him. Shifting his grip, he then pulled out a small parrying dagger. It was an old family heirloom, with a dragonbone hilt and mithryl blade.

Three of the bandits detached themselves from the group, heading towards the civilians in the confusion. Only Grith seemed to notice, so followed them. The bandits sneaked to the wagon he had just left, with Octavia and Lyra. Suddenly, one of the bandits spun around. Grith barely manged to dive behind an inexplicable barrel. His heart pounded. His nervously stuck his head out to the side of the barrel. The three men had started walking again.

They leaped onto the wagon, all growling and swinging at Octavia and Lyra. Anticipating weak, defenseless women, the men were surprised when Octavia pulled off the end of her bow to reveal a slender steel blade. Lunging at them, Octavia pushed them off the edge of the wagon.

"Hey! Can you lend a hand?" Distracted, the bandits turned around, only to be met with Grith's sword. He quickly cut down one confused man, and the other retreated to a corner between two carts. Grith cautiously advanced, then dashed forward. One bandit wildly swung his sword, but Grith caught it on the hilt of his knife. He turned his wrist, disarming the bandit. Then he slammed the pommel of his blade into the bandit's head. Eyes rolling up, he fell over. The remaining bandit growled, and threw punch with his free hand. Grith twirled his dagger, then brought it up as the bandit thrusted his sword. Sparks flew as the blades collided. Then the forgotten Octavia stepped off the cart from behind and slammed a stone into his head.

The danger passed, Grith went back up to the front. Most of the bandits were dead or scattering. The battle won, the escorts went back up to the center of the camp (which had been recently set up, seeing it was almost dark and the caravan already stalled).

"Thank you, thank you everyone!" cried the merchant leader. "You've all done a wonderful job so far. I'll make sure to get a bonus for all of you when we arrive." All the warriors cheered. "Of course, you're all free to pick and take from the bandits leavings."

Grith picked through the battleground, taking some various items that seemed possibly helpful. A new quiver. Some arrowheads. A baton.

And then they arrived at Senntisten.