Every month, we invite players to submit their own original works for inclusion in the newsletter. This month we've chosen a couple of great pieces with a combat theme.
First up, we hope you'll enjoy this short story from Metamorphist
The Lone Warrior
Walking through the darkest reaches of the forest, the lone warrior marches on. Though he cannot see, he knows the way. Though he has no signs of his progression, he knows he is progressing. The branches of the dead trees scrape at his armor and grazing his cheeks, the vines at his feet threaten to trip him. But his feet remain sure, as well as his cause. There is no sound except the thumping of his feet, solid against the aged and forgotten path. For days he has wandered, steadfast he remains. Although the future looks grim, he knows what he must do, so with his armor shining and his sword sharp, he marches on.
Next we have this slightly longer piece from Sir 0swyn
The Clan Warrior
One warrior was left - one warrior versus four. His whole team would tell him to quit so they could start a new game and win. His whole team would tell him that all four opponents were level 138, that they wielded dragon claws, that they all wore matching red party hats.
The warrior just shrugged and smiled.
Feeling powerless with just a godsword, the warrior switched to magic. Ice barrage, on the first freeze, would be effective against claws. There was no chance if the first freeze failed.
He saw two of them charging him from the left, planning to rush him back to his own prison so his teammates could see him die with their own eyes. Who were these soulless demons, these descendants of Zamorak?
Maneuvering behind a tree to gain a second's advantage, the warrior turned on his barrage and stopped to pray for just a moment.
Like strategists who'd practised for this very battle, the twins moved around the tree in opposite directions to pin him in. Unfortunately for them, he was a strategist too. The warrior pretended to be afraid and ran back as fast as his agility could allow him towards the jails, spinning around at the last minute and casting spears of ice.
The spell failed. And the twins didnĺt attack. They just waited at opposite diagonals, quick chatting stats and laughing at him in heartless fashion. They enjoyed his pain, and he would make them know how it felt to be alone in this gigantic Clan Wars arena.
The warrior took advantage of their teasing, using this golden-winged opportunity to try the spell a second time. The spell did not fail him again. He continued to farcast them, using a sap curse to drain their defences.
There were only three of these devils left, and he promised his clan that he'd see to their disposal. The clan was tight, and they knew that against all odds, the warrior himself would keep his promise.
Rushing forward to take on the other three, he imagined his clan mates surrounding him. He imagined them all charging forward in the battle together, all of them with a similar goal in mind - to win. And with this extra energy he surged forward until he saw them, equally as chatty as the other two.
Fighting with the element of surprise on his side, the warrior immediately drew his ancient mace and drained one of their prayers. With another swift and agile move, he swung around to face the other two, godsword in hand.
What happened? Did the warrior win? Did the warrior lose?
Just ask me. I was the warrior.