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Shadows. Darkness. The night. The domain was not his choice; rather, it had seized him and held sway over him for millenia. Though now he was no longer its puppet, he still found it more comforting than the gazes on many faces.
He adjusted his hood, hiding the glowing eyes, the rotted skin that made his undead status plain as day. Likewise, he adjusted his navy black cloak to conceal himself. Underneath the cloak, he gripped an old but dear star.
He knew all too well from the Lumbridge guards trying to chase him away that within the town proper was no place to stay. His eyes scanned the breadth of the settlement, and he was drawn to a place across the river where a house lay in ruins, squatted in by a small group of goblin raiders and overrun with great spiders. A place no one was likely to go if they did not need to. Ones likely considered monsters themselves by the populace as well.
Perhaps in that sense he felt a bit of kinship with them. He had to look elsewhere to dwell for the night.
With long, careful strides, he navigated through the mix of dead and vibrant trees, the leaves rustling slightly in the midnight breeze as the half-full moon shone down from overhead. Shone down onto a boarded up tunnel of some kind, likely some kind of abandoned mineshaft or cave system.
Perfect, he thought to himself. Likely an empty place he would be able to compose himself in.
Creeping silently as the night over to the cavern entrance, he examined the wooden boards to find they were covering a locking mechanism. It wasn't too terribly complicated; he fiddled about momentarily with shadowy claws, his own fingers making for convenient lockpicks in this case. A little jiggling, and soon it yielded, allowing him to carefully move what was really some kind of makeshift door and descend down into the cavern.
He was expecting to find a pitch black tunnel system. Perhaps some old rusted pickaxes and minecart trails from some long-abandoned mining operation.
He wasn't expecting to find torchlight.
Nor was he expecting to find almost offensively bright magenta banners illuminated by that torchlight, proudly proclaiming a green logo whose symbols spelled the word "H.A.M.". Another glance, and he spied several guards patrolling the area, wielding mediocre steel clubs, simple leather armor, and robes the same garish purple-pink color as the banners.
"Hello, Brother Anthony." One of them spoke, a brown-bearded man, turning to the other, one with black stubble on his chin.
"You as well, Brother Luke. Saradomin bless you."
Silvarius's interest was perked. Saradominists. Both hope and fear rose in him; on the one hand, they might listen to him; on the other hand, the more skeptical side of his soul knew all too well how one look at his form tended to influence people. For the moment, the former wight of Sliske kept to the shadows and listened.
The one his fellow guard called Anthony opened the door to reveal a chamber arranged like an amphitheater, filled with more torchlight, conversation, more of the banners proclaiming H.A.M. and many more men and women garbed in the fuscia robes either sitting, conversing, or guarding the assembly.
But his eyes were drawn to a makeshift stage and podium where a man wearing deep crimson robes stood, like a preacher about to give a sermon.
"My brothers and sisters, we are all gathered here today once again because the threat looms large in this Sixth Age of Gielinor." As the man in crimson spoke, holding out his arms, suddenly a solemn silence swept over the assembly. The man waited seemingly until the crowd was dead quiet, his eyes scanning over until he had discerned that not a word was being said.
"Ever since the prevail of our lord, more and more are being drawn to the righteous light. Yet, it seems that the forces of the false gods and of the chaos of this world are enraged at the spread of his ways. They lash out at us, the noble ones, and persecute us without cause." As he spoke, as he preached, he raised his arms and let the words hang over the gathering. Silvarius was intrigued.
"Yes, brother, they persecute us and drive us into these holes!" A woman yelled from the back and there were murmurs of approval.
"You all know of the threat of which I speak. The spiders. The rats. The goblins and giants. They steal your crops. Kill your sons and daughters. Steal your valuables. And as our dear sister Sophie stated, have driven us into these holes," he proclaimed passionately.
The crowed echoed approval, various voices saying 'Amen' and inclining towards the speaker in response.
As the mood grew more fervent, Silvarius became nervous. Monsters. It was too familiar. In some ways, he could relate. He knew desperation. Closed in by the werewolves, the ghouls, the vampyres. Yet, there was a sinister air about the way the speaker was proclaiming his message. An uncanny feeling.
"Yet, another threat surfaces. A creature of darkness and shadow, rumored to be stalking around these very lands!"
There was a gasp that ran through the crowd, and a shiver that ran through the wight's body. They had to be talking about him. Were they?
"Yes! My cousin saw it! A pale faced man with claws like a beast!" a man shouted out, and the murmur through the crowd started rising into a fervor.
Now Silvarius felt a shiver run through his spine. They were talking about him.
"We know not where it comes from. But these evil creatures stalk us still. What will it do? We do not know. But if it is anything like the rest of its ilk, it will bring nothing but ruin upon us. It could curse our homes...bring plagues and diseases upon our bodies and crops...it could be an agent of the lord of Chaos himself, aiding his plots of vengeance!"
A gasp ran through the crowd. Silvarius shrunk back, shivering and disturbed.
Him? Serve Zamorak?
Never!
"And just how do you know he is in fact of servant of Zamorak?" Silvarius spoke, still hidden in the shadows while his voice echoed around the chamber.
The entire room seemed to go silent in fear. Eyes darted around the cavern, searching for the source of the ghostly voice. One screeched, pointing to shadows that gathered behind the seats. They coalesced together bring the one they seemed to summon by merely mentioning him. A pair of clawed hands, surrounded by an eerie miasma. A hooded cloak, dark as a black navy sky. Piercing blue eyes with an otherworldly glow that scanned over the assembly, and pale skin with the signs of undeath.
"It's found us...it's followed us here!" a man uttered in panic.
"Fear not, fear not, brothers and sisters! Saradomin will protect us!" the preacher proclaimed, his gaze now fixed on the one that newly appeared. "How dare you disturb this assembly, vile beast!"
"Why do you assume that I am a monster?" Silvarius inquired, locking eyes with the preacher. "What have I done to provoke this hatred? You have only idle speculation as to what I will do."
"Clearly you have sought us out to harm us; why would you have come here otherwise?" A man shouted, holding up a steel hatchet threateningly.
"I was simply looking for an abandoned place to stay the night. No one will welcome me, after all. They assume the worst merely looking at me, that I happen to be of the undead. Pray tell, why does Saradomin command us to hunt down those you regard as monsters?" Silvarius pointed to his face, then held out a hand as if welcoming the gathering to speak.
"They kill our sons and daughters! They steal our crops and leave us with nothing!" A woman yelled in response, a rusted dagger in hand.
"Now, have I done any of these things?" Silvarius asked, looking at the woman. For a moment, the hunter was taken aback, stepping back and face expressing sympathy. The terror in her face...he knew that all too well. "I...I know I may appear frightening. But I too follow the ways of the Lord of Order." In a vain effort to comfort her, he gestured to the star on his lapel, amidst many masks of Sliske now purposefully broken.
"There is no use pondering if the monster has YET struck. It is in its nature to strike! To sow chaos and discord by all means necessary! We must too, fight them by any means necessary! This is the way of Saradomin, to subdue chaos and replace it with order!" The preacher, fire now in his eyes, let anger and fervor creep in his voice as the atmosphere in the chamber seemed to buzz with a tense energy.
In response to the call, more weapons were drawn. Some had bronze daggers, some iron, some steel - some were so rusted, he could not tell what metal they were made of.
These weren't warriors. These were common folks this preacher had preyed upon and stirred into a frenzy.
"And to claim to follow the Lord of Order...What heresy! You are no mere monster, you are a DEMON! A demon meant to sow doubt and lead us astray from the righteous path!" A finger as sure as a judge's hammer in condemnation thrust itself in Silvarius's direction.
Silvarius was fearful. Not of getting hurt; he doubted anyone in the crowd had even the slightest chance against any undead, much less one like him. No, this man's sway over their souls was far more terrifying. He could turn tragedy into the vises and chains he used to hold their minds. A grip no silver tongue or divine wisdom had any hope of loosing.
They closed in.
Their weapons descended.
They screamed.
MONSTER!
DEMON!
KEEP AWAY FROM US!
SARADOMIN CURSE YOU!
Before they could land, though, he was gone. Cloaked once again in the shadows, he seemed to melt into them before emerging once again on the surface.
A moonlit forest. Far away from those that would hate him, or so he thought. He appeared within the shadows of the nearby ruins, trembling somewhat while he caught his breath. It was too familiar and more sinister. So much like the way of his god, yet not. Full of hatred, however initially justified it may have been.
He wondered if he would have believed them if he said humans could be far worse monsters than those beasts they feared. Killing, stealing, trapping souls in bondage for their own gain.
The pale, eerie, smiling mask of Gregorovic, the one who made him a monster in form, asserted itself in his mind. He wondered if they would believe that they too, were once humans like them.
"No, they wouldn't have believed it," he muttered to himself, sadly.
He wondered momentarily what he was doing now that the Sliskean army was in utter chaos, but chased the thought from his mind. It didn't matter anymore. He was free from Sliske's grip, and by extension, his. Yet, still, the darkness lingered.