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Mark startled awake as a particularly violent wave crashed against the ship, sending waves of pain cascading downwards from his bandaged face from the sudden jerky movement. Groaning slightly, his hands travelled up to his forehead to wipe the sweat from his brow before trailing down his aching cheek. Even the lightest touch still stung, and he cursed silently to himself.
It was time to change the bandages again, anyway.
Reaching for a small lantern placed by the side of his cot, he discretely lit it and mostly closed the visor, shielding the other sleeping residents of the chartered boat from its light. Withdrawing a small looking glass from his rucksack, he couldn’t help but grimace at the state he was in. Sweaty, bags under his eyes, and his heart racing even though there was no immediate danger. What would his old gang back in Ardougne think of him now?
Slowly peeling off the wrappings which had been so carefully applied, he winced as the deep gashes – no doubt soon to be scars, appeared in the hand-held mirror. What a fool he’d been, thinking he could take on a dragon like he’d done.
Elvarg, no less.
Discarding the used gauze, he rummaged around once more in his pack and withdrew a new set, already having been treated with an adhesive so it would stay stuck once he was done. He’d have to thank Zanik for that once this was all over, quite honestly. Dabbing a bit of medicine across the delicate wrappings, he then began pulling off strips to roughly match the length of his wounds and applying them to his face.
Thinking back to the day as he watched himself, he shook his head. Arrogant, that’s what he’d been. Thinking he’d known better, was more skilled. That he could succeed where others had failed. Mark had never even considered how his shiny new metal armour would slow him down, nor how unpractised he was with a sword. Ranged had always been his forte, whatever possessed him to try a sword for this was certainly beyond him at this point.
“A fool’s reward for a fool’s errand.”, he thought to himself silently.
His fault for wanting to be a “real adventurer”, he supposed. Sealing the last of the bandage, he stored the rest of his items back in his sack, before drawing his knees up to his chest whilst he looked out the porthole. It couldn’t have been long to Musa Point now, he reckoned. Then, either he’d slay Elvarg and return a hero, or… well, he didn’t quite like to think about the alternative.
His mind couldn’t help but drift to when he’d first accepted the quest from the Oziach. He hadn’t even wanted to wear rune armour, let alone a chest plate, but the fact that someone had told him he couldn’t until he’d “proven” himself set him straight on the path to his current predicament. Gathering the map pieces had been easy. It had cost him a lot of gold, as he hadn’t wanted to hurt the goblin in the jail, and he had personally found having to kill Melzar the Mad unsavory, but it was what it was. Fixing up the Lady Lumbridge, which he jokingly renamed the Ardougnese Adventure was easy. Even though it pained him, selling his beloved crossbow and armour set from when he’d apprenticed under a Yanillian hunter had been easy.
He’d needed some way to withstand the vicious attacks that dragons were known to deal, and leather just wasn’t going to cut it. It had pained him to see the studs melted down after having been removed by Horvik, but the amount of gold he received in turn was more than enough to set him in a shiny new kit of adamant, along with a “borrowed” runite sword. Even convincing the Duke of Lumbridge to give him a shield resistant to dragonfire had been simple enough, who was more than happy to send another witless adventurer to deal with what could very well be a future problem for his precious little duchy. Though, Mark supposed the Duke had been more inclined to help him, after he helped to broker a peace and trade relations between Lumbridge and the Dorgeshuun.
The ease at which everything else had progressed, whether it be due to Mark’s easy-going nature, or simple dumb luck, had not adequately prepared him for the battle against Crandor’s Scourge. To say that fight went poorly was the understatement of the age. Gods, even getting to Crandor had gone poorly, thank Guthix that Ned had survived… Though tragically, Jenkins the Cabin Boy had perished in the approach to the island.
Brutalizing hadn’t even begun to describe what Elvarg had done to Mark. It had started well enough after washing up on the shores of Crandor, and doing a slight bit of scouting. He’d ventured into the dormant volcano, and even found a small passage to Karamja, that must’ve passed under the ocean separating the two islands. Good thing, otherwise he’d probably have perished down there.
Then, the all-important moment: Slaying the dragon. Between the extended reaction times from the bulk of his armour, and lack of practice with swords, he’d been sorely, terribly, disastrously unprepared. With a flick of her tail, Elvarg had easily knocked away Mark’s shield, sending him scrambling across her resting place as she rained magic fire down all around him.
Even turning on a dime had become an issue for Mark, as by the time he’d finally grappled his shield back into his hand, Elvarg had approached and swiped at his helmet, succinctly cracking it in two and rendering it absolutely useless for the fight. The ringing and swimming in his head from the blow had left him off-balance, but even so, he knew he had to attack.
Slashing as hard as he could, none of his swings could find purchase, and he was getting backed into a corner now. Elvarg reared up on her hind legs, and released a particularly powerful spit of dragonfire, which he struggled to hide from behind his shield. As soon as it seemed it was over he came up from under the shield, only to feel her powerful claws sink themselves into his face and pull downwards and to the right, tearing open his flesh and sending him careening across the arena. Shield left where he had been previously, he was grievously wounded, and had to get out now.
Pulling himself over the jagged stalagmites, he felt the intense wave of fire scorch his metal armour as he barreled ass-over-tit down the other side, rapidly stripping out of the heated green metal lest it sear and disfigure him any more than he already had been.
Limping, crawling, and feeling like he was dying, he dragged himself a safe-enough distance away, and rooted blindly around in his pack for something Zanik had given him “for emergencies only”. If this wasn’t an emergency, he didn’t know what would be. Crushing the glass orb between his hands, he watched through hazy vision and delirium as the browns of Elvarg’s cave faded away, and he collapsed on the floor of Zanik’s home in Dorgesh-Kaan.
“Mark! I wasn’t expecting you so – MARK!?” was the last thing he heard before he slipped from consciousness, knocking over the rather nice display case Zanik had put together to display her items from the surface world during their journey together.
He’d later gotten a stern admonishing from her, first for scaring her like that, and secondly for not coming to her sooner. She had done the best she could, guided by the most advanced medical science available to her, but… well, she wasn’t magic, and his face was definitely going to scar. She had managed to treat most of the scald-burns though, for which he was deeply thankful.
“I’m so sorry, Mark… I wish there was more I could do.” she’d said sadly, holding the looking glass up for him to see the damaged he’d sustained.
“Oi, none of that, Zanik. I’m alive thanks to you, aren’t I?” he chided her, reaching out and gently resting his hand on her shoulder. “Reckon I’d be looking at a pretty grisly recovery if I hadn’t come here, and I owe you big.”
She had seemed to perk a little at that, but still wasn’t exactly overjoyed when he told her later in the week that he planned to finish the job.
“After all,” he’d started, her eyes affixed with worry. “Can’t let all this work you’ve done patching me up go to waste, right?”
With that, he’d set off again to Port Sarim, chartering a trip to Karamja where he found himself currently. Not before Zanik had loaded him with a ton of supplies, and a recommendation he stick to what he was good with – Crossbows.
She had been right, of course.
Now, in the early light of the morning, Mark cocked his head towards the ladder leading towards the upper deck, hearing the gnarled sea captain’s voice echo downward.
“Musa Point ahead! All ashore that’s going ashore!”
Gathering his belongings and snuffing out the lantern, Mark smiled despite his worries. Crossbow in hand, he let his fingers trail along the stained wood of the ladder, feeling the pleasant rays from the morning sun shine against his face as he climbed upwards.
This time, things would be different.