Letters #51 - Zamorak Greets the Newcomers

Zamorak Greets the Newcomers

The light over Varrock has opened wide, and the newcomers pour through it. The lord of chaos welcomes them in his own way. He explains why they come back from the dead, why nobody asks them for help any more, and who stands at the edges of the map.

Hail, newcomers. Yes, you. You woke beside the west bank of Varrock a few days ago, with a sword you do not remember buying and a name you are not sure is yours. Welcome to my world. My brothers will tell you it is theirs. They lie.

Zamorak, the light beside my bank has not stopped shining for days. Newcomers step out of it in crowds, with gear, runes and coins in their packs and nothing in their heads. They stand about and copy each other. One of them asked me if he was a bank. What do we do with them?

A Guard, of the Varrock west bank

Nothing. That is the beauty of it. They arrive knowing nothing, and they follow their gut and whatever the others around them do. Within a week they will be fighting over rocks like the old days.

Tell the one who asked that he is not a bank. Then sell him a bank. He will believe you.

Dark lord, when a farmer dies, the farmer stays dead. When one of these newcomers dies, he walks out of the light in Varrock a moment later, with every skill he had, and goes back for his things. Why do the gods bring them back and not us? It is favouritism.

Fred the Farmer, north of Lumbridge

Of course it is favouritism, Fred. Have you seen a farmer fight? When a traveller dies, one of us catches the passing and sends them back through the light. They keep three of their things, a fourth if they pray for it, and the rest falls where they died, for any passer-by to take.

Those who die with a skull from the Abyss keep nothing at all. That part was my idea.

Zamorak, I have needed eggs, milk and flour for a cake since before the fusion. Not one of the newcomers will fetch them. They read their scrolls and shout strange words, and then they are suddenly wearing armour they did not own. Why will nobody help me?

The Cook, of Lumbridge castle

Because they do no quests, Cook. Every reward a quest once gave stands open to them from the first day. Their quest scrolls hold words of power instead. One word dresses them in random armour. Another fills their packs, or rolls every skill they have. It is all a throw on Guthix's board.

Zamorak, at the border of Kourend, where our roads meet the old lands, a figure stands now and then. He is of the lowest fighting rank and carries nothing. His name is null. Before the guards reach him, the road fills in and he is gone. Is he one of yours?

Lord Kandur Hosidius, of the house of Hosidius, Great Kourend

Null is nobody's, which is why I like him. Where a new land joins the old one, null stands for a moment before the land fills in. My brother Saradomin calls him a guardian. A wizard once said he is a traveller the world has not finished drawing in.

I say do not stare too long. He might finish.

Elsie, by the church in Varrock, asks: "The newcomers' words glow red, or wave, or flash. How do they do it?"
They start their words with a charm, such as red: or wave:, and the words obey. Red is my colour. I take every red word as a prayer.

Strength through chaos,

Zamorak

DISCLAIMER: The views of Zamorak do not reflect the views of DoubleU. DoubleU would ban him, but he's a god.