Runescape The Old Blood Lores


Runescape will soon release their new quest in the Myreque series next time. So before this, they are going to tide you over with the Old Blood, the new Lore&Histories story. You can read on to find the story and get some spectacular wallpapers.

The Doors of the temple were three times the height of a man and a full foot thick, carved from a vast oak in an age past, and engraved with intricate patterns and signs. Pilgrims would come for miles, it was said, simply to gaze upon their beauty and to contemplate the mysteries hidden within their interlaced lines and complex ideograms.

They shattered and were rent asunder with a single blow.

I crossed the threshold alone, for what has I to fear from the cult of a dead god, and the fool who styled himself its Pontifex? The expanse of the temple yawned before me, and there, of course, he stood, head bowed, hands on the altar between two smouldering censers, muttering prayers to his absent, Empty Lord.

"Azzanadra," I roared, my voice filling the chamber, "Zamorak demands your presence and your fealty. If not...your death will suffice."

The temple guards stationed by the altar stood ready. They were unaccustomed to the sight of my true form-their stances were too rigid, trembling as they held forth their halberds. The panicked beat of their hearts and short, frantic breaths betrayed them, loud in my ears, even as their faces-obscured by long, ceremonial helms-remained unknowable.Like him.

I hissed. could not be him. Zaros was dead, slain by the hand of his foremost Legatus, Zamorak. And yet the voice came. It crept between the clink of mail surcoats that covered fragile, human bodies. It whispered in the wake of Azzanadra's low murmur. It echoed my own footfalls, and chased my breaths like a sigh.

"What, Azzanadra?" I called, shaking off the memory and stepping forth between the pews."Too busy prostrating yourself to greet an old comrade?"

" A pious man knows when to defer to his betters," came the response, low and even. To his credit, Azzanadra's voice betrayed no fear. He turned slowly, and I saw that his face was pale and drawn, his eyes sunken. "It's part of being civilised, Drakan," he growled, grinding his teeth, " Of being more than a beast."

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