I used Dragonfire because he is a friend of mine that (in my eyes) is similar to the Shakespearean character he represents. (I was going to use Apollo, but he's too girly. :-P Jk, Polly.) I haven't asked Dragonfire if I could use his name, but I'm sure he won't slap me too hard.
Julius Caesar: A Runescape Reenactment
based on the play by William Shakespeare
“Hast thee been bestowed upon with the knowledge of recent events?”
“Leave me alone, loiterer.”
“The great ruler, the King of Asgarnia, makes his humblest return to our ungrateful thresholds from the glories of battle!”
“Why are you talking like an idiot? Go away.”
“Sire, I am not worthy –”
“I said leave, unless you want a fist in the teeth.”
“The threats thee hath mentioned do not strike fear into mine heart as they should, but alas, they encourage my very –” the short, cloaked man began, but was stopped short because of a fist in his mouth.
As the loiterer walked away dabbing at his mouth, Larry O’Elle – who is often just called by his first initial, L. – got back to work: glaring at passers-by and accusing random ones of shoplifting from his boot store near Rimmington. The store was small and mostly unnoticed; it wasn’t even on any map of Runescape. This was most likely the reason for his incessant bad mood and glaring looks.
But unfortunately, this story is not about Larry, his boot store or the poor cloaked man with the funny speech. For at that very moment – although some say it was several minutes later – standard-bearing trumpets ripped apart the sky announcing the return of the King of Asgarnia from the glories of battle. People of all ages, sizes, breeds and colours came running to the intersection south of Falador to greet the advancing royal party.
“Asgarnia! Asgarnia! Welcome your great king!” the lead horseman bellowed once the trumpets were silenced. “We return from battle against Al Kharid with great news! The Kingdom of Asgarnia reigns supreme!”
The entire crowd exploded with cheers, which was more like a little pop than an explosion, for the greater and louder Falador population was still unaware of the good news.
“Yes, yes; all hail King Asgar, mighty war hero!” the horseman shouted again, and he continued down the road ahead of Asgar and two other kingsmen, who were again blowing the living snot out of their trumpets. Several more warriors and their horses followed, but they are not in any way important, so let’s say they were attacked by a swarm of angry salamanders and were never heard from again.
The royal war party continued north up the road toward Falador among praise, bows and utter awe from the villagers. They reached the south gate of the city only to be surrounded by twice as big a crowd. The people parted to create a path for the party and they trotted down it. Asgar and his men continued along the path, collecting more respectful followers, until they reached the town square and its elegant statue.
The lead kingsman stopped and – with difficulty – managed to manuever his horse to face the crowd. He immediately broke into his standard welcoming speech that followed and lead the loud trumpet blasts.
Yada yada yada … Celebration, rejoice, the usual stuff.
That night, the king and his men fell peacefully asleep in the White Knights Castle along with rest of Asgarnia. Well, the rest of Asgarnia more than likely fell peacefully asleep in their own personal homes and huts, not the White Knights Castle, which is exclusively for members of the royal White Knights only. Unless some of those members of the rest of Asgarnia are also members of the royal White Knights, of course. Then they may have fallen peacefully asleep in the White Knights Castle as well, if they were invited by a member of the royal White Knights who regularly falls peacefully asleep in the White Knights Castle to fall peacefully asleep in the White Knights Castle. Regardless, most of Asgarnia fell peacefully asleep. Except the ones who didn’t, of course. Dragonfire was one of those who didn’t…
The sun was up, the roosters were crowing, and the children were watching Cartoon Network – all was right with the world. King Asgar – the newly appointed king of only a month before – had just won the biggest battle Asgarnia has seen since the West-Side Rumble of Entranizzle.
Dragonfire, one of the trumpet players for Asgar, paced his White Knights Castle chamber in the early morning, thinking hard: Something is happening to Asgar. He is feeling too much in power. Soon he will lead us Asgarnians to our demise in a battle against the kingdom of Kandarin, a mighty opponent that will mop the floor with our mops. This cannot happen! Asgar must be stopped! But … I cannot do it alone. Nor can I do it whilst I am this hungry. I shall continue this after my curds and whey.
Realizing that by eating curds and whey he will be no better than the infamous underground crime lord and aracnicidal maniac Little Miss Muffet, he decided to grab a bowl of complementary slop from the castle mess-hall. He sat down at one of the several empty tables in the deserted hall and stared disapprovingly at his steaming pile of grey goop before inhaling it in two breaths. Just as he was licking the dregs out of his wooden bowl – miraculously not receiving any slivers – Gandy, the other prestigious trumpet-blower, walked into the room.
“Lovely day,” said he.
“Fine day,” replied Dragonfire.
“What’s on your mind?”
Dragonfire pondered this. What is on my mind, besides my skull? Ah, the down-with-Asgar thing, right. Can I tell this general my plan? This man who is, regarding rank and skill, equal to myself? What was in that slop? Will he share the same ideas? Nay, will he report me for treason? There’s several ways to find out I suppose, but only one I know.
“Does King Asgar seem a little too – ambitious, to you?” he eventually said. “I mean, he’s only been king a month and he’s already killing off nearly-innocent Kharidis.”
“He does what is right for Asgarnia, as do I,” Gandy proudly proclaimed.
“Perhaps,” said Dragonfire slowly, “you are looking through rose-coloured glasses.”
Gandy quickly clutched at his face. “It doesn’t appear so.”
“It’s a metaphor, for Gower’s sake,” muttered Dragonfire, rubbing his temples.
“Life is always so much better when you’re king,” Asgar gleefully said to himself as he got out of his giant, sheep-skin bed and looked out his broad bay window. He saw smiths and craftsmen mulling about the smelter, getting in an early start; he saw merchants opening their shops; he saw traders already making early bank transactions, and he thought to himself, “I really do have quite an itch on my behind.”
After fifteen minute’s work, King Asgar finally got the itch taken care of and he wandered down to the main castle gates in his nightclothes. Slapping the sleeping doorman on the cheek to hastily awake him from his slumber, he pushed the gate open and strode onto the bridge overhanging the mote. He felt up for a nice meal of bread, cheese and wine, and was about to snap his fingers to order some, when a scraggly peasant approached him from the road, bowed, and kissed the hem of his nightgown.
“Say what you will, beggar, for I am a busy man,” the king said airily, picking his fingernails.
“Beware the tides of March!” he said wide-eyed.
“Tides? The tides of March?” the King inquired, eyeing the hobo before him.
The peasant stood up, reached into his pocket and pulled out the tiniest scroll the king had ever seen. He rolled it back with difficulty, snapped it shut, put it back in his pocket, slapped his forehead and dropped back onto his knees.
“Beware the ides of March!” he said wide-eyed.
The king gasped heartily. “The ides of March?!”
“Did I get it wrong again?” asked the beggar disappointedly.
“No, I don’t believe so,” the king said. “I mean, it made me gasp, right?”
“That’s right,” the peasant said with a smile. He quickly lost his smile, bowed to the king and lurched on his way.
“Pleasant fellow. Now where is my cheese and wi –” the king started, but was hit with a realization.
“That pleasant peasant said ‘beware the ides of March’!” he said, shocked. “If I knew what ‘ides’ meant, I might be a little less worried about this. March is only in two months; I wonder what could happen?!”
“My plan is to eliminate the king before he does anything jeopardizing,” Dragonfire explained. “You, and I, and possibly some others. If we don’t, Asgar will bring Asgarnia to its knees!”
“I don’t believe Asgar is such a man; I know him personally,” Gandy protested.
“Fine then; don’t help. Wimp,” taunted Dragonfire.
“OK,” Gandy said with a shrug. “See you tomorrow.”
“Eugh,” Dragonfire said as Gandy left the hall, “he is so naïve … Yet powerful. The Asgarnians love him deeply … I must have him on my side!”
I wonder if what Dragonfire said is true, soliloquied Gandy back at his own house. Perhaps I should conspire against Asgar … The people love me and would accept me as replacement king. But no, I can’t. Asgar is close to me, and I’ve known him so long. To kill him would be more than just murder. But … I could be king. Oh, this is so hard.
Just then, Gandy’s wife, Gandina, entered the room carrying a bloody knife and wearing a maniacal smile.
“Look Gandy,” she said loudly and hastily, an awfully lot like an insane person. “Look at my leg! I am no ordinary woman! I cut myself with this knife to prove to you that I am just as strong as a ma –”
“Gandina honey, I’m trying to think,” Gandy said with slight annoyance. Now, where was I? Oh yes, king. If I joined Drag –
“Gandy! I AM NO ORDINARY WOMAN! Look at all this blood – my blood – spilt by me! I AM STRONG!!”
“OK Gandina, what do you want?” said Gandy, turning slowly and patiently.
“I just told you!” she yelled with a pale face and wicked laugh. “Now I think I’ll go eat some hot coal!! I AM STRONG!!!”“That bird gets stranger every day,” muttered Gandy as she galloped out of the room. “Don’t worry about dinner, honey!” he called after her.
Back in his chamber at the White Knight Castle, Dragonfire thought up a devilish plan to lure naïve Gandy into helping him. Using several different hands – figuratively, of course – he wrote dozens of letters all made out to the esteemed general Gandy and signed by anonymous citizens. Each letter supported the notion of Asgar’s death, making it look like the people of Asgarnia – Gandy’s sole god – wished him to take Asgar’s place as king via murder.
Dragonfire left the castle during the night, letters in hand, and stalked over to Gandy’s mansion on the east side of Falador. He climbed up a vine like he saw in a movie – read in a book once, and dropped all the fake postage on his bedroom balcony. Sniggering perhaps a little too loudly, (he got shouts from three and a half elderly people to shut his trap) he walked back to the castle and fell peacefully asleep.
On the evening of the next day, Gandy received a knock on his giant, expensive mansion door.
“I wonder where Gandina is,” he muttered, but paid no attention and opened the door.
“Gandy, my old friend!” Dragonfire exclaimed from behind it. Standing behind him were people Gandy had seen before but never really noticed were there: Bobby-Jim, Jim, Bob, Jim-Bob, and Ed. One that Gandy had noticed was Larry, another esteemed general of the same rank as himself and Dragonfire. He was a small man. Providing you’re playing a version of Runescape where the characters actually have different sizes, which I’m not.
“Dragonfire! Larry! Others! Come on in!” Gandy said to them graciously as he opened the door extra wide to account for Jim-Bob. “What can I help you with?”
“We’re here,” began Dragonfire, “about the conspiracy.”
“Who’s conspiring?!” cried Gandy, ready to slash the conspirator’s throat.
“We are, Gandy,” said Dragonfire kindly.
“We are?! About what?” Gandy asked loudly. “Oh, the Asgar thing. Yeah, I got some letters from anonymous Asgarnian citizens telling me to do it.”
“Oh really?” asked Dragonfire with a sly smile. “So, have you made your decision?”
“I’ll have to think about it,” said Gandy slowly. “Yes.”
“Good, good!” said Dragonfire, pulling a long bottle full of golden liquid out of his robe. “Now we celebrate!”
“Shouldn’t we figure out how we’re gonna do this?” asked Larry for the first time. His voice was high-pitched and annoying.
“Ah, Larry,” sighed Dragonfire, taking a long pull from the bottle. “This is only apple juice.”
And with that, the party was on. It was not known to any (including Dragonfire) that the fluid was not in fact apple juice, but a popular drink around pubs known as ‘beer’. Before long, all the men except Gandy, Larry and the others were drunk. Summarized, Dragonfire was the only one drunk; mostly because no one wanted to drink out of his bottle.
“We’ll do it when the king is in the public so that everyone will know who did it,” Larry said, assuming charge of the whole operation because of Dragonfire’s loss of eyesight and coordination.
“Then it’s done,” said Gandy. “We’ll do it when he’s in public. Tomorrow afternoon. Be there.”
“Be where?” asked one of the stupid henchmen.
“Wherever it is we may be! Now get out of my house!” yelled Gandy.
Larry O’Elle had just finished a nasty glare on an old woman with her grandson who had obviously stolen a pair of boots from his store when three White Knights approached him.
“Is your name Larry?” they simultaneously asked.
“People call me L,” Larry said coldly.
“Well, Mr. L, we’ve had reports that you are conspiring against the king,” they again said all at the same time.
“Why would I conspire against the king?” Larry said, beginning to get worried. “I’m only a boot salesman.”
“A boot salesman that hates the king?!” they yelled at once.
“No, of course not,” stammered Larry, really losing his edge.
“We suppose you’re a poet, as well?” the knights said, all intimidating.
“Poet? Where did you get that?”
“Oh, some play I saw last week,” they said. “Sorry.”
“You guys are weird,” Larry said, eyeing the three of them and all their fifty-six levels.
“Weird, eh?” they asked at once. “We’ll see who’s weird when you’re dead!”
The White Knights proceeded to tear Larry O’Elle limb from limb using the Accurate Slash combat style.
The buzz of chatting people filled the town square as most of Falador and the rural area crowded around to see the dais that had been erected directly in front of the bridge to the White Knight Castle. The buzz quickly stopped as King Asgar stepped onto the dais and addressed the crowd with open arms. He babbled on about something or other, and then stepped back off the dais and behind a curtain into a set-up room off to the side, where he came face to face with the conspirators: Gandy, Dragonfire, Larry and the others.
“Asgar,” hissed Dragonfire, “we know what you are doing.”
“What am I doing?” asked Asgar.
“You’re going to call war on Kandarin!” shouted Larry.
“Am not!” protested Asgar.
“Are too!” mumbled one of the stupid lumps. Probably Jim.
“I can see this is going nowhere,” uttered Asgar.
“You won’t be able to see anything in a minute or so!” threatened Dragonfire. “We’re going to end this bloody charade here and now – with more blood!”
And with that, he attacked Asgar. Soon, Larry and the lumps joined in the fight, and Asgar was dying. Gandy approached him and held him upright, then he too drove his blade into the body of his country’s ruler.
“Et tu, Gandé,” the king gasped. “Then falls Asgar.”
Gandy laid Asgar down and looked into his face one last time. “My dear friend,” he said. “Send me a postcard from Hell.” He then knelt down and smeared his hands and forearms in the king’s blood, followed by the same action from the rest. The group gathered themselves, checked their reflections, stretched, and walked out onto the dais.
“My hands are bathed in Asgar’s blood,” announced Gandy to the crowd. “For I have killed him. My fellow Asgarnians, think what you may.”
“I think it’s ketchup,” shouted one man.
“I think I’m hungry,” shouted another.
“I think you’re all freaks,” shouted the one with three legs.
“OK, OK, don’t think what you may,” said Gandy, taken aback. “Think that I am your new king.”
“Whatever,” shouted one man.
“Don’t care,” shouted another.
“It’s getting amputated in a year,” shouted the one with three legs.
“Quiet, tripod,” snapped Gandy. “And that goes for the rest of you, as well. Actually, from now on, we’re at war with Kandarin! Gather the knights!”
Journey, fight, journey, sleep, fight, journey, ghost, journey, fight, Dragonfire suicide, fight, Gandy suicide, lose war.
The story was starting to fall apart by the third act, so I summarized the last two acts in one grammatically horrific sentence. Plus, I completley left out Mark Antony altogether and probably missed a few crucial scenes. Don't hate me.
By the way, I hope you can guess who each Runescape character represented in the real play. I also hope you catch some subtle similarities between characters, lines or events, besides the obvious given ones. I specifically put them in there for you to find.
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