Transcript of Marmaros and Thok
Letter 1[edit | edit source]
Cheating, blasted, cheap magic! I've said it before, but I mean it more than ever. Our paranoid seers have waved their magic wands across the dungeon entrance and made every item that crosses it, save our undercrackers and overclothes, too heavy to bear. Thok lasted a few steps, of course, but even he had to make his excuses and ditch the battleaxe.
Still, it's not only our seers who think we're at the source of the wave of power: Thok has the scent too. Strike me if I don't believe 'em all: we're a few floors beneath an ancient castle in a dungeon that's soaked in magic and lively with beasts.
Got me thinking: if something is here, you can be sure that Thok'll find it first. I'm going to find a moment to break from the clan and go it alone with just Thok. Where there's power there's money, and I plan to carry away armfuls of the stuff.
Your older brothers,M. and Thok
Letter 2[edit | edit source]
Hell, I miss you. I know that doesn't sound much like me, but I have good reason. Since we split from the rest of the clan we've been getting by with our plain clothes and fists, but there's been one close call too many. Time has come to arm us, dress us and feed us, and you do that better than any I know.
So I'm scribbling this on an anvil, having made a battleaxe, sword and a couple of platebodies. The workmanship is about the shoddiest I've ever seen, but I get a buzz from looking at them! It's the materials, though, Bryll; there's stuff here that you've never seen: metals strong and completely alien, and strange plants that can be spun to make boots. Since you're what keeps us moving, we've named the boot material after you. I ain't told Thok yet, but he's wearing Marmaros armour; couldn't resist giving my name to the metal.
Your older brothers,M. and Thok
Letter 3[edit | edit source]
Thok has gone berserk. The lughole won't wait for me now, and I'm following a trail of ash and creature bones. Only yesterday, I'd been slipping out of Thok's shadow to carve into the bats, shades and warriors that would try to flank him, and he'd been spraying the walls with their innards. But today, we came upon something out of a hellish fairy tale. Hanging from the ceiling was an eyeball swaying from its stalk and dripping goo to the floor. Thok was on it from the start but the eye secreted some terrible spittle that kept me rooted. I would have retched if I could move any muscle in my body; instead, I could only watch as Thok wrested it from its stalk. Problem is, Thok reckons I'm in over my head, so he's blitzing a clear path for me to follow. Only thing that stops the sentimental thuggish fool is the keys, puzzles and locked doors; if they didn't slow him down, I swear he'd be at the bottom of this dungeon by now.
Your older brothers,M. and Thok
Letter 4[edit | edit source]
We met someone today. That's 'met' in the talking sense, rather than the stabbing, crushing and gouging way that we've gotten used to over the past week. (Has it really been a week? Damn, what a place this is.)
That someone was a she, and, in her own way, she was pretty. Said she was a gorajo, and she wasn't new to seeing humans like us. We parted on good terms and she handed Thok some 'primal gloves', given to any gorajo who braves the 'warped pits'. Looks like fancy-pants gauntlets, but Thok's wearing them with a gormless smile on his face. The hairy fool is in love.
The good news is that I held my own. Thok had to rein in his huge swing, for fear of hitting 'his lass' with the battleaxe, so I was able to nip in and do most of the work.
Who knows, perhaps Thok is happier about fighting by my side now?
Your oldest Brothers,M. and Thok
Letter 5[edit | edit source]
Honestly who would be crazy enough to use a book as a weapon? Mad Melzar maybe, but there's no telling if he's even alive anymore. Just our luck, then, that we stumble on a crazy libraromancer, or whatever you want to call him, who pelts us with books rather than, I don't know, rocks, weapons, or bones of the dead. This place must have a hell of a grip on the mind.
The books got me thinking about why I write these letters. There's the obvious reason: it takes my mind off this endless dungeon, but I think that's missing the point. Even with Thok, the human shield, I can't help but feel that we won't make it. These letters are little scraps of our story, and I naively hold onto a hope that you'll get them, or someone else will find them useful. With the rest of my illiterate clan above us (hell, they make a lot of noise) that hope seems misplaced, but you never can tell,M. and Thok
Letter 6[edit | edit source]
Marm got stomped, but not so bad that he dead. I protected him best as I could, so please don't get mad at me. The big stomp creature so strong and fast, faster then Thok, but not as strong. I mashed up eels for Marm as they made me upchuk anyway. I hope Marm will leave and will write to you again. That always makes him feel better.
I can't hear the noisy feet of my friends above us anymore. Whoever at bottom of the dungeon is Thok's now.
Your older brother,Thok
Letter 7[edit | edit source]
Guthix bless Thok! He's looked after me in the most random and unexpected way! I came back to consciousness with the body of a dead icefiend tethered to my leg. An icefiend! Which side of the line does that fall on: madness or genius? So, thanks to the wayward logic of my brother, my pain has numbed and I am up and about again.
From Thok's broad smile, he has missed me. He looks thinner, having had no one to cook for him, and there is a deep gouge in his side from a fight that must have come close to besting him. I try not to think about how far upwards he must have travelled to get the icefiend for me. Thok may not have a brain, but his heart could beat for both of us.M. and Thok
Letter 8[edit | edit source]
Thok's wound is festering, be damned! I could have...should have... noticed and cleaned it earlier, but I got distracted by my own wounds: and so here we are, in dungeons that are fetid and rank with corruption; sores have welted on the side of the wound, and it's in a bad temper, giving off a rotten aroma.
It gets worse, little sister. The wound is like catnip to the undead on this occultish floor, and they stagger after us in their hundreds. With Thok flagging and more enemies than ever coming for us - even as we sleep - I worry that we have reached our limit, as I've certainly reached mine. My concern is that Thok will not turn back until he has reached the end of this place, like a pebble striking the bottom of a well. Is there glory to be found in that?M. and Thok
Letter 9[edit | edit source]
I can't think or sleep for worries. When'd I get like this, Bryll? Terrible visions of the future plague me: you, begging for gold in the alleys of Varrock; Thok's wound, cankerous and rotten, opening to reveal a giant eye; and me, tongue rolled to the back of my throat, as I am prepared to be eaten by the warped creatures of this place. I... I can barely walk forward anymore now Bryll, and Thok will not look at me any more. He says that I am not myself and won't talk to me until 'his Marm' comes back. Bless the brute - imagine being so empty of any concerns or doubts.
We are down one floor shy of sixty (I have notches on my primal sword hilt), and a huge hulking beast awaits us in the next room. That's nothing remarkable, but the thought of another battle seems to ebb all energy from me. It's like my hope and will-to-survive has been devoured. I...I think I just want to say goodbye, Bryll.M.
Letter 10[edit | edit source]
Thok never been as angry as I am now. I will explain to you, Bryll, but it will take more words than Thok ever written before.
Every floor that Thok and Marm go down in the dungeon, Thok wanted to break skulls, break the walls that hold up the dungeon, break leg off that holding Thok back. Then Thok get to bottom of dungeon, there was no evil wizard to kill, no big boss to tear in half, no dagger-moth throat to slit. Nothing. Nothing but a body, dead and wriggling with maggots.
So, Thok and Marm sat. Silent. We come so far and nothing wait for us, no death nor gold nor women.
It was at that point that words started speaking in Thok's head, saying horrible things and filling head with hate.
Same must have happen in Marm's head. Marm began to cry, tried to slit own throat with sword, but Thok broke Marm's arms and draped him over shoulder. Marm passed out, which for the best.
Thok sat some more, try to think of what to do in the darkness. Then a man comes. Man looks Fremennik but smells clean. Man has white beard and say words that hurts Thok: 'You not chosen for this'. 'You die if you see what really is down there'. Bah! Man makes Thok so angry!
Bright man is more powerful than Thok - Thok can smell that much. Man heal Thok's leg and unbreak Marm's arms, but he say that Marm cannot continue, that Marm is close to going mad. He wants to take us to the surface, to take us away from this place, and will not take no as answer. Thok so angry, Bryll, but knows that man is right. Thok could not let Marm go mad. Marm is strong mind to Thok's strong blade. So, we return to surface after so long here.
Will anyone believe Thok? I leave letter in hope that someone can make it here. That mean someone must show strength of Thok. Thok fear that no-one will see this in Thok's lifetime. It sad thought.M. and Thok