The Excellent Log of the Journeys and Tribulations of Samuel Scourduel, Part II

The Excellent Log of the Journeys and Tribulations of Samuel Scourduel, Part II is according too Reldo a tome that was lodged behind the shelves in the Varrock Library.

Prelude
''In which the author once more ventures upon the seas and is abandoned on the slopes of a spitting volcano. He seeks shelter and discovers a hidden city of giant men of stone. He is kept as a favoured pet and is forced to escape. His wandering continues.''

Entry 2
A few weeks later, having recovered from my earlier trials at the hands of those mistrustful midgets, I once more set my feet upon a gangplank in order to see more of this world in which we live. Our journey was to take us west from Port Lina to the dark lands of Karamja, there to find rum and bananas, for such delicacies were rare in those days.

Arriving on Karamja, I took my rest upon the shore, picking up interesting shells and eating a few bananas that hung low to the ground. A mere two hours later, however, I felt myself struck about the head with what felt to my pampered senses much like an oar. Dazed and thoroughly horrified, I quickly found that I was bound and carried upon a stick up the slope of a great mountain that spat fire and ash. The crew of the ship upon which I had signed as ship’s doctor had mutinied! Lucky am I that I was not Captain Stephens, for that poor wretch was most cruelly made to walk the plank, and the sharks, I am told, made quick work of his wind-leathery skin.

I came to my senses a few hours later, to find a hellish mixture of sleet and molten rock raining about me. Rapidly hunting for shelter, I came upon a narrow crevice in the rocks and there ensconced myself to wait out the inclement weather. Alas, two days passed without change, and I was forced to seek food and water deeper in the caves. I quickly found myself tumbling through a hole in the floor and into a much larger cavern filled with demonic creatures, the walking dead and monstrous bats – this spacious hole was lit by the glow of incendiary magma.

Driven by panic and the horror of that place, I fled to the nearest niche that led deeper into the mountain and was greeted by a blast of hot air. My eyes streamed and I struggled to breath for a few moments until I gathered my wits and saw myself encircled by dozens of four-armed statues. Though my vision was obscured by the steam that rose from vents in the floor of this new cave, I could have sworn to Saradomin that these statues moved towards me. I should have observed more, but the heat and oppressive atmosphere of that place threw me to the floor in a swoon.

When I came to I was lying upon a bed of stone and staring up into the enormous face of a gigantic stone statue, much like those I had seen just before I passed out. Now, though, I knew that the statue moved and it used a single massive hand to hoist me upright, thrusting another of its limbs towards my face. I looked into its hand and discovered there the mangled remains of what I can only assume was once a rodent of epic stature. These victuals had been slightly singed by the heat of this place but still smelt strongly of the animal’s juices. My hunger forced repulsion aside, and I hurriedly ate the rancid meat.

With my meal done, I was free to observe the giant more carefully, and noted how like ourselves they were. To be sure, they bore an extra pair of arms and their skin was as solid as the mountain in which they lived, but their homes were not unlike our own and they moved about upon a single pair of legs, often carrying crude weapons or staves to aid their progress. The giant that had taken me into its house looked carefully into my eyes and spoke slowly. To my great shock and joy, it haltingly spoke the tongue of men!

She explained that her people, the TzHaar, had lived for eternity within the volcano and had little to do with the barbaric races upon the surface; there was little for them up here, where we humans live, for the mountain provided them with all their needs. As she spoke, I was as much struck by the nobility of these creatures as by their great size. She told me of their culture, though when I asked of their science she seemed confused, and only spoke of the natural memory with which the TzHaar are gifted. It seemed that what one of them learnt, all their children and their children’s children would know, and so she knew the language of men from one of her long-departed ancestors.

When I asked of her family, she swiftly lifted me with a single one of her arms and hastily carried me through the city (and what a city it was! Great obsidian spires rose within the cavern and grazed the ceiling; the children bathed in lakes of magma; thousands of these great creatures walked about in the haze of steam that marked their lands) to a grand hall filled with statues of their kind. These, she explained to me, were her ancestors – Carved into their likeness? I enquired. She seemed confused and explained more carefully that these statues were, in fact, her ancestors, locked into their stone bodies for eternity. As if to illustrate the fact, she pulled a few coins of volcanic glass from a small leather pouch and indicated that they were made from these statues of her relatives. What an horrific fate to await all those of the volcanic city!

As awful as that fate seemed, my guardian explained much to me of the TzHaar, and I came to be in awe of their society. They suffer few of the ills of men: sickness only rarely comes upon them, they know nothing of crime, honour stands above all other virtues. That such a society not only endures but has made itself regent of this volcano astounds me still. I was an object of great curiosity to these giants, and many times as I walked through the avenues I was prodded by the great creatures who had heard that I had spongy flesh and weak limbs. On more than one occasion I had cause to cry out in pain as one or another of them gripped my arm or leg tightly and wrenched it to see how sturdy my bones were. With a haste I am proud to recall, I would draw my blade and thrust it at the curious creatures, confident that though I would be seen defensive, I could do no more harm to them than I could to the mountain itself.

All those days or nights I lived there – for a man’s time is acquainted with the sun, and where there is no light in the sky there can be no passage of time – I was forced to eat the rank meat of rodents, and I became thin and pale. TzHaar-Hur-Ix, my guardian, saw this and became worried as a man would at their dog’s illnesses. I was well-treated there, but I was also little more than a pet. Knowing I could not live among the TzHaar for much longer, I began to tell my guardian of the beauty of the lands above and of the things I missed. I hoped that she would comprehend my woe and set me free, but I had misunderstood just how much she considered me her property. Like a petulant animal, she placed me on a leash when we were apart and pampered me with soft furs and doting attention when we were together.

I thought constantly of escape, but I knew that it was impossible without the assistance of TzHaar-Hur-Ix. Though I could leave the city to reach the cavern beneath the mountain wherein bats and giant skeletons wandered, I was aware that I could not hope to reach the safety of the world above. I had no rope and the TzHaar had no need of it, and only the height afforded by standing upon their shoulders could grant me the gift of freedom. A further complication came from the fact that the leaders of their people saw me as a great source of entertainment – should I be set free by any member of their tribe, they would be marked with the great shame of dishonour.

Daily, I grew weaker and more pathetic. The TzHaar have little concept of physical weakness, for their society is split into four distinct castes. The weakest of them are the craftsmen, whose relative weakness is balanced by their fine vision and dexterous hands with which they mould the black volcanic rock into tools, weapons and structures of dazzling beauty. My gradual descent into a haggard and feeble state went unnoticed by all except my guardian, and her comprehension of the possibility of my demise was limited – I was not solidifying, so there was no sign of illness in their eyes.

My freedom finally came when I discovered among TzHaar-Hur-Ix’s possessions a number of long rods of black glass. Each time I was left alone, I would cut a thin strip from my bedding and lash more rods together. Before long, I had a crude ladder. It weighed a great deal, but never before had I seen such a beautiful thing. In its form was combined the unearthly grace of that unusual stone, the sweet sight of my own hands’ work, and the intangible touch of the hope of freedom.

Late one night, when all the TzHaar had retired to the hollows in which they slept in their houses, I took my ladder, dragging it noisily through the streets – for the TzHaar sleep heavily, as one expects stone to sleep. I reached the cave and kept the ladder as a shield between myself and the horrors that lurked there. Seeing the low glimmer of a night sky through the crack in the ceiling, I braced my ladder and slowly, with the agony of weakness in my limbs, ascended and threw myself towards liberty. Once freed from the city beneath the volcano, some strength returned to my limbs and I stumbled down the slope to the food and weather of the fields of banana trees below. True freedom was yet many months distant, but I was, at least, able to preserve my fragile body from the slow, unwitting death the TzHaar would have put me to.