It is said that time heals the deepest of wounds. Though, some people tend to forget that even the smallest of wounds leave behind a conspicuous scar. Try as I may, I have never forgotten what happened that ill-fated night. It has shaped me, made me the man I am today.
It was an ominous night laden with foreboding. The sun had begun to disappear into the west. The hustle and bustle of the busy streets of Varrock was starting to fade. I was a mere boy back then, no more than sixteen years of age. I had left our house in southern Varrock and headed to the flour mill in Lumbridge. By the time I got back home, it had been too late.
The sight was horrifying. Blood was splattered on almost every nook and cranny. They were all dead, murdered. My family was gone forever. All our possessions were stolen. I was left with nothing to my name except the house, which didn’t really amount to anything. On the floor I spotted a brooch, a badge of sorts. Examining it, I noticed it had the Black Arm Gang’s symbol on it.
Rage took over. I was infuriated, and I wanted revenge. But there was nothing I could have done. It’s funny though, that when you’re angry, these thoughts run through your head, thoughts that never would have crossed your mind before. I laid in a corner and cried. When I woke up the next day, I knew exactly what I had to do.
The Black Arm Gang’s hideout was not anonymous. Its location was, in fact, famous and well-known. Nobody dared to linger around, though. They were ruthless and despicable. I headed there. As I opened the door, a large bulky man stood in front of me and blocked my way.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“I want to join the gang.” I couldn’t take on the whole gang. I was too young and too weak. All I could do was join them, try to find out who did it. And then I could exact my revenge.
“Let him through,” a female voice came from behind the man. “Come here.” She was seated down, her chair tilted back, and her legs up on a wooden table in front of her. “A bit too young, aren’t we?”
“No,” I said, my voice shaking. I pulled myself together.
She stared at me for a while, weighed me, measured me, and finally nodded. “Botros!” she called loudly. From the other room, a man of twenty-five years appeared. He was cocky and conceited, but at the time looked ill at ease. “Botros, take this kid. Show him the ropes.”
He did. For five years we stuck together. He became the family I had lost. I grew up with him. He taught me how to survive. I was living the life of a thief. We would steal and thieve and burgle, but not once did we kill. For five years, I tried to forget. For five years, I tried to discover who killed my family. Nothing.
“Remember the time that guy wet himself?” Botros asked me, choking on his laugh.
“Yeah,” I said laughing.
After a few moments of silence, he said, “You know, I never told you this. A day before you joined the gang, I was with Karam. We broke into a house.” He paused for a while, and his eyes started to water. “It was full of people. Karam killed them all… I tried to stop him. He almost killed me too. I left him and went back to the hideout. I never saw him again.”
I had finally found out who the murderer was. After weeks of searching, I finally found where he lived. With my sword in hand, I broke the door to his house and entered. There was a sickening stench coming from one of the rooms. It was Karam. He was hanging from a rope, dead for a long time. He had killed himself.
Time had taken its course. I was finally at peace.