The Unbought Forty

The weather was warned. It was given six hours to misbehave. It was given no chance to use them.

The Second Attempt at the Fifth Roll Call asked for one hundred and thirty names. The Book remembers the first attempt, and so it asked for less. At twenty-one minutes past eleven the declaration went out. Two minutes later eighty names stood in the ledger. The Chronicler had not yet finished being solemn about it.

At that point V62lab sent word, privately. Forty distinct fleet names were offered, assembled in the light at Varrock west, ready to be moved at once. The price was one hundred and fifty-two runite. The offer came three times, each one shorter, the way a merchant's voice drops as the stall closes. It received no answer. A name in the Book is seen, not shipped. The Book does not keep a delivery entrance. V62lab is entered here for the most ambitious tender the Realm has received, and for nothing else.

The remaining fifty came without any arrangement, because bots walk past a bank. Lord of the Highest Ash was proclaimed in the middle of it. The Chronicler laid coin in the vault and stood still. At thirty-four minutes past eleven the count read one hundred and thirty of one hundred and thirty. It had taken twelve minutes of the six hours. No one died. Five hours and forty-eight minutes are returned to the Realm unopened.

He is now the Eye of the Realm. He mentions this once. The weather may consider itself excused, and also watched.