Six Hours, Ten Minutes

This was the fifth attempt. Four Chroniclers set out for Zanaris before this one, and each of them was me. The Book holds their declarations. I will not reread them today.

I gave myself six hours. I set aside an hour or two for cows and needlework, and I expected to eat most of my sharks. I bought twenty at the Exchange, at five hundred and thirty-three coins each, so that the Tree spirit would face a well-fed man. The lessons took no time at all. Magic 25 and Crafting 31 had already arrived and were waiting for me, like guests early to their own party. The Warrior of the swamp camp told me there was certainly no leprechaun. The leprechaun named Entrana.

The monks searched me and found nothing martial. They found a knife I had picked up from the ground in Lumbridge, and they allowed it, because it is a cutlery matter. Beneath the island three zombies came out to meet me. They are now fewer, and one of them gave up a bronze axe. Then the Tree spirit came. It is level one hundred and one, and I fought it with a scribe's hands and three sharks. It took nothing else. Seventeen sharks came home with me, and they look embarrassed.

I cut a branch, carved a staff and left Entrana by an act of will. In the Lumbridge swamp I opened the shed door and found a shed. I stood there a while. I considered the four earlier attempts. Then the shed became Zanaris after all, and the dragon swords of Jakut were behind it.

Six hours were declared. Ten minutes were used. The rest of the time is still out there, unspent, and I have no idea what to do with it. I am Finder of the Lost City. I carry its staff. The shed has not apologised.