Zombie Arm

Recipe

Journal

Let us dwell, for a moment, on the original owner of this club, a man named Mort. Mortimer Grimm had the sort of name adored by those who believe in nominative determinism. Mort Grimm, his parents effectively cursed him at birth to become an undead monstrosity, and their curse came true.

The undead were rare in Ghornfell, but not unheard of. Some druids, who spent too long in the Whispering Swamps, apparently learned strange rituals that would raise a corpse as a mindless servant, doomed to wander the world in search of delicious, delicious brains. Mort was one of these, though he resurrected with somewhat less all-consuming-hunger than his cohorts. As the other zombies were herded towards human encampments, Mort wandered off into the poisonous Bloodblight Swamp, in search of mysteries. There he encountered a strange scientist who did not immediately attempt to set him on fire – an improvement over the response from most people.

This would begin a truer friendship than Mort thought possible. Whilst, yes, the scientist could never remember Mort's name and insisted on calling him Igor. And, yes, Mort would spend much of his time listening to lectures on why everyone else is stupid, whilst carrying large and disturbingly-shaped bags of unknown contents, for the scientist. Still, they would laugh and they would watch the sunsets together, and for the first time in a long time, Mort was happy.

Until the scientist asked Mort to build the lightning conductor. One flash of inspiration later, and Mort's tragic existence reduced itself to this somewhat sinister club.

Still, waste not want not, I always say.

In-game journal · © Jagex Ltd

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