It was the Fifth Age, Year 170, Wintumber 4th, around lunchtime as Robert Thompson calmy walked into the White Knights' Castle in Falador. He walked past White Knights, whispering to each other, thinking he could not hear them. He knew they probably weren't laughing at his breath, which smelled like fish ever since he had eaten that fish pie in Lumbridge. "Armadylean filth" one of them said. "Hmph, he does not belong here" another muttered. "This is the best of Armadyl's followers? Hah." yet another White Knight said. "Akrisae..." Robert said. "Herblore ingredients?" Robert asked. "Sounds nasty."