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My name is Tawmis Sanarius.
And my life may soon be over.
Three nights ago, I would not have seen myself where I am now. Aboard an airship headed for Mount Grimrock. Three nights ago, I was enjoying the fine company of strong beverages and scantily dressed women. Through somewhat bleary eyes, brought on by the intoxication that flowed through my blood, I watched a Lizard Man slip into the bar; its beady eyes scanning the room. Whoever he was – he was a rogue, that much I was certain. He was looking for an easy target to get his reptilian fingers into their purses and relieve them of their coin. I smiled, because whatever was going to happen next was going to be entertaining. I nudged Taren Bloodhorn, my closest – actually, my only friend. A towering grey minotaur, with muscles that rested on top of muscles; every breath he took, his entire chest seemed to come alive with rippling muscles. The ladies of ‘The Fallen Star’ enjoyed that. Some would consider unusual that human females would partake in … encounters… with minotaurs. Here, that was never questioned. Probably why Taren loved this place.
Taren’s nostrils flared in amusement, as we both watched the Lizard Man move through the crowd. Though they were humanoid in appearance, with their lizard heads, scales and claws, they seemed to possess every trait of every reptile. Whether it was trying to climb a wall, or slither and squeeze in between impossibly small spaces.
I put my mug down when I followed the lizard’s gaze. This was going to go poorly. A side glance to Taren, and he recognized the problem that was about to escalate. “It’s none of our concern,” his deep voice growled. “Sit back and enjoy the ale and the women.”
“He doesn’t know what he’s getting into,” I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
The reptilian’s target is none other than Boris Thunkal. A brute. An idiot. But also one of the King’s Men.
The King’s Men are handpicked Knights from the King’s general soldiers. The King’s Men are also the most trusted men among the King. The only ones who are allowed to guard him from within his tower. By law, the King’s Men are not permitted in ‘The Fallen Star’ because it is an ‘unsavory’ place. But I do believe Boris spends as much time as I do here; if not more. And it’s not to arrest people. (Although come to think of it, it might involves some role play of him ‘arresting’ some of these fine women of the evening). Despite the law, Boris enjoys the company of the women of ‘The Fallen Star’ and everyone here knows he’s one of the King’s Men, and he throws his weight (which there is plenty of, around that rotund waist of his!) around, like he owns the place. I wouldn’t say I hate Boris; but I would certainly chalk it up for a very strong and very passionate dislike of the man.
Unfortunately, the reptilian has mistaken Boris’ general idiotic attitude for drunkenness; which means, when the reptilian reaches for Boris’ coin pouch, the dumb lizard is going to get caught, and there’s going to be a huge scene.
So I stand and make my way towards Boris. Taren sees me making my way and shakes his head, “Pardon me, ladies,” he said with the booming voice, to each woman sitting on his lap. “With any luck I shall return.”
As I had predicted, as the reptilian reached for Boris’ coin pouch to cut it; Boris felt the cold claws on his pouch and screamed, “Thief!” Immediately, the other members of the King’s Own stood up.
“Hold it,” I said, patting Boris on the shoulder. “Let me buy you a drink. The reptilian meant no harm. He was snagged on your pouch – you know, those scales get caught on anything – and was just trying to free himself.”
“Wait! Where’s my coin purse?” one of the other King’s Own called out. Boris spun and ripped open the reptilian’s cloth vest; and the sound of a coin purse, with the King’s marking on it, feel to the ground.
I watched the coin bag fall. I watched Boris’ eyes go to the reptilian then to me.
“Dung,” I muttered. I knew what was coming next.
I heard Taren roar and charge on of the drunk guards who had stood to arrest both the reptilian and myself (thinking me an accomplice). Boris turned to me and drew his blade, but my closed fist came across the bridge of his nose with incredible force. He reeled back, his hand over his nose. “You bwoke mife nwose,” he said as blood poured between his fingers.
“Yeah, sorry about that, it’s just I don’t take kindly to being arrested again,” I said, and punched him again, sending him swirling to the ground. Unfortunately, this gave the other King’s Own a chance to come up behind me.
The last thing I heard, before I blacked out was the sound of shattering glass on the back of my skull.
This would be no ordinary crime. We had assaulted the King’s Own, which by law, was an assault on the King himself.
When we were brought before the King, Boris had explained that the King’s Own had been on patrol through Curvia (which was the high end of town), when they had heard noises. Upon investigating, they reported that they had caught us trying to break into the home of Houralus Survine, one of the Royal Men of Curvia. I shook my head.
When the King asked for our version of what happened, I explained the truth. Of course, there would be no one to back up our story – not even if they brought in people from The Fallen Star (not that they ever would; the Heavens forbid such ‘unsavory’ people taint the King’s palace just to verify a thief’s tale). The King naturally sided with the King’s Own; to do otherwise would indicate that the King had fallible judgment when selecting the King’s Own. But I saw it in the King’s eyes; when I described breaking Boris’ nose, the King could barely contain his smile.
Without a doubt, the King had selected Boris, but didn’t care for Boris’ attitude, and perhaps even knew that we were telling the truth. By the grace of the King, our ‘sins’ were forgiven – but it would still be up to the gods to determine if we were guilty or not. “I now sentence the four of you,” I heard the King say. Four? I looked over and saw an insectoid, whom I did not recognize. “To be thrown into Mount Grimrock. If the gods deem that you are absolved of your sins, you shall survive as you work your way from the top of Mount Grimrock down to its base, where the only exit is known to exist.”
Boris seemed as though he might protest the fact that we were given – no matter how slim – a chance to live. However, the King’s scolding looked silenced the arrogant guard.
As they chained the four of us and escorted us aboard an airship, I looked to the insectoid. “How did you get involved in all of this?”
“When –tic!- the guard struck you –tic!- from behind,” the insectoid said through its mandibles. “I –tic!- cast a blinding flash –tic!- behind his eyes! I tried to –tic!- heal you, but –tic!- was overcome.”
“I thank you for your effort,” I said. “The minotaur over there is Taren Bloodhorn. I’m sorry you’re in this mess with us.”
“It was –tic!- my choice. I have observed –tic!- the King’s Own, namely the Boris gentlemen –tic!- and seen how he treats non-humans –tic!- with extreme prejudice. I was honored to –tic!- fight with you for as long as I lasted. My name –tic!- is Blaz’tik.”
I looked at the lizard man, who had remained quiet. “Can I get the name of the man for who I may die for?”
The Lizard Man looked up, “My name is Silvertan,” he said, his ‘s’ coming out in long hisses. “I did not ask for your help.”
“Well, I wasn’t about to let you get thrown in a prison to rot,” I smiled. “Besides, I was looking for a reason to break Boris’ nose.”
From the front of the airship, I saw Boris turn and give a scowling look.
In the distance, I could see it. Even as the airship struggled to gain altitude in the storm clouds.
Mount Grimrock.
My name is Tawmis Sanarius.
And my life may soon be over.
Three nights ago, I would not have seen myself where I am now.
Posted Tue Aug 07, 2012 10:45 pm
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried. Prisoners “pardoned by the King” are brought to the top of Mount Grimrock and thrown in to find their way to the bottom and escape; should they escape, that means the gods have deemed the prisoners innocent, or at least, given a second chance.The stories about the things within Mount Grimrock are… well, for lack of a better word, grim. So far, the survival count for prisoners who have escaped Mount Grimrock are in the single digits. As in, zero. That doesn’t bode well for us.
“We have –tic!- nothing to worry about –tic!- right?” Blaz’tik the insectoid asked, looking at me.
“No,” I smile.
Like I said, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried.
So sue me, I’m lying.
Taren, my minotaur companion gives me a sour look. He knows I’m lying. He’s been with me through thick and thin. He knows when I lie, or tell the truth, or even just ever so slightly bend the truth. Taren shakes his head at me.
“It would seem,” the lizard-man, Silvertan, pointed out, with his words lisping, “that your minotaur companion does not agree with your assessment.”
“Well if it makes you feel better,” I replied, standing up and rubbing my shoulder. “Taren hardly ever agrees with me on anything.” I held my hand out to the Lizard Man, my shackles rattling. All four of us had been shackled together when we were thrown in. “Now, is there anything you can do about these? Wearing these and trying to find our way through here is going to make things a lot more complicated than they need to be.”
As I suspected, Silvertan popped the locks with very little effort.
“You’re much better than you originally let on,” I commented, rubbing my wrists. “You could have easily got Boris’ purse. So why the charade? Did you want to get caught?”
Silvertan was silent for a moment. “None of you were supposed to get involved. None of you were supposed to help. I had been watching Boris for days. I knew his pattern better than he did. I waited until he went into the Fallen Star, because I thought no one would come to his aid. Patrons would be too drunk. Wouldn’t care.”
“So were you looking for some kind of death sentence,” I asked, as my eyes glanced around the small cell we were now stuck in.
“No, my intention was to be thrown into Mount Grimrock,” Silvertan hissed, his serpent tongue flickering. “There are legend of the Undying One’s treasure that reach as far as my lands in the Terragrass Marshes.”
Terragrass Marshes. My mother told me about that place. It was called ‘Terra-Gras’ because of the whole Earthly feeling. Most who traveled through it called it the ‘Terror Grass Marshes’, however, because the amount of wild life, almost all of it, beyond lethal just from a small scratch or bite. Only the brave and the foolish ventured into the Terragrass Marshes.
“So you thought you would get caught, get arrested, then just thrown down here; make your way to the bottom, on your own, fighting everything that’s said to be trapped in here and walk out with this incredible, and I might add – only a legend! – of a treasure?” I sputtered.
“I had no intention of fighting anything,” Silvertan retorted. “I’m a rogue. I live in the darkness. I come from the Terragrass Marshes. I know how to move without being seen, even if I am standing right in front of someone’s gaze. I would have made my way down without any problem,” Silvertan replied. “All you have done is complicate matters.”
“You have a wonderful way of saying, ‘Thanks for trying to help me!’” I muttered as I walked towards the only exit; thick bars that blocked our way out.
“I didn’t asked to be helped,” Silvertan said again.
I turned my head, “Great. Yeah, I get it. Thanks.” I turned my attention back to the bars. “These slide up, but they’re pretty rusted. Taren?”
The Minotaur stood, towering well over seven feet tall. Each step sounded like rolling thunder. His massive hands, bigger than my head, grabbed the bars and gave them a shove. The entire mountain seemed to scream in protest – but slowly, the bars rose and our only exit from the first room became available to us.
“The least those bastards could have done is toss us down some weapons,” I muttered.
Lit torches.
There’s a care taker that roams Mount Grimrock then.
“There’s a caretaker here,” I said, as I detached the torch from the wall. “If we can time it right, we must be able to see how he’s able to come through here… follow him out. There might be a secret passage he’s using to get around everything. Grimrock is said to be full of secrets.”
“I –tic!- hate to disappoint,” the insectoid said, shaking his head. “There is no –tic!- caretaker in Grimrock that lights –tic!- these torches.”
“Then how do they stay lit?” I asked, turning to face Blaz’tik.
“Magic,” Blaz’tik answered, matter-of-factly, as if I should have known. Seeing my blank expression he pressed on to explain, “When Grimrock –tic!- was made, magic was used –tic!- to light the torches. The flames –tic!- burn eternally, so long as –tic!- connected to Grimrock. Like a rose –tic!- the torch will continue to live; remove it from the wall, and its life and fire will –tic!- eventually begin to fade. Plant it back on the wall –tic!- and the fire will continue to burn, like a rose –tic!- replanted in soil. If you look closely, each –tic!- sconce is etched with magical runes. The magic that –tic!- runs through Mount Grimrock looks for these, like –tic!- veins of blood.”
“You speak like Mount Grimrock is alive,” Taren huffed, through his massive black nostrils.
“In many ways, -tic!-,” Blaz’tik explained, touching the wall fondly, “Mount Grimrock is very much alive.”
“Can I just say I hate magic,” I muttered through clenched teeth.
“Not surprising,” Silvertan hissed, barely audible, “considering your parents.”
I shot Silvertan a look that clearly spoke a single word; Silence. I slowly turned back to Blaz’tik. “You mentioned on the airship that you were a mage. What magic can you do to help us out now?”
Blaz’tik shook his insectoid head – something he, in the short time I have gotten to know him – did entirely too frequently. “None –tic!- sadly.”
“What do you mean none? You said on the airship that…” I began to protest.
“They took my spell –tic!- components. I have nothing to –tic!- cast any spells. Most of the spells I have –tic!- memorized, but without the proper –tic!- components, I can not cast anything.”
“Of course,” I sighed.
Nothing was going to be easy.
“What do you need for these ‘spell components’,” I asked, making air quotes with my fingers.
“Simple things. Moss. Bones. Dung of bats.”
Well that was a plus side. Most of that we could find here in Grimrock.
Assuming we lived that long.
Every corner seems to have something.
It’s to the point that my mind has turned against me. Every fear I have ever had seems to be alive in Grimrock. The torch casts flicking shadows against the wall and it seems like something is always waiting just beyond the shadows; waiting for the torch to be extinguished.
“Do you smell that,” I heard Silvertan hiss behind me. I paused and sniffed at the air. All I could smell was the burning torch. I looked at Silvertan, whose scales seemed to be etched in blackness, with small shadows decorating and accentuating them.
“I don’t smell anything,” I answered.
Silvertan seemed to look at me with a twitch of disgust in his eyes. I am not sure if it was because of who I am, or the fact that I’m human. He’s said things that seem to elude to the idea that he might know who my parents are.
“Truluffs,” he answered.
I looked at him blankly. What he said made no sense to me. “What is Truluffs?”
“Mushrooms,” Blaz’tik answered. “Very rare mushrooms.”
“Extremely rare, except in my homeland, within the Terragrass Marshes,” Silvertan added.
I looked back and forth between them. “So, what’s the big deal with some mushrooms?”
“You humans use it for cooking,” Silvertan answered. “Though, they’re very rare, because of the wild swine within the Terragrass Marshes… the truluff spores emit the same scent as the pheromone that the wild boars emit in their saliva. Thus the wild female swine, sniff them out and devour them. Later, when they excrete the remains, the spores replant themselves within the feces and the cycle begins anew. Truluffs require a dark, dank, moist environment.” Silvertan seemed to smile, “Although eating them raw will have … lucid effects, if they’re not cooked – except to female swine.”
“That’s all good, but I don’t think anyone here is willing to sit down and cook a gourmet meal,” I shrugged.
“They are –tic!- also highly prized as –tic!- magical components,” Blaz’tik said.
“Magical components,” I said. “Now that we can use. All right,” I turned to Silvertan. “Which way?”
Silvertan walked by me, his serpent eyes on me until he passed me by. Taren, the minotaur caught it as well. “What’s his problem?” Taren asked gruffly.
“I wish I knew,” I whispered. “But something tells me it may have to do something with my parents.”
“Your parents?” Taren asked. “But how could he know? You’ve changed your name…”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know.”
We followed Silvertan through the dungeon until we came into a massive room where the entire floor seemed to be made of mushrooms. “This,” Silvertan’s serpent like hiss was thick, “is not natural. Someone made this.”
“Or something,” Taren’s nostrils flared, as if trying to use his own heightened sense of smell.
“Grab some mushrooms and make it quick,” I said, gesturing to the massive mushroom patch.
Then I heard it.
Coming from the darkness down the hall, beyond the torch light.
It sounded like a herd of angry turkeys.
“What in the seven gods is that sound?” I asked.
“Herders,” Silvertan said, nodding. “Now it makes sense. There’s herders in here.”
“What is a herder?”
“A living mushroom, to make it quick,” Silvertan said. “They’re native to the Terragrass Marshes. I don’t know what they’re doing here. They’re nothing to be fearful of – they’re only a few inches in height. It’s the Spore Herders and Elder Herders that you need to be very mindful of. They’re extremely lethal.”
However, what came bursting through the darkness was hardly a few inches in height. These herders stood nearly four feet tall, appearing to be – as Silvertan noted – living mushrooms, with root like appendages for feet and arms.
I began swinging my torch back and forth, as I stared back at Blaz’tik. “Let me guess, this is kind of like the worm situation? These guys used to be a few inches tall, but the magic inside this place has ‘evolved’ them to these larger species?”
“That –tic!- sounds like the most –tic!- logical explanation,” Blaz’tik nodded as he grabbed another handful of mushrooms.
As we backed away we found stairs that led down a level. A rusty gate was between us and them as we reached the stairs. I looked at Taren, and without a word, he pulled the gate down, and part of the wall with his magnificent strength.
As I turned around I saw a massive blue stone floating, and Blaz’tik was already running his hands on it.
“What is that thing now?” I asked.
“A heart,” Blaz’tik answered excitedly. “This stone –tic!- is part of what gives Grimrock life. This stone helps ignite the torches I –tic!- mentioned. It also helps –tic!- shape the very things we have encountered.”
“We should smash it then,” I explained.
“No,” Blaz’tik shook his head. “Don’t you see. This stone… it’s magnificent. It… brings life… through magic.”
I frowned.
And I saw Silvertan looking at me.
I had made it clear I was not a fan of magic.
“So you’re telling me, if one of us should fall in combat this stone… thing… could bring them back to life?” I asked.
“Hypothetically speaking,” Blaz’tik said excitedly, “That’s –tic!- exactly what I am saying.”
“The Mages here were messing with forces they shouldn’t have,” I said as we worked our way down to the second floor. Suddenly, the explanations, the horror stories of ‘The Undying One’ made much more sense…
It’s a unique sound they make.
The marching of Theraen Empire Soldiers. But if Grimrock has taught me anything in the brief couple of hours that I have been trapped in here; that things are not always what they seem. This would prove to be no different. We heard them marching so Silvertan scouted ahead, blending and moving through the darkness with incredible grace and ease. When he reappeared, he seemed to melt out of the shadow itself, startling me.
“Undead soldiers,” he reported with his lisping voice.
“Of course they’re undead,” I sighed.
“It –tic!- makes sense,” Blaz’tik offered. “Just as Grimrock gives life to –tic!- everything else, the soldiers who once served as guards, probably rose –tic!- after death to continue their one job. To protect –tic!- Grimrock from would be grave robbers and thieves.”
“They’ve got weapons,” Silvertan smiled.
I nodded. “We need to set up a trap. Silvertan, how many were there?”
“Four,” Silvertan replied. “Two front, two rear.”
“Okay, Blaz’tik, Silvertan, off to the side,” I said. “I am going to stay right here, feign a wound. This will draw them this way. As soon as they come through this passage,” I looked at Taren.
The massive minotaur nodded. “Consider them dispatched.”
“I’m counting on you,” I added.
“Don’t worry,” Taren seemed to smile gruffly. “It’s not like I have you to blame for getting me shoved into Grimrock.” He paused. “Oh wait, yes I do.” He smiled, which seeing a minotaur is very eerie – rows of teeth, the canine teeth gleaming like miniature daggers.
“Everyone’s a comedian,” I muttered.
As I listened to the synchronized marching growing closer and closer, the more I questioned the sanity of my plan. As they became visible through the torchlight that flickered in the hall, it took every ounce of courage to stay there and not bolt. Even as their undead eyes, bleak, black empty pits focused on me, they did not increase their pace. Instead, they kept their eerie march speed, as if they knew that there was no need to rush me; I would either die at their hands, or at the hands of the things that had come to call Grimrock their home.
As they stepped through the intersection, Taren Bloodhorn, with his head down, rammed into all four of them, just as they raised their spears. He slammed them against the wall; and in blinding fury began swinging his powerful fists, and stomping his feet. Bones snapped, crackled and shattered beneath his massive weight and strength. The fight was over in seconds.
I rummaged the remains and grabbed a spear and shield for myself. Taren used a few bones, and some decayed leather to tie the bones together and make a club. Silvertan acquired one of their daggers, while Blaz’tik refused to touch the remains of the dead. “I do not wish to –tic!- defile the dead,” Blaz’tik said.
“We are not defiling them,” I countered. “Magic defiled these soldiers thousands of years ago. We have given them the rest they have long since deserved. Assuming,” I looked back at the pile of bones, “they don’t rise again when the magic of Grimrock reanimates them.”
Posted Fri Aug 17, 2012 3:16 pm
A moment’s rest.
Something we all needed, and finally got. We had just killed off something else this cursed mountain or its makers had shaped with magic – something Blaz’tik called “Crowern.”
We made a fire and, despite how they looked, used our weapons to cook the flesh of these creatures.
“So what are these things?” I asked the insectoid.
“They’re a Mage’s attempt –tic!- at creating the ultimate currier –tic!- bird,” Blaz’tik said as he gnawed on a raw crowern remain. “Mages mutated and created –tic!- the Crowern so that it could –tic!- fly great distances, and defend itself, should it –tic!- come under attack from those who try to stop –tic!- the message from being delivered.”
Blaz’tik regurgitated some of the meat then swallowed again. I felt myself get nauseous even as I continued to try and cook my dead crowern over the small fire. “More than –tic!- likely,” he continued as he gnawed on the raw meat, “the mages of Grimrock –tic!- used the messenger birds… now, it’s been so long that they haven’t –tic!- used them, the messenger birds continued to return to Grimrock, and breed among themselves –tic!- until they were flying all over the dungeon, feeding on snails and –tic!- anything else they came across.”
“So,” Silvertan’s slithering voice said, as he paced back and forth, keeping an eye down the hall. “You two,” he gestured to Taren and I, “seem very close. What’s your story?”
I felt my muscles tense. Silvertan had made several references to my parents since we were thrown in here; but did not directly say anything. I saw Taren looking at me, as I nodded. “Blood Oath,” I said.
“So you saved the minotaur’s life?” Silvertan asked, knowing that’s how Blood Oath’s worked in the Minotaur society.
“Mutual,” I said. “We saved each other’s life. I released Taren from the Blood Oath. But he has told me that it’s not been properly repaid.”
“I was falsely accused of a crime in my city within Namaer,” Taren explained.
“May I ask what crime?” Silvertan asked, his serpent like eyes focusing on Taren.
“Murder,” Taren said matter-of-factly. This seemed to halt Silvertan’s pacing. He looked at Tawmis. “He,” Taren explained, gesturing at me, “had been a slave in Namaer, working in the kitchen cleaning. He saw them prepping my final meal before my combat in the Arena.”
Taren explained that Minotaurs charged with murder, were brought into the Arena of Justice, to fight legions of soldiers that poured into the Arena, wave after wave – usually until the Minotaur accused of murder was killed, or until the crowd began cheering for the Minotaur. Those who survived the Arena were pardoned, but not found innocent and thus exiled from Namaer.
“When he saw them poisoning my final meal before the Arena, he made his way to the edge of the Arena, and jumped in, using the chains around his ankles and wrists, to help me in the Arena,” Taren explained. “This action turned the crowd in my favor, and they began cheering for me. As always, the Emperor, fearful that those within the Arena might gain more popularity than himself; and that killing them would turn the crowds against him – he raised his hand and pardoned my murder, exiling both Tawmis and I from Namaer.”
“So what is the son of Contar Stoneskull and Yennica Whitefeather doing as a slave in Namaer?” Silvertan asked, his slithering tongue flicking in and out, as if he could not wait to taste the answer on his scaled lips.
“Wait, -tic!-“ Blaz’tik suddenly exclaimed. “You’re the –tic!- son of Contar and Yennica?”
I sighed.
“I am,” I said, quietly.
“They’re the only ones said to –tic!- ever have escaped Grimrock over –tic!- twenty years ago!” Blaz’tik said excitedly, still gnawing on the raw crowern. “You must know –tic!- of the Orb of Zhandul? The one that –tic!- Sancsaron sought?”
There it was. The one thing the Mages had kidnapped me for. To pick my brain.
“I don’t know about the Orb,” I said, my voice edged with annoyance. “The Mages of Des … kidnapped me when I was only thirteen years old. And used magic to pick my brain apart, layer by layer, to see if my parents had ever mentioned it – and if I knew the Orb’s location buried in my subconscious. When they couldn’t find the answer, they knew they couldn’t just put me back after there had been such a wide search for me. They sold me into slavery in Namaer for some trivial spell components.” I turned to Silvertan, “So yes, I am the son of Contar and Yennica. And that is how I ended up a slave in Namaer.”
I could see it in Silvertan’s serpent like eyes. The answer was not what he had hoped. He had thought that I was a spoiled boy, who grew up in riches.
“They still seek you out,” Silvertan said. “Your parents.”
“I never went back,” I answered. “Between what the Mages did to me… to my mind… and then a life of slavery… Their son is dead.”
I knew why Blaz’tik asked about the Orb. According to the rumor, my parents found the Orb in Grimrock, and having determined it was too powerful for any mortal to possess – did away with the weapon. But the Mages speculate that such a weapon can not be destroyed; and that it must be hidden somewhere.
I stared at the runes with a raised eye brow.
There was a locked door, and despite Taren Bloodhorn’s best efforts, he could not shatter it. That mean the door was guarded by magic. Which, of course, would explain the magic runes next to the door. “I can’t tell what the Flerigan that says.”
Blaz’tik stepped forward, “Allow me.” He crumbled up some of the mushrooms in his hand, and began chanting, “Herd ben has wot, sey thay dew wot, werds the me sho, wey the me sho!”
Blaz’tik then took the mushrooms that were now glowing a faint blue, and rubbed them across the runes. And slowly the very runes themselves glowed a gentle green color and revealed the words, “A Lone Pillar Of Light Stands Alone In The Night.”
“Wonderful,” I sighed. “A riddle. The Mages who made Grimrock didn’t think using their magic to animate the dead, and twist living things into new creatures was enough…”
“This is not just a riddle,” Blaz’tik answered. “This comes from an old story.” Blaz’tik stopped to think about it. “The Three Gods. When they first discovered our world – the Three Gods – The Trinity – battled for who would rule over the World.”
“I am familiar with the story,” Taren nodded.
“The story goes that the Trinity came to our world, each with a desire for it. One wanted to rule it, One wanted to burn it, One wanted to give it life,” Blaz’tik continued.
“The God who sought to Burn the World, battled the Life Giver, and burned his light out. That is how Saolaviris became The Moon.”
“The God who sought to Rule the World, battled the Life Giver, and was shattered and spread across the skies, which is how Yularien became the Stars.”
“And the Life Giver, Trelena, became our sun. The story ends, with ‘A Lone Pillar Of Light Stands Alone In The Night’ – surrounded by the moon and stars.”
“The torches,” Taren said, looking at the other torches in the room. “Only one must remain. But which?”
“The one facing the door,” I said. “Because that’s the one facing the door – the way we need to go.”
Quickly the others snuffed the remaining torches save for the one facing door with the runes on the wall. And as the last torch died, the door rose…
(I feel the origin of Tawmis was a little sparse, so I revisited it…)
There’s a thousand reasons I hate Mages.
One of which, they raped my childhood from me. When I was thirteen years old, a sect of Mages from the Academy of Des, known as The Crimson Order, abducted me and ripped my mind apart with magic; stripping away at me, layer by layer, seeking to uncover the possibility that somewhere, deep within my subconsciousness, I had heard my parents speak of Orb of Zhandul which was rumored to hold almost limitless god-like magical powers.
Day after day, they stripped away another layer of my mind. The sensation is similar to having your skin peeled away by a dull knife. Day after day, crying out for help – and all you get are shadowy figures hiding beneath their cloaks, chanting their magic, and ripping your mind apart. Day after day, month after month, year after year, for seven years.
For seven long years, I wondered why my mother, Yennica Whitefeather, one of the most powerful Mages, never found me, never rescued me.
For seven long years, I had those Mages of the Crimson Order rip my mind apart. I believe at some point they stopped caring about finding the Orb of Zhandul, and just didn’t know what to do with me – so I became their experiment, their plaything.
Once I was 20, and I could fight back – they knew they had to get rid of me. They took me and traded me in Namaer – where I was thrown into slavery. I was forced to work the kitchen – where, one day I recognized the distinct smell of Crularious – a plant used to slow down the bleeding. The Crimson Order had used it on me, when they cut me open, experimenting on me. It has a different effect when consumed; it poisons the blood stream when digested, causing grogginess. I watched as they crumbled it into a serving a food that was meant for “one of the gladiators of the ring.”
I managed to become one of the servers for the food that day; and saw that it was meant for one of the minotaurs – Taren Bloodhorn – as his final meal before the gladiator ring. I tried to warn him before he consumed the food about its contents, but I couldn’t reach him. So when he entered the ring, I could see that the poison was already taking effect. He was lucid, barely aware of his surroundings. So I did something that came from somewhere deep within me – I jumped the railing and yanked my chains with me, and stood next to him, and helped him. The crowd cheered at this unexpected turn of events, thrilled to see chaos among the guards who had tried to stop me.
In truth, I was ready to die.
I wanted to die.
I had no childhood. I had no good memories. I was a slave. Beaten.
I was ready to die. This was my way of fighting those that would suppress the wills of others.
Back to back, we fought round after round of charging minotaurs, until the crowd had become so enamored with effort to survive – that they roared our names. The King was forced to call an end to the fight, or face the possibility that he would lose favoritism with the people.
After being paraded around for several days, we were set free, but banned from returning to Namaer.
Taren swore a blood oath to me, that one day, he would repay saving my life. I told him, I had not wanted him to walk with me because of a Blood Oath. I had already been a slave, I knew what it was like, and I would wish it on no other.
Truth be told, the death wish that dwells within me, has long remained. Taren has repaid his Blood Oath to me more times than I can remember. Too many times, since our freedom, have I provoked a fight that I knew I could not win. Too many times to remember, it was Taren who showed up and saved me, time and time again.
It wasn’t until Taren nearly died for me, that I saw something I had never seen before.
Friendship. Love. Caring.
He was not with me because of the Blood Oath. He was with me because he was my friend.
My first, true, honest friend.
That moment changed my life forever.
But the one thing that has never – and perhaps never will change – is my hatred for The Mages.
Because as soon as the riddle was solved and the door opened, there was a row of undead archers…
The arrows fly by as we take cover on each side of the hall.
They’re all looking at me for an idea. To lead them.
Why? I have been nothing but a slave for most of my life.
Then it dawns on me. Now that they know who my true parents are, they’re expecting something out of the “legendary son” of Contar and Yennica. But I am not that son. I am not the son I should have – could have been. The Mages saw to that when they stripped me of my mind, and tore away at the very fiber of my soul.
They’re waiting for me to tell them what to do.
How to get out of this.
Since we have been pushed in here, we have been reacting to Mount Grimrock.
We will never survive this way.
We have to be proactive if we hope to survive this.
I looked at Taren Bloodhorn. For several years now, he has walked side by side with me. He has seen the look in my eyes. He knows what it means.
We fight. We make a stand. Live or die. We will not go down as cowards.
And I will tear down every Mage enabled abomination that stands in front of me.
I looked to the others, “We will not survive like this. We need to take action. It may be our death, but let those Mages know we did not die like cowards. That we stood and fought, not cowered in the corner. I have an idea…”
I stood in the door way and watched five archers take aim and fire; as soon as their boney fingers were about to release; I stepped to the side and let the arrows fly harmlessly by. If anything, these archers, because of their undead status, were considerably slower than they were when they were living. I stood in the hallway immediately again, and watched – and counted – nine seconds, before I had to step aside again.
I looked at Taren. The massive minotaur nodded. “Nine seconds, to reach them,” I explained. “After that, the rest of us charge in.”
I stood in the hallway again; and another round of arrows launched. As soon as I stepped aside, Taren charged in, head down and gorged three of the undead archers; as much as a minotaur can gorge something without flesh. Two impaled on his horns, one he grabbed by the spine as he charged by. As the undead archers slowly turned to face him, Silvertan and I ran in, striking the undead from behind, trying to shatter their spines; hoping this would quickly end the fight.
Blaz’tik meanwhile chanted something that was beyond any of us to understand. “Chalek –tic!- tavarium kon-Chala!”
And from his fingertips bolts of lightning erupted, honing in on the skeletons tattered, metallic armor.
I watched as the undead archer that Taren Bloodhorn had grabbed by the spine was flung around like a child’s plaything. In many ways, I hoped these undead could not feel whatever pain Taren was putting it through. Granted it had no skin, no nerves, no feelings – but it was a restless spirit because of the Mages and their cursed magic.
I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder and looked down to see an arrow sticking out of it. I looked up to see Silvertan still struggling with one of the undead archers. “My apologies,” he hissed. “This one has quite a bit of fight in him.”
That’s when I saw Taren approach it, and with one punch from his massive fist, he shattered its skull and spine, sending the rest of the undead horror, crumbling to the ground. “You nearly hit me,” Silvertan hissed.
“Casualties of war,” Taren growled and ran to me. “Are you all right, my friend?”
“Fine,” I muttered. “Just yank it-“
He didn’t wait for me to finish before he pulled the arrow out. I screamed in pain as the arrow head ripped at my flesh. I could feel the warmth of the crimson blood seeping into my shirt. I looked at Taren and winced, “I don’t suppose you have any Crularious, do you?” (1)
Taren shook his head. “You have an odd sense of humor, my friend. You could have been killed.”
“We all could have,” I answered, placing my hand on the wound to apply pressure. “But we can’t live in Fear here. We have to take charge. Take control. Or Grimlock will claim us.”
Silvertan extended his hand to me to help me up. “I am truly sorry I was unable to stop the archer before he fired, human.”
“I believe you,” I said as I stood, wincing. “We need all of us to survive this.”
“Agreed,” he nodded. “I am also sorry for how I treated you previously. I thought you a spoiled child, who somehow ended up in here, trying to prove yourself as ‘legendary’ as your parents. I see now I should have learned more about you and what you have gone through.”
“Let’s have a drink over all of this when we get out of here,” I smiled.
“Agreed,” Silvertan repeated. “I shall pay for the drinks.”
“Try not to pay from one of the King’s Men’s pockets,” I smiled.
“Fair enough,” Silvertan smiled.
Tawmis Sanarius – Human (Son of Contar Stoneskull and Yennica Whitefeather)
Taren Bloodhorn – Minotaur
Blaz’tik – Insectoid
Silvertan – LizardmanHow many days has it been?Day and night pass, without any way to record it. I feel like I have danced on the edge of my sanity; and yet the others continue to look to me for leadership. How was I, a rich, spoiled, runaway child, “elected” as leader of this motley crew?
My brown eyes, hazy and unfocused, looked at Taren Bloodhorn, the massive minotaur who had been my friend for years now; and the only person on this world I truly trusted.
Taren extended his hand to me. I felt his firm grip as he pulled me up, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re growing weak. Despite Blaz’tik’s efforts, the wound you got from the arrow has become infected.”
I smiled at Taren, and shrugged off his concern. “I’m just a little tired.”
Tarne’s eyes went to my shoulder, where he had tore the shirt apart to rip the arrow out. The edge of the wound was black. I quickly covered the infection with the tattered remains of my shirt. “Like I said, I’m just a little tired.”
Taren huffed, the sounds reverberating in his throat, like rusted, iron gears turning for the first time in centuries. I took another deep breath, “We need to keep moving. We’ve been down here for weeks now, possibly, surviving on meat of slugs –“
“Snails,” Silvertan smiled, correcting me again.
“Right, snails,” I amended. “Who knows what eating that meat is doing to us, being tainted by magic,” I went on to explain. “We need to get out of this place. Now.” I began moving forward.
Taren followed my footsteps until Blaz’tik’s insectoid arms grabbed him, halting the minotaur. Taren looked down at the Insectoid. “The wound,” Blaz’tik began to explain, “it has – tic!- become more and more infected. He will not…”
Taren tore his arm away from Blaz’tik’s grasp. “He will be fine. We will get out of this. We will find him proper medical attention.” The minotaur quickened his pace to walk behind Tawmis.
Blaz’tik frowned. The Insectoid Mage knew that the human’s wound had become infected with The Void Touch; an infection that spread into the blood stream, turning it black, spreading rapidly. The infected individual would first suffer fevers, which the human had already begun; then become delusional, then finally a very painful death. The honorable thing would be to kill the human now. There was no way to escape Mount Grimrock in time and get a cure. The human would be dead soon; and death would be extremely painful.
It’s burning up in here.
I can barely breathe. Too many people.
There. I see Taren. “Taren!” I shout. “Over here!”
Taren Bloodhorn. Minotaur. My best friend. My only friend.
I pat Taren on the shoulder, which takes some effort, since he towers over me, as all Minotaurs typically stand no less than seven feet tall. “What shall we drink tonight?”
Taren looked at me, “Drink? There’s nothing to drink.”
“Nonsense!” I replied, gesturing with a wide sweep of my arm. “At the Silent Quill, there’s over sixty different ales to pick from – and,” I added with a wink, “some of the finest ladies! Even some female Minotaurs. Though,” I nudged him, “I am glad you can tell the difference between male and female Minotaurs.”
I could hear another voice, barely audible over the crowd within the Silent Quill.
“He’s –tic!- hallucinating,” the voice said.
“Hallucinating?” I turned to face the Insectoid, and suddenly found myself no longer standing in the Silent Quill. I was in some kind of dungeon.
“What’s going on here?” I grabbed the Insectoid by his tattered robes. “Where have you teleported us to?”
Taren’s strong, black, furry arms separated us. “He hasn’t teleported us anywhere, Tawmis. He’s right. You’re hallucinating. It’s the infection.”
“The infection?” I began to ask, then I felt it. The pain in my shoulder. I moved my shirt and saw the black around the wound. I covered it again, and looked at Taren. “It won’t be long now will it?”
“I’m –tic!- afraid not,” Blaz’tik replied. “The fever, then –tic!- the hallucination, then the –tic!- pain as the final blackness goes through the heart,” Blaz’tik explained matter-of-factly. “It will feel like –tic!- a thorny rose stem going through –tic!- your bloodstream when it reaches your heart.”
“Rose stem,” I muttered. “How… unromantic.”
There was a time, all I wanted to do was die.
For this life, I had been given, to be over.
When the Mages from the Academy of Des, known as the Crimson Order, ripped my mind apart, peeling back memory after memory, and burning them like old parchments, seeking the location of the Orb of Zhandul; knowing that my parents were the only ones rumored to have ever escaped Mount Grimrock, and supposed found the Orb and put it somewhere, because the items was so powerful it could not be destroyed by Mortals.
When the Mages found that I knew nothing, they sold me into slavery, in hopes I would perish, or that the people of Namaer would be blamed for my abduction, leaving the Crimson Order free of blame.
But the day I jumped into the Arena to help defend Taren Bloodhorn, my life took a drastic turn. Suddenly all the thoughts of dying, perished as I fought by this incredible noble Minotaur, who I could tell was innocent of the crimes he had been charged with.
Now it’s here. Death.
I can feel it breathing on my neck. It whispers my name.
I can almost hear it laughing.
Telling me to surrender. To give up. To stop living. So that I could finally be free of Mount Grimrock and find the peace I so richly deserved.
But I kept taking that next step forward.
My stomach churned. My hands trembled. My knees ached. I felt the world spinning every second I took just one more breath.
Giving up would have been the easiest thing to do.
But that’s when I realized, I never wanted to die. Not even when the Mages of the Crimson Order broke my mind and spirit. Not even when I jumped into the Arena to help defend Taren against impossible odds.
I never wanted to die.
I wanted to fight. Fight to keep living.
I would not die by giving up.
If I was to die, it would be for a noble cause.
Something that others, who survived, would speak about. Tell the tales. So that I would live on, as an immortal, in the form of evolving stories of my heroics.
Sometimes, we don’t get to pick how we die.
It suddenly felt as something gripped my heart with a chilled fist.
I suddenly felt the massive hands of Taren pull me back out of the corridor I had been struggling to walk in. A cold chill ran down my body. As I turned to look at everyone else; I could see they were all experiencing the same thing.
So it wasn’t Death.
Unless it had come for us all; at the same time. (Not entirely impossible down here, I imagine).
From the shadows I saw it.
A figure adorned in black robes, that somehow seemed darker than the unlit shadows of Grimrock. What should have been fingers looked like extended tentacles, like that of an octopus. My eyes stared in abject horror, when I noticed, cloaked in the dark shadows of its hood, there was no facial features; but slithering forth were the same tentacle appearance. Marble white to grey in color, the figure seemed to float across the floor.
When we were sure it was gone, Taren turned to Blaz’tik, “What in the Gods was that thing?”
“Stories –tic!-,” the Insectoid began to explain, “calls them ‘Goromorg’,” he shrugged, “which loosely –tic!- translates in the ‘Common’ tongue as ‘The Soul Stealers.’”
“That certainly,” Silvertan hissed, “explains the sensation I felt in my chest.”
“They –tic!- emit an aurora of fear,” Blaz’tik explained. “Rumor –tic!- has it, that the Goromorg are the original Designers of Mount Grimrock.”
“The First Mages?” I asked. “That would make them…”
“Thousands of years old,” Blaz’tik finished my sentence. “Yes. Once believed to be human, the Designers – the First Mages – obsessed with magic, sold their –tic!- very sanity and souls, to improve and learn –tic!- and become better Mages. It is said –tic!- that they made a pact with a ‘Dark God’ that –tic!- bestowed these powers upon them and supposed –tic!- changed them in its image. They are, without a doubt, -tic!- the most powerful Mages in existence, but the cost –tic!- of magic was … what you saw. They –tic!- no longer appear human. They –tic!- emanate that fear –tic!- aurora, because there is nothing human – it’s literally the –tic!- magic within them flowing outward, seeking to drain any and all –tic!- magic it senses!”
“Why did it not detect you?” Silvertan asked.
“Because without my spellbooks, I am –tic!- unable to memorize spells,” the Insectoid shrugged. “There is next to no magic –tic!- emanating from me, and any magic that is –tic!- is drowned out by the more powerful magic flowing within –tic!- Grimrock.”
Then I felt it.
I clutched at my chest. I bit down as hard as I could.
Taren was at my side. “What is it? What is wrong?”
“Rose… bushes,” I managed to sputter out.
Damn the Mage. He was right. It literally felt like a rose stem was being pumped through my veins; and its thorns were ripping me apart inside.
I let out a scream and collapsed.
Just before I faded into darkness, I heard Blaz’tik say, “It heard. It’s coming back. I can sense it.”
Perhaps Taren is right.
Sometimes, I’m simply too stubborn.
Even to die, it seems.
My eyes fluttered open.
Immediately I was gripped by the pulse pounding sensation of fear, which only seemed to rush the sensation of ‘the rose stem’ growing through my veins. I let out a gurgle of pain, blood trickling out of my mouth and onto the cold, grey floor of Grimrock. I stared up and saw that demon mage thing – the Goromorg had Silvertan in one of its tentacle hands, and Blaz’tik in the other; while its face had somehow ensnared Taren’s own face, and appeared to be sucking the life from him. Taren’s body was rigid, not moving.
“No,” I growled. “No. Not like this. Not like this. This is not how he dies.”
I forced myself up, my arms shaking violently, my body begging me to lay down again and sleep the Forever Sleep.
That’s thing about me, I realized early.
I don’t want to die like this.
I am fighting to live.
I force myself up, first onto my knees, then slowly I stand and draw the sword I had acquired from one of the undead soldiers earlier. I wanted to run and charge the Goromorg, but I could barely walk, without needing the wall to support me.
The Goromorg seemed so focused on devouring the soul of my dearest friend that it had never heard me approach. I shoved my sword into the creature’s back, and aimed the blade upward. I wasn’t even sure if this damn thing could be killed.
It didn’t even let out any sounds of pain. It did, however, drop all three of my companions and turn its attention on me. When it turned, it yanked the sword out of my feeble grip. If anything, I had bought my companions, and my dearest friends, only a few more seconds of life, assuming they were not dead already.
“Come at me,” I spat at the creature, my blood splashing onto its black robes.
It seemed to pause and stare at the bloodstain for a moment, before both tentacle hands lunged around my throat, wrapping around it tightly, like slimy, tiny, extended fingers. I tried to raise my arms to fight it, to somehow pull myself free – but this was it. I had given everything I could.
This was how I would die.
Staring into the soulless eyes of this Goromorg.
Suddenly the Goromorg rose about three feet; a look of surprise in its soulless eyes; before the white glow faded to a cold grey, and the creature released its hold on me. We both collapsed to the ground; me, dying, my own legs unable to support my weight; the Goromorg, dead.
I looked up and saw Taren’s minotaur horns covered in black blood.
He immediately kneeled down, “You did it. You saved us.”
I chuckled, blood glistening on my lips, “That’s what a hero does.”
“We thought you were dead already, as did the Goromorg as it passed you,” Taren tried to smile.
“I got better,” I muttered. My vision was fading. He was a lot more blurry than I remembered him being. Reminded me of that one night at the Red Dragon Inn – I don’t think I have ever been as drunk as I was that night.
But this wasn’t because I was intoxicated.
This was it.
I was finally, truly, dying.
My hand reached out to Taren’s rough, Minotaur cheek. “Live. Make it through here. For me. Tell my story…”
Taren swore that Minotaurs were incapable of crying, because they lacked tear ducts in their eyes, but I could swear I saw his eyes glittering more than usual in the torchlight.
“I will, my friend,” I heard him say. “I will.”
Then my world went black for the last time.
(Writer’s Note: I flipped back and forth from narrative perspective; because in hindsight, I wouldn’t have done it directly from Tawmis’ view; because it limits what I can do! I returned to this story, because I purchased Realms of Arkania on STEAM {if you haven’t, you should, especially if you like Legend of Grimrock). Anyway, was just going to be a short segment, but the characters had a lot to say apparently, and it just kept going… so is this the end? You don’t REALLY think this is the end, right?)
Another very long segment… Apparently leaving these companions in Grimrock for too long has them really wanting to continue their tale…
Tawmis Sanarius – Human (Son of Contar Stoneskull and Yennica Whitefeather)
Taren Bloodhorn – Minotaur
Blaz’tik – Insectoid
Silvertan – Lizardman
“We carry him,” Taren Bloodhorn growled.
Silvertan, his scales glistening in the flicking torch light, looked up, his voice hissing, “You can’t be serious? He will slow us down.”
“I will not leave the one who died so that we might live, down here, to be devoured by Crowern or some other horror,” Taren’s nostrils flared, his eyes dashing, looking for someone to challenge him.
Blaz’tik placed his insect like arm on the Minotaur’s shoulder. “I understand what –tic!- your friend meant to you, but the –tic!- Lizardman is right. We carry the human, -tic!- we slow down. And in here, as you have seen, -tic!- sometimes split second reactions can make all the difference –tic!- in the world between life and a very painful –tic!- death.”
“Then you will have to leave without me,” Taren said as he kneeled down and picked up Tawmis’ body. “I will not leave my friend behind.”
Blaz’tik looked at Silvertan, hoping the Lizardman might have something to add to reason with the Minotaur. Instead, Silvertan simply shook his head, “They’re, no pun intended, bull headed. When they’ve made up their mind about something, that’s it. I am sure this Blood Oath that’s between them simply further complicates matters.”
Taren walked by the silent duo as they watched massive Minotaur, muscles rippling with each step, walk past them.
“It’s a good idea,” Silvertan hissed sarcastically through his thin, lizard-like lips, “to have your fighter with his hands full, in a dungeon chalk full of death around every corner.”
As they moved through Mount Grimrock in silence, Blaz’tik was overjoyed to find Herders that had been shredded. Eagerly his insectoid fingers clutched at that shattered remains of the once living mushroom like creatures. “This make –tic!- excellent spell components,” he explained, as Silvertan paused to stare at the strange creature questionably.
“What destroyed them,” Silvertan hissed. “That’s what I want to know. The way they’re just scattered about… whatever did it… did it simply to destroy.” Silvertan kneeled down and sniffed at some of the remains, “No. Something fed on these. But… what I smell… it can not be. There’s no way that they would be down here…”
Then there was a roar that came from far ahead of them.
Blaz’tik looked up and stared at Silvertan. “What… was –tic- that?”
Silvertan threw down the remains of the Herder. “Trouble. Very, very, serious trouble. Taren,” Silvertan hissed the Minotaur’s name.
Taren Bloodhorn turned slightly.
Silvertan gestured for the Minotaur to come back. Slowly the Minotaur made his way back to the Lizardman and the Insectoid, still carrying Tawmis’ body. “What?” the Minotaur asked, clearly showing his annoyance and being beckoned back.
“You must have heard that roar,” Silvertan began.
“An Ogre,” Taren explained.
“You know?” Silvertan asked, surprised, “And yet you walk in the direction the howl came from. I would recommend we turn around. Find another way.”
“There is no other way,” Taren said, matter-of-factly. “We’ve been marking the walls. We’ve gone in circles several times now. This passage is the only way ahead.”
“If there is an Ogre ahead, then the only thing that passage will lead to is death,” Silvertan explained. “Ogres frequently raided our homes in the Terragrass Marshes. They would decimate our population, slaughter our men, women and offspring – including the defenseless eggs. And for what? The sheer pleasure of murder and mayhem.”
“I am quite familiar with Ogres,” Taren explained. “In my homeland, in the City of Namaer; below our city is a large maze. When we reach the age of sixteen seasons; the men have to venture into one end of the maze and come out the other. It’s disorienting, and constantly changing. The walls move. Floors give way to lethal traps. But it’s not just the maze that tries to end your life. The maze is riddled with Tunnel Ogres, whose only goal is to crush your skull and feast on your flesh; because that is the only food they will get down there.”
“That is… a horrible tradition,” Silvertan gasped.
“Be it what it may,” Taren answered plainly, “it forges us into warriors. It makes us very aware of our surroundings.” He turned and faced the passage from which the Ogre’s howl had come from, “Now, if you don’t mind, I wish to proceed forward.”
Silvertan looked at Blaz’tik, who shrugged his insect shoulders, stuffing the last of the crumpled Herder corpses into his pouch. He had never encountered an Ogre of any kind; though he had heard enough stories to know that they were best avoided at all costs. Even Minotaurs, despite all of their strength, knowledge, and courage, took alternate paths, if it meant avoiding an Ogre.
“He’s lost his –tic!- best friend,” Blaz’tik clicked his mandibles. “And now, he –tic!- seeks his own death.”
“No,” Silvertan shook his head, following close behind Taren, who did not pay any attention to the Lizardman or the Insectoid behind him. “Suicide is dishonorable to the Minotaur people. I think he has it in his head, that his rage, and his heart and passion for his friend, will give him whatever strength he needs to keep the promise of us living through this.”
“But that –tic!- is ridiculous,” Blaz’tik sighed. “There is no logical –tic!- explanation that would permit such a feat.”
Silvertan paused. “Do not underestimate love, my friend.”
“Love?” Blaz’tik paused.
“I’ve never known it myself,” Silvertan said, after a moment of silence; his own mind reflecting to a distant memory of his own. “But they say that it is the most powerful weapon this world has to give us.”
“Still –tic!- nonsense,” Blaz’tik contended. “You can not –tic!- tell me that ‘love’ would protect him from a magical lightning bolt.”
“I can tell you that,” Silvertan said, almost smiling. “I just wouldn’t tell him that,” he gestured towards Taren who was still walking at a steady pace.
The roaring of the Ogre’s fury was getting closer.
Silvertan turned to Blaz’tik, “Be ready with your magic. I do not know what the Minotaur plans to do. But we must be ready to fight. To possibly give the Minotaur a chance to put the body of his friend down and fight this Ogre.”
Blaz’tik’s fingers nervously began fiddling with the gathered spell components he had acquired while being trapped in Mount Grimrock with the others. “I –tic!- shall be ready.”
The poorly illuminated hall opened up to a large room, where a number of skeletons could be seen having been scattered about. Most who entered Mount Grimlock hardly ever made it past this room.
There was a furious howl; that of an Ogre.
The towering, grotesque figure, which bore a close resemblance to perhaps a hairless minotaur; only towering another two feet above a standard Minotaur, pounded at on its deathly, grey colored flesh before picking up its mallet and proceeding to charge.
Taren did not even react as quickly as one might expect; instead, he slowly began to kneel down and lay the body of his dead friend gently on the ground, with all the respect one might expect a knight to give that of a king.
It had only been Blaz’tik’s quick thinking to shout, “Chal’nul Ku’lak!” while crushing bat dung and the remains of the Herder’s body fragments within his hand. A lightning shield appeared in front of Taren, which the Ogre slammed into. Electricity sparked wildly through the air, sending everyone’s hair standing on end. The Ogre began furiously pounding on the electrical shield, even as Taren slowly began to stand.
Blaz’tik winced, straining – his will against the brute strength of the Ogre, to maintain the spell. “I can not –tic!- hold this spell –tic!- much longer! The creature is too -tic!- powerful!”
“Lower the shield,” Taren said, no emotion in his voice.
“Draw your weapon first, Taren,” Silvertan said, drawing his own dagger.
“Lower the shield,” Taren repeated, with the same emotionless tone.
Blaz’tik looked at Silvertan questioningly. It certainly seemed like suicide. “You’re –tic!- sure about suicide being dishonorable, -tic!- correct?”
Silvertan did not reply; he simply nodded as he gripped the hilt of his dagger. Blaz’tik nodded in return and whispered, “Ku’lak Cha’nul,” and reversed the spell so the electrical shield that had protected them from the Ogre’s violent wrath came down.
The Ogre brought his mallet down; surprisingly to Blaz’tik and Silvertan, Taren caught the Ogre’s arm by its wrist and stopped it. An Ogre’s strength, even when young, was said to be three to five times that of the most durable and powerful minotaurs. Yet, Taren seemed to stop it as easily as he might have stopped an elf’s attempt to punch him.
This infuriated the Ogre, who then brought his other first crashing across Taren’s bull-like face. The blow struck hard enough to draw copious amounts of blood from Taren’s mouth, but the minotaur did not buckle under the Ogre’s crushing blow. The massive minotaur stared at the Ogre, who was now more furious than ever, that the Minotaur before it was somehow still standing.
Taren reached out with his free hand and grabbed the Ogre’s massive throat. The Ogre let out a surprised gurgling sound, but realized that despite the size of the Minotaur’s massive hand, it wasn’t enough to clasp around the Ogre’s throat to choke the life from it.
“Someone tell me to stop what I am about to do,” Silvertan hissed to no one in particular. He stepped back and vanished into the shadows.
Blaz’tik looked around a moment later and saw that the Lizardman had vanished. “He’s –tic!- abandoned us! Snuck by the –tic!- Ogre while Taren –tic!- fights it!” There was no time to panic. The Insectoid tried desperately to calm itself. Magic, it could fight. But sheer, brute strength. A hatred for anything living. That shook Blaz’tik to the core. He could already envision this Ogre cracking the Insectoid’s carapace shell and eating his insides, while he was probably still alive, no doubt!
“Erfin’ten,” Blaz’tik blurted as bursts of flames flew from his fingertips, flying around Taren’s massive body and striking the intended enemy. “Silvertan has left us,” Blaz’tik called out frantically.
“Do not be so sure,” Taren growled as he thrust his head forward and brought one of his horns, biting deep into the Ogre’s thick flesh. Taren pulled his head back, puncturing the Ogre’s flesh, where black blood now oozed from the new wound.
Still holding the Ogre’s right hand, which held the deadly mallet, Taren took his free hand and jabbed two fingers into the newly created wound on the Ogre’s chest. The Ogre howled in fury, and brought its left hand, striking down against Taren’s shoulder blade. The Minotaur winced in pain. The crushing blow felt as if it may have broken a bone or two.
Still Taren’s fingers dug into the Ogre’s wound, as if seeking to rip the Ogre apart from the inside. The Ogre only grew more furious, striking again, this time even harder. Now, Taren fell to one knee, pain wracking his body under the Ogre’s relentless pounding.
“We’re going to –tic!- die,” Blaz’tik muttered.
Despite the fiery pain, Taren repeated, “Do not be so sure.”
The Minotaur was clearly delusional. The Minotaur was already buckling under the Ogre’s assault. The human fighter had perished earlier. The Lizardman Rogue had taken to the shadows and left them. And Blaz’tik knew he was no match against the Ogre. Once the Minotaur feel, the Insectoid would only last three to five seconds – and that was being generous.
Just then, behind the Ogre, Blaz’tik saw something gleaming, only for a split second, before he realized it was Silvertan emerging out of the shadows from behind the Ogre. The Lizardman had climbed to a higher position, and was hoping that by leaping down on the towering Ogre, he could plunge the dagger deep into the base of the Ogre’s skull; know his own, natural strength would never penetrate the Ogre’s dense layer of fat around its bloated neck. Just as Silvertan leaped, Taren stood, bringing both of his horns into the Ogre’s chest, raising the Ogre upward, just as Silvertan’s dagger came down into the base of the Ogre’s neck with so much force, that the Ogre’s thick neck seemed to soak up the dagger and Silvertan’s hands for a brief moment.
The Ogre slammed its head backwards, feeling the stabbing pain, managing to only hit the dagger with the base of its own head, and plunging the dagger deeper, severing the Ogre’s spine. The Ogre, for a brief moment, had a look of surprise on its face, before realizing, not only had it been defeated, but it was dead.
With a loud thudding sound, the Ogre collapsed to the ground.
“We’re –tic!- alive,” Blaz’tik said, with genuine surprise. “We’re truly alive.”
Taren looked at the Insectoid Mage and shook his head. He then turned and picked up Tawmis’ corpse, treating it still, as if he was carrying the body of a king. Silvertan looked at his dagger in the base of the Ogre’s beck and after several tugs, managed to finally pry the dagger free. Green blood oozed from the base of the Ogre’s neck.
Blaz’tik kneeled down and pulled a small vial out from one of his bags. Silvertan looked at the Insectoid. “What are you doing?”
“Ogres’ blood,” Blaz’tik began to explain, “makes for a –tic!- very powerful spell component. It can –tic!- enhance a spell tenfold.”
“That’s wonderful,” Silvertan said, regarding the oozing Ogre’s blood with disgust, as it was thick and chunky and it poured out of the gaping, fatal wound.
Up ahead, Taren suddenly stopped as he peeked around the corner cautiously, making sure not to strike Tawmis’ corpse against the wall. He turned, his eye brows pushed together in an angry fashion. “Blaz, get up here.”
The Insectoid did not hesitate, after he capped off the Ogre’s blood. “What –tic!- is it?”
“Around the corner,” Taren whispered. “Something… not natural. What is it?”
Blaz’tik sighed. “That –tic!- is an Uggardian. They say, countless years ago Uggardiands were summoned by powerful mages to guard the tombs of old kings. But as centuries turned to dust and once thriving civilization faded into oblivion still the Uggardians guarded the collapsed and rotten tombs of nameless kings that no one lived to remember. Uggardians were trapped and couldn’t return into their own plane of existence because the ancient summoning magic was still strong and chained them into their duty. The Summoners had died ages ago and they were the only ones with enough power so summon or release beings of Outer Realms. The story goes on to say that The First Mages, the Designers, the –tic!- Goromorg – whatever name you want to call them – cast a spell to summon all the Uggardians into Mount Grimrock to roam the halls and protect ‘The Undying One.’”
“The Undying One,” Taren huffed. “Even my people have heard of the ‘Undying One’ – and it’s all just a legend. A creature so evil, so powerful, dwelling here? In this mountain? Why has it not come out and ruled the world then?”
“That remains unknown,” Blaz’tik shrugged. “But that is what the legends and historian have supposedly –tic!- documented.”
“First the Ogre, and now this,” Taren thought for a moment. “Someone is going out of their way to guard something.” Taren turned to Blaz’tik again, “Can you destroy that thing with your magic? Dispel it or something? Send it back to the Outer Realms or whatever?”
“Destroy it?” Blaz’tik scoffed. “With a single spell? No. The –tic!- Uggardians are powerful beings. And I am not –tic!- advanced enough – no one is, anymore – to open –tic!- the Outer Realms portal to send that thing back. Well, no one –tic!- save the Goromorg; but I do not foresee them –tic!- assisting us, as they’re the ones who summoned these –tic!- creatures here!”
Silvertan suddenly whispered directly into Blaz’tik’s ear, “The Ogre’s Blood.” The Lizardman’s voice nearly startled Blaz’tik into a screaming fit. “You said it enhanced spells. You had cast an ice spell before to slow down the green slime blob creatures we encountered – do you think…”
“That a single –tic!- ice spell would destroy the fiery essence of a Uggardian?” Blaz’tik shook his head. “No, -tic!- not even with Ogre Blood.”
“Could it freeze it, even for just a moment,” Taren asked.
“With Ogre Blood –tic!- I suppose it could,” Blaz’tik nodded.
“Then that’s what we shall do,” Taren said, setting down Tawmis’ corpse.
“Wait, -tic!-,” Blaz’tik asked, “what are we doing?”
“You’re going to cast the ice spell you did before on the green slime,” Taren explained, “this time on the Uggardian creature.”
“Then what?” Blaz’tik asked nervously.
“Leave that part up to me,” Taren replied.
“Leave –tic!- that part up to you,” Blaz’tik muttered to himself. “That’s –tic!- exactly what I was afraid –tic!- you would say!” Blaz’tik crushed the antenna of the snail, rubbing it firmly between his two palms, then took the vial of Ogre Blood and poured it on his two index fingers. “Ey’cee Ewe!” Bolts of chilling frost blasted from his fingertips with such force that it sent him three steps back. The Uggardian, unaware of the attack was suddenly encased within ice.
That’s when Blaz’tik saw Taren simply rush the once fiery creature, slamming his bull horns into the center of the creature, shattering it like a statue. Blaz’tik stood there in amazement for a moment, surprised that the creature was so easily dispatched. He made a mental note to notate the power Ogre’s Blood did to a spell. It had made it far more powerful than even he had anticipated.
Taren quickly returned and picked up Tawmis’ corpse and turned around. “Now,” he said, “let’s see what’s behind that blue door that both the Ogre and the Uggardian were set up to guard.”
They moved across the room quickly, knowing that the noise had undoubtedly echoed down the hallways and gathered the attention of the other denizens of Mount Grimrock. Silvertan opened the door – and just inside, a large blue, pulsating crystal that hovered above the ground.
“What did you call that thing again?” Taren asked.
“A heart,” Blaz’tik replied.
Suddenly Taren’s eyes went wide. “What else did you say about it before? You said something…”
Blaz’tik looked at Silvertan and shrugged, before he looked back at Taren. “I had said, this stone –tic!- is part of what gives Grimrock life. This stone helps ignite the torches I –tic!- mentioned. It also helps –tic!- shape the very things we have encountered.”
“You said something after that,” Taren turned to Blaz’tik, a crazed look in his eyes.
Blaz’tik thought for a moment. “I had said it brings –tic!- life to Grimrock, through magic…” Suddenly Blaz’tik realized what Taren had been getting at. “You can not –tic!- be serious, Taren. He would never approve! You know how –tic!- he hates magic! He would –tic!- never forgive you. And there is a chance, since –tic!- he’s dead that it would not work! These were originally Heal Stones, but the First Mages, like everything else –tic!- enhanced it, and corrupted it, to make it more powerful! What if –tic! – he returns as a zombie? An undead, soulless person? Could you –tic!- live with that?”
Taren paused, and whispered, “I could. Much easier than knowing that I never tried, and that I would be forced to go on in this life without the only person who has ever truly believed and cared for me.”
“Love,” Silvertan whispered behind Blaz’tik, from the shadows.
Blaz’tik turned to Silvertan, “This,” he gestured to Taren, who was setting Tawmis’ corpse next to the blue, pulsating stone, “This is –tic!- folly.”
“Love,” Silvertan repeated. “Love is folly. But, without it, we are no more alive than this,” he placed his hand on the wall, indicating the living stone of Mount Grimrock.
Blaz’tik shook his head. Among his people, there was no such emotion as ‘love.’ They mated for survival, with whomever, among their kind, to keep their race alive. There was no courtship. No love. No attachment. After the mating, each member would part ways, and continue leaving their lives with no obligations; save for all of the males protected all of the females and the eggs, not just the ones they had mated with.
Taren kneeled and prayed to whatever Gods might be listening. “You know my heart’s desire,” he said. “I need him to live. It’s not that I want him to live. I need him to live,” Taren emphasized.
“This is foolish,” Blaz’tik repeated. “This will not end –tic!- well. We may have to –tic!- kill him ourselves if he rises as some form of –tic!- undead creature.”
Silvertan looked at Blaz’tik with a look that spoke volumes; saying simply, “Be silent, if Taren hears you, he will kill you himself.”
Blaz’tik fell into silence.
Taren took in a deep breath. “This has to work,” he whispered to no one in particular; for no one, save for the Gods, could perhaps hear his choked plea. He touched Tawmis’ hand to the blue pulsating stone, and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
A minute had gone by, still Taren held Tawmis’ hand, touching the stone.
“Perhaps he’s been –tic!- dead too long,” Blaz’tik said. “Or perhaps –tic!- what the Crimson Order did to him –tic!- prevents him from living again.”
“No,” Taren growled. “I will not give up. We have fought monsters of every kind in this damn mountain. We have already given so much. It’s time that this damn mountain give back to us now!”
“That’s –tic!- not how it works,” Blaz’tik explained.
“Then we make it work that way!” Taren growled. “Cast a spell on that stone! Make it flow life into his body!”
“I know of no –tic!- magic that could do that,” Blaz’tik said matter-of-factly. “We need to keep going. The –tic!- sounds from the fight are bound to attract more creatures this way. If we don’t leave –tic!- now, we will find ourselves fighting –tic!- something again – very soon.”
Silvertan placed a reassuring hand on Taren’s shoulder. “I hate to admit it,” his voice said, hissing, “but the Insectoid is right. We need to keep moving. I will help carry him, if you wish. We will give him a proper burial when we get out of here. We will speak endlessly of his name and heroics. We will make him a legend. We will make him immortal through story and tales.”
Taren stood up and pushed Silvertan. “I don’t want him alive and immortal through tales and stories,” the minotaur growled, his nostrils flaring. “I want him alive. Alive to drink with me. To laugh about what we lived through. To be my friend.”
“He will always be your friend,” Silvertan said, standing up. “But it’s time you let him go. It’s time to accept that he is…”
“Alive,” Blaz’tik sputtered.
“What?” Taren turned to look.
Tawmis’ eyes fluttered.
“What,” he wheezed, “are you two fighting about now?”
With the announcement of Grimlock 2, and the reveal about the Ratlings – how could I not return and tie my story to it all? Please enjoy! Comment! Good, bad, what you liked, disliked, whatever! I love comments!
“The gods favor you,” Silvertan said, walking along side Tawmis Sanarius. “You were dead.”
“I am thankful, perhaps, that the gods, as you say, favored me,” Tawmis replied, casting a side glance at the humanoid lizard, whose silver scales reflected against the torchlight. “I am more thankful that my dearest, and only friend, refused to give up on me.”
“What did you see,” Silvertan asked, “when you were dead?”
“Darkness,” Tawmis shrugged. “I don’t remember seeing anything. I remember closing my eyes, seeing darkness – then feeling this sensation going through my body – and my eyes suddenly saw a light blue – that was all I could see. Light blue. Then,” Tawmis paused, “I opened my eyes. Everything was blurry at first. I couldn’t see anything. It looked like I was peering through a painted canvas that had had all of its colors smeared.”
“Comforting,” Silvertan sighed, “that there is nothing after death.”
“Or,” Blaz’tik’s insect like clicking interjected, “our mortal minds cannot –tic!- conceive what is there beyond death. We have no way –tic!- of comprehending what is beyond. Most believe –tic!- that our souls look just as we do, and –tic!- we ascend to some heaven. But what if that is not the case? What if –tic!- we are forms of energy that ascend?”
Taren shook his large minotaur head. “No. After death, we ascend to an arena, in which we fight, day in and day out, until we are worthy to be reborn, and returned to this world.”
“That’s all you minotaurs believe,” Silvertan sighed. “Everything is resolved by fighting.”
“Strength and honor,” the Minotaur corrected. “A warrior who kills dishonorably, should perish quickly for his actions. Your enemy deserves an equal chance at combat. If you disarm your enemy and they insist on combat still, you throw your weapons aside and fight them hand to hand.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Silvertan spat.
Tawmis saw Taren’s nostrils flare. “Listen, we all come from different walks of life, with different beliefs. Let’s not find out what happens when we die until we get out of this cursed dungeon?”
“I can help you,” hissed an unknown voice.
Tawmis reached for his sword that was not there. His eyes peered into the darkness, where he saw two, red eyes peering back at him from the shadows. Tawmis’ eyes adjusted to the darkness, and saw that there was a prison there, with a hunched over humanoid figure.
Tawmis gazed for a long moment, unsure of what he was seeing. “What are you?”
“I am a Ratling,” the creature responded. A scar over its left eye, and sharp, pointy buckteeth in the front clearly looked like a rat. Its fur was tannish-brown, it’s ears had nicks in it, having seen plenty of combat.
“Ratling?” Tawmis asked. “Why have I never heard of such a thing? Is it the damn magic in this dungeon that shaped you to be large and intelligent? The way it has shaped those cursed snails we keep running into everywhere?”
“No,” the Ratling answered. “I come from the Northern Realms, the Isle of Nex.”
“The Isle of Nex,” Taren answered. “I have heard of it, and your people. You are raiders, for the most part. Scavengers, like your rat brethren.”
“Not all of us are like that,” the Ratling hissed. “Although we are quite skilled at scavenging.”
“How did you –tic!- end up in that cell, that far down in –tic!- the dungeon?” Blaz’tik asked.
“I stumbled upon beasts known as scavengers,” the Ratling began to explain.
“Well isn’t that ironic,” Silvertan muttered beneath his breath.
The Ratling heard, but continued on, as if he hadn’t. “Once harmless mites that came into this dungeon by dirt and dwelling in the hair of prisoners thrown down here – as you mentioned with the snails, being exposed to the mysticism of Grimrock transformed them into the ravenous swarm! Well, I was desperate for food and had snuck into their lair and stolen some of their larva, I was going to feast on when I was discovered. They chased me, and my only choice was to slam this gate behind me, since they were too large to fit between the bars. Little did I know, in my panic, that it would lock.”
“And you want us to let you out?” Tawmis asked. “And what? Stab us in the back?”
“No,” the Ratling explained. “I would be indebted to you. I know alone, I will not get out of here alive. With the rest of you, I have a chance.”
Tawmis looked at Taren, who shrugged, “We can’t let him starve in there.”
“You just said his people were raiders,” Tawmis countered, surprised by Taren’s response.
“What would you do if you found me in a prison and did not know me for who I am?” Taren asked.
“Really? You’re going to get all deep and philosophical with me?” Tawmis shook his head and turned to Silvertan. “Get the lock undone. And be quick. If he’s telling the truth and he encountered these scavenger things, I don’t want to be around if they come back.” Tawmis paused, and turned to the Ratling as Silvertan began working on the lock. “What’s your name?”
“Coy,” the Ratling answered. “My name is Coy.”
“Isn’t that ironic,” Silvertan muttered beneath his breath again, as he opened the chamber.
“Welcome to the party, Coy,” Tawmis smiled.
“I just don’t think we should trust him,” Silvertan hissed between his serpent lips.
“Trust him?” Tawmis chuckled. “Are you not the one that tried to steal from a guard and got all of us – with the exception of you, Blaz – into this mess?”
Silvertan shrugged. “I didn’t ask for any of you to try and assist me,” he replied, his scales shimmering in Grimrock’s flickering torch light.
“Granted,” Tawmis amended, “that rotund guard, Boris lied about what he had caught us doing that night, to save face, since he wasn’t supposed to be in The Fallen Star – a place of… questionable reputation with the ladies of entertainment.” (1)
“I joined –tic!- the fray after you had –tic!- been knocked out from behind,” Blaz’tik reminded Tawmis.
“As I told you before,” Silvertan’s reptilian eyes focused on Tawmis, “I had every intention of being thrown down here alone. I could have survived down here alone. I live in the shadows.”
Taren shook his mighty, minotaur head. “You have seen the horrors that are down here, lizard. Do you truly believe that cowering in the shadows, waiting for these things to pass would have allowed you to survive alone? I have seen the horrors of the undead, who do not see with human eyes. Instead, they see with a hatred for the living. No amount of shadows could have hid you from them.”
“Perhaps,” Silvertan said, the ‘s’ making a slithering sound, “you are correct, brute. Perhaps I would not have survived alone down here, as I thought I might have. Perhaps I believed too much in my own skills, but this isn’t about me. This is about that rat, and how we should not trust him. His name is Coy, for crying out loud. He’s not even hiding the fact that his very name is a symbol of deception!”
“Then perhaps we should be thankful that he’s not hiding what his name means,” Tawmis shrugged as he held the torchlight in front of him. “Speaking of that Ratling, how far ahead did he go and search for us anyway?”
“He’s probably bringing back an army of some horrors to kill us,” Silvertan muttered. “Or there’s more of his kind down here, and he’s leading us into an ambush.”
“You’re not the trusting sort, I take it,” Tawmis finally said, feeling exasperated by Silvertain’s constant barrage and notions of why the Ratling was not to be trusted.
“I am not the foolish sort,” Silvertan corrected. He paused for a long moment, and finally amended, “And I may have some issues with trust as well.”
“Some?” Tawmis replied, sarcastically.
“I just don’t think it’s a wise idea to trust strangers down here,” Silvertan hammered on.
“Blaz,” Silvertan turned to the insectoid. “Isn’t there any kind of magic that you can do to see if the Ratling is lying to us? A Detect Lie or Detect Evil kind of spell?”
Blaz’tik looked at Silvertan. “Those sound –tic!- like rather silly spell names. There is one that’s similar to this ‘detect lie’ you mentioned, but it’s called Detellius.”
“That’s excellent,” Silvertan hissed. “Can you cast it on the filthy Ratling next time he shows up? I’d like to ask him a few things to see if he’s telling the truth.”
“I would love to cast such –tic!- a spell, however,” Blaz’tik explained, holding up his insect like arms, “I have none of the –tic!- spell components that are needed.”
“Naturally,” Silvertan sighed.
“What spell components do you need, insect?” came Coy’s voice, directly behind Silvertan who screeched out and slammed his own body against the wall.
“How did you get behind us?” Silvertan spat. “You were trying to backstab me, weren’t you?”
“With what,” Coy asked, with a wide smile. “My teeth? I have no weapon, if you haven’t noticed. However, much like my ‘brethren’ as you’re so fond of saying, I am a pack rat, and do have some components that might be useful to a mage. I have a pouch of sandalwood shavings, forioan mushrooms, two whistle leaves, and a small pouch of grounded herder spores.”
“Those –tic!- components,” Blaz’tik said, his insect eyes somehow wider with excitement, “could indeed –tic!- prove very useful!”
“They’re all yours,” Coy said, removing his belt and pouches and handing them over to Blaz’tik.
Tawmis looked at Silvertan and whispered, “Do you trust him now?”
“Even less,” Silvertan replied. “Even less.”
“Honestly!” Tawmis cursed. “Who does this?”“I –tic- would assume that the Goromorgs,” Blaz’tik began to explain.
“I don’t care!” Tawmis interrupted him. “It was a rhetorical question!” Tawmis stared at the shimmering lights in front of him. This was the first time they had come across something like this. Not trusting magic, he had thrown a stone into it – only to discover it vanished. It had either incinerated the stone, or Blaz’tik seemed to believe it teleported the stone somewhere. Tawmis was in no mood to find out if Blaz’tik was wrong, and that the stone had, in fact, been incinerated.
Tawmis took a step forward and stepped on the tile. All the shimmering lights around him shifted, changing the path that was once clear to him. “Who does this?” Tawmis repeated.
Blaz’tik was about to continue explaining his answer, but a firm hand from Taren Bloodhorn, the minotaur, placed on the insectoid’s shoulder, told the young wizard not to utter a single word as to who possibly created this death trap.
“There’s a button on the wall to the right,” Coy, the Ratling pointed out. The problem was, there was no clear path to that button at the moment. All the tiles around it had the shimmering lights. Tawmis took another stone from his pouch and threw it with all his might to see if it would pass through the shimmering light fast enough to hit the button the wall. The shimmering lights, naturally, devoured the stone as soon as it passed into it. “I hate magic,” Tawmis muttered beneath his breath. Tawmis stood rigid on the tile and looked back, “All right, Blaz, where do I go from here?”
“Judging by the pattern –tic- in which the lights moved, when you stepped forward, -tic- I would say that your best option is left,” Blaz’tik replied. After a moment, he amended, “Although, -tic- a step back might also fit the pattern I believe I am seeing.”
“Which is it, Blaz?” Tawmis yelled.
Blaz’tik floundered, “It could –tic- be either one.”
“Have I mentioned how much I hate magic,” Tawmis muttered to no one in particular.
Blaz’tik was, once again, about to answer Tawmis’ comment, but the minotaur’s hand had gone from the insectoid’s shoulder to his mandible mouth. The insectoid nodded his understanding and whispered, once Taren had removed his hand, “If he hates magic so much, why did he volunteer to go into that room before the rest of us?”
“Because, despite his hatred of magic,” Taren explained, “and despite the façade he places up, Tawmis is truly a kind and generous heart. There’s no way he would allow any of us to risk our lives by his command, unless he was to try it first.”
Tawmis lifted his foot to step to the left and just inches before stepping on the tile – he stopped. He looked at the tile behind him. He turned and stepped on the tile behind him, hoping that changing his initial gut feeling was not going to get him incinerated. He waited for the pain but it never came.
“Interesting,” Blaz’tik said, his mandibles clacking with excitement. The shimmering lights had shifted yet again. “What –tic!- made you take the step back rather than go to the left?”
“Because,” Tawmis said, taking in a deep breath. “To the left would have gotten me to the button faster. I suspect the mages were counting on people thinking with that kind of mentality. So I took a step back, which seems the least logical when it comes to progress.”
Blaz’tik studied the new formation and path of lights. Though there had only been nine tiles – three across, three wide – it had taken nearly two hours of Blaz’tik analyzing the pattern before he had successfully managed to direct – with often times, Tawmis being forced to make a choice between two options – to the button, which opened the door on the far end, to actually reaching the door. Once Tawmis made it to the door, there was another tile that disabled the shimmering lights, allowing the rest of them to safely pass through the room. (Though Blaz’tik complained that he would have liked to have known if the stone had been disintegrated or if it had been teleported).
Blaz’tik had carefully navigated them through a number of magical traps, until they came to a room with one of the shimmering lights in the middle, with nowhere else to go. “We must have missed something,” Tawmis said as he began marching back. “A secret passage. A doorway. Something.”
“I’m fairly certain the lizard or I would have spotted something,” Coy said, tilting his head to Silvertan who was leaning against the wall.
“We go back and double check,” Tawmis demanded. “We look again.”
While they discussed matters, Blaz’tik edged towards the shimmering light. He reached his insectoid arm within the light and felt it tingle. He felt the sensation run down his arm, to his shoulder, to his chest, to his entire body.
Tawmis turned towards where he had last seen Blaz’tik and asked, “Is there any way that magic might have – wait. Where’s Blaz? Where did Blaz go?”
Coy turned his Ratling head, his whiskers twitching, “He was here – just a moment ago! He was here.”
Tawmis looked at the shimmering light in the center and whispered, “Oh no…”
Elsewhere in Grimrock, Blaz’tik felt his body tingle again.
He took a deep breath, as if he had been holding his breath underwater and looked around. “Well, that –tic!- was a most interesting sensation. Like being –tic!- torn apart and put back together again in –tic!- mere seconds! So it would seem –tic!- those shimmering lights are indeed teleporters. Now the question –tic!- begs to wonder, where am I now?”
Blaz’tik heard a hissing sound behind him and quickly spun around. His eyes, if they could have, would have widened in fear at the sight behind him. What appeared to be an enormous lizard, whose skin was ice blue. Cold misty air, came out of its nostrils, like smoke, wafting into the air.
“Oh my,” Blaz’tik stammered as he reached for his spell components. He threw the sandalwood shavings into the air, squished the forioan mushrooms between his fingers, which gave off a burning sensation, then with his fingers, gestured, making a triangle, followed two symbols running parallel, and finally raised his hands over his head. He had never done such a powerful spell before, and he wasn’t sure if he had done it right – and for a brief moment thought his life was over – until he felt the flame building between his fingers, and an enormous fireball launched from his hands, striking the lizard with so much force that it sent it – and him – flying back.
He quickly scrambled to his feet, expecting the lizard to charge him, and was quite surprised when he saw its charred remains lying there, unmoving. “Well,” Blaz’tik said, “I hope –tic!- Silvertan isn’t upset I have killed one of his descendants!”
Blaz’tik began moving through the dungeon, moving slowly, cautiously, unsure what else he would encounter. While he was glad to see he was right – that the shimmering light had been a teleportation device and not a disintegrator – he wasn’t all that thrilled with the idea of being separated from the others.
Tawmis jumped around the corner of the wall, a blast of searing flame right behind him. He quickly pressed himself against the wall, panting heavily. “What is that thing?”
“Would it be a good time to mention,” Silvertan hissed, peering around the corner, staring at the floating, flaming, armored figure, then back to Tawmis, “that the wizard would know what it is called?”
Tawmis stared at Silvertan with his own searing gaze. “No,” Tawmis finally said. “It would not be a good time to mention that. I realize that Blaz got either incinerated or teleported away. And I do realize that it would be useful to have Blaz here to deal with whatever that thing is over there.”
Taren, the minotaur, stood next to Tawmis, having been too slow to escape the blast, and suffered some small burns. “Whatever it is,” Taren snarled, his nostrils flaring, “it does not want us to pass in that general direction.”
“We could try going around it,” Silvertan mentioned.
“Great idea,” Tawmis spat, “except this is the only way forward. Every other way lead to a dead end or back up a level. If we want to get to the bottom of this cursed dungeon, we need to find a way around that thing – whatever it is.”
Another flaming blast shot through the tunnel, striking the far wall, sending uncomfortable waves of heat around them.
“What do we do if that thing decides to come down this tunnel?” Silvertan hissed.
“My first plan?” Tawmis said, smiling coyly. “I was going to throw you on it. You know, since you’re cold blooded. Figured you might cancel one another out.”
“Your sense of humor eludes me,” Silvertan returned with a distained look. The lizard-man looked around and hissed, “Where’s the Ratling? The damn Ratling’s gone! I knew we couldn’t trust him! He’s scattered! He’s left us! Probably knew this was a trap! He probably knew a way out of here!”
“We will deal with that later,” Tawmis growled.
“Deal with it later? We lost the mage already, and now the Ratling is gone too!” Silvertan growled.
“You were the one that wanted to be thrown in this dungeon alone,” Taren reminded Silvertan. “Was that not your plan originally?”
Silvertan now shot the massive minotaur a disgruntle look, but quickly looked away, unable to maintain the courage to lock eyes with the massive beast. “That may have been my plan originally, yes,” Silvertan admitted, “but I see now I underestimated the horrors of Grimrock. So yes, it may have been my plan, and yes I was wrong. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Son of a,” Tawmis whispered.
“What? Is that not a good enough apology?” Silvertan growled.
“No,” Tawmis replied, “look.”
Silvertan peeked around the corner cautiously, and much to his surprise, saw Coy, the Ratling sneaking up on the fiery creature, dagger drawn.
“How did he get over there?” Silvertan instantly asked.
“Does it matter?” Tawmis growled. “We need to keep that thing occupied so it doesn’t notice that Coy’s behind it.”
Tawmis jumped into the tunnel and began taunting the fiery creature, who unleashed another blast. Tawmis dove out of the way again, but once more the blast hit the far wall, sending waves of uncomfortable heat as it exploded.
Coy drove his dagger deep into the fiery creature’s back – hoping, despite having no physical body that he could sever whatever tie it had to life. The armor began to shake and Coy released the dagger and ran for cover, just in time as it exploded.
Tawmis quickly stood and ran over to Coy to help put out some of the fires that had ignited on Coy’s fur from the exploding embers. Silvertan ran over next, “How did you get behind that thing, Ratling?”
“I found a small tunnel, one that perhaps myself, and you,” he pointed to Silvertan, “could have fit through, because of bodies; our bones are more flexible. But there’s no way the human, and especially the minotaur were going to fit. I could have kept going, leaving you three behind – but I won’t survive down here without your help, so I knew I had to come back and help.”
Silvertan wanted to say something – find a way to accuse the Ratling of something – he still did not trust the Ratling – but there was nothing he could say that would have put the Ratling in bad light. His actions were, if anything, heroic.
Silvertan extended his hand to the Ratling and helped him stand. “It was either brave or foolish taking a chance that a backstab was going to destroy that thing. I don’t suppose you found any trace of the mage in this tunnel?” Silvertan hissed.
“I’m afraid not,” Coy replied.
Elsewhere, within the Dungeon, Blaz’tik suddenly woke up.
“That –tic!- was certainly a weird dream,” he said, his mandibles clicking. In his dream he had heard the voice of an unknown creature beckoning him forward. All he could remember from the dream was the voice… and gears… so many gears…
Found myself inspired, with LOG2 coming out very soon to move the story forward, and here’s what I can up with…
Endless gears seemed to swirl and drift through the black void of space. Some connected, some disjointed, some spinning out of control, some rusted and broken.
Then there was a voice, “What is happening? A collective dream? Oh, I know you. I know what you seek.
Look for me down below, and I might help you.”
Blaz’tik sat up, his three hearts pounding furiously in his chest. This was the second time now, that he had found a small place to rest in the dungeon and been transported to the unusual gear-dream, for lack of a better word. It was now Blaz’tik regretted testing his theory if it had been a teleporter or an incinerator as Tawmis suggested, for he had been teleported away from the others – and none of the others seemed to have followed him through.
Not that he blamed them. They probably thought he had been reduced to ash by the shimmering lights.
That’s when the voice from the dream spoke into Blaz’tik’s mind yet again. “I can’t hear you but I know you can hear me. I tried to talk to the other people that have been here before you. They were criminals but I sense that you I can trust.”
Blaz’tik stumbled backwards, “The –tic!- voice from my dream! How are you speaking to me?”
Blaz’tik waited for answer, and finally heaved a sigh of relief, assuming his imagination was getting the best of him, when suddenly he heard it again, “Are you still there? I know a way out but I can’t make it there by myself. We need to work together. Descend towards the bottom of the mountain. We can meet there.”
Blaz’tik paled, even for an insectoid who was already nearly white. “I can hear you, but you can’t seem to hear me?”
He waited, and once again there was silence. Now more than ever, Blaz’tik felt very alone, and yet felt as if there were eyes now watching his every move. The very stone itself was alive, as he had once said, and it was somehow watching him – speaking to him.
Could the voice be the one he thought it to be? But that would be impossible. He was cast down here long, long ago. The stories of his imprisonment and creation, as well as his damnation, were all fabricated tales.
Blaz’tik moved cautiously through Grimrock, using his invisibility spell, now that he had the components for it, when needed, bypassing untold horrors that slithered around, waiting for something to feed upon. He found a small room with a steel door and locked himself inside of it to rest.
Once again as he drifted to sleep, space and time seemed to bend. Blackness swirled, mixed with crimson red, and once again, the spinning gears returned to his dream, preceding the arrival of the mysterious voice.
“I watched this dungeon being built. But they took it away from my people and twisted it. Filled it with traps and riddles. That is not how this place was meant to be. They make all the gates open and cause the traps to spring. It would be simple for them to stop us. Why will they not do it? Are we walking into another trap of theirs? Be careful. You are not the only ones held prisoner here. I, too, was cast down an abyss. I was bound with shackles. They keep all the machinery and mechanisms working in the dungeon.
All but one that sits in the tunnels below. It needs to be repaired so we can leave this place. Only a little bit further. You need to be careful. They live here and they will want to stop you. They fear you might undo their vision. The broken mechanism controls the Portal. From there we can escape. I am still too weak to move but I am glad you are making progress. I need to gather my strength so we can leave together. We can leave together. Leave together. Leave. Together.”
Blaz’tik awoke, once more, with his three hearts beating furiously.
“It’s –tic!- him,” Blaz’tik muttered. “It’s really him. The Undying One is real.”
Elsewhere in the dungeon…
Coy kneeled down, his Ratling eyes always looking for things to salvage. He picked up a small pouch and examined it, “Look,” he said, holding it up to the others.
“So you found a bag,” Tawmis muttered. “Does it have a magic key that gets us out of this place?”
“I know this magic bag,” Coy said, his nose twitching.
“Know it?” Tawmis asked.
“Yes, as in I gave it to the mage,” Coy said. He opened the bag and revealed flecks of grounded acorns. “By the looks of it, he may have passed through here.”
“So that means he wasn’t incinerated,” Taren said, with a nodding approval. “It will be good if we can find him again.”
“Preferably in one piece,” Tawmis added. “Can you tell which way he went?”
“By the looks of it,” Coy brushed the ground with his hand and looked a little down the hall where he saw a large, seared piece of flesh, “I’d say he went that way after melting the skin off whatever that thing was.”
Silvertan kneeled down, “An ice lizard,” he said, pulling back some of its burned flesh and seeing some of the ice blue scales, “or what’s left of it. I am surprised that our insectoid friend was able to use such a powerful spell,” Silvertan hissed. “He didn’t strike me as someone capable of such powerful magic.”
“It’s Grimrock,” Coy replied. “The magic flowing through the entire mountain that keeps the torches alive, the life stones, all of it is channeling into him, charging him like a battery.” The Ratling paused, “Soon he will be casting very powerful magic – until it either burns his body out, or corrupts him and he becomes one of the horrors that haunts these halls forever.”
“That’s,” Tawmis paused, “a cheery thought.”
“You are close enough now,” the eerie voice whispered, startling Blaz’tik from his dream. “I don’t have to wait for you to be asleep anymore,” the voice continued speaking to Blaz’tik’s mind. “A long time ago, they closed the Portal by breaking the mechanism. It is here, nearby. Find it.”
Blaz’tik leaned against the wall, trying to gain his bearings. He had heard rumors, stories, legends of the Undying One. Legends spoke of the Undying One, several thousand years ago, nearly destroying the entire world – so corrupt, vile and evil, driven beyond madness. Grimrock had been created to imprison him so long ago; but the magic of the Undying One seeped out through his imprisonment and began to infect all of Grimrock – altering the beasts that roamed it, changing the guardians to disfigured, unrecognizable creatures. In essence, Grimlock gained life – and the caverns were littered with creatures that became the enzymes of the blood, fighting off the infections that entered – the prisoners thrown down, to fight and try to survive.
“I know –tic!- who you are,” Blaz’tik said to no one in particular. “I know what you have –tic!- done. I can not set you free.”
“They destroyed the mechanism,” the voice replied. “They took it apart to keep the Portal closed. But it can still be mended, I know how. To reopen the Portal, you need to find the missing parts. There are four parts missing. Go.”
“You don’t–tic!- understand,” Blaz’tik repeated. “I can not help you.”
“I am the way to freedom,” the voice said. “I am your escape. The portal is the gate, I am the key.” After a moment, the voice continued, “They throw all their scrap metal and old parts down the pits. We may find what we need here.”
Blaz’tik wasn’t even sure if the voice of what he believed to be the Undying One could even hear him – or if it was a one way communication. Still, if the voice was speaking the truth – if there was no way out without helping the Undying One – it would explain why no one ever escaped. Perhaps they all gave their life, once they realized the only way out was helping the Undying One escape.
Blaz’tik felt his fingertips tingle. He looked down and saw crackles of energy weaving between his fingertips. The magic of Grimrock was literally coursing through his entire body – energizing him, making him feel more alive than he has ever before. He had felt it from the moment they had been thrown into the dungeon – how the magic had been drawn to him. Each time they went deeper into the dungeon, each time they got closer, Blaz’tik suspected, to the Undying One, somewhere far below, the magic around him seemed to become stronger and stronger, also making him more powerful. Blaz’tik couldn’t help but recall the Goromorg that they had encountered; the one that had nearly ripped the soul from Tawmis’ chest.
“Thousands of years old,” Blaz’tik had explained, after that encounter. “Once believed to be human, the Designers – the First Mages – obsessed with magic, sold their –tic!- very sanity and souls, to improve and learn –tic!- and become better Mages. It is said –tic!- that they made a pact with a ‘Dark God’ that –tic!- bestowed these powers upon them and supposed –tic!- changed them in its image. They are, without a doubt, -tic!- the most powerful Mages in existence, but the cost –tic!- of magic was … what you saw. They –tic!- no longer appear human. They –tic!- emanate that fear –tic!- aurora, because there is nothing human – it’s literally the –tic!- magic within them flowing outward, seeking to drain any and all –tic!- magic it senses!”
Blaz’tik looked at his hands again. He saw the magic coursing through his fingertips.
And he couldn’t help but wonder – if he did not find a way to escape – would he suffer the same fate as the Goromorg? Would he eventually become so twisted and vile by the corrupt magic he could feel beating through his body. Would he become obsessed with the dark magic? Would he roam these halls, seeking to drain the life and magic of everyone who was thrown down here?
And for that brief moment, fear took over Blaz’tik. He closed his eyes, and prayed, before speaking the next words, “I will help you escape…”
Slumbering. Sleep.
Blaz’tik felt energized, and yet drained. He felt excited, yet fearful. Each emotion, each feeling, came like the tides Sunken Strait. Every time he closed his eyes, even for a second, he saw the swirling mist, then the slowly emerging gears, hundreds of them, the numbers, the letters, all scrolling before his eyes, rapid messages, too quick to read.
The voice had not talked to him, for what felt like days, but had probably only been hours.
Blaz’tik had drifted off to sleep standing up, when his eyes opened he felt different. He looked at his hands and the magic continued to crackle between his fingers. “What –tic!- is happening to me?” he said to no one in particular.
He had regretted getting separated from…
From?
He closed his eyes and tried to visualize who he had come down here with. There were others. He was certain of it.
A human?
Yes. A human. A human of some importance. What was his name?
His name was Tawmis! Yes! Tawmis. And he was the son of someone…
Suddenly Blaz’tik felt a shock through his body. The grey mist, the gears were back.
Blaz’tik gasped and looked around.
What was he thinking about a moment ago?
He stood for a moment, trying to recall what it was he had just been thinking about. After several moments, he simply shrugged and continued forward. “I must help the –tic!- Undying One if I am ever to get out of here.”
Elsewhere in Mount Grimrock…
Coy kneeled down and touched the ground, “Your mage friend is close. It looks like he was here not too long ago. But his movements – they’re not fluid. It looks like he’s … jolted when he walks. His steps are erratic.”
“What would cause that?” Tawmis asked.
“My guess?” Coy replied, twitching the whiskers on his nose. “Grimrock is getting the best of your mage friend. The magic is corrupting him.”
“How can that be?” Silvertan hissed.
“Has the mage friend ever told you about Grimrock?” Coy asked, standing up, wiping off his hands.
“Yes, that the entire mountain is alive,” Tawmis answered. “Magic courses through the entire mountain, like blood. That’s how the torches remain lit. That’s how everything got enlarged. That’s why there’s undead everywhere. He told us all of that.”
“Did he ever tell you about the Undying One?” Coy leaned back against the wall.
“He may have mentioned it,” Tawmis replied, folding his arms across his chest. “Even I have heard all the stories of some magical being that nearly destroyed the world and was imprisoned down here. It’s all nonsense.”
“But it’s not,” Coy said, looking much like his name sake. “I have seen it. It’s very much real. And I have seen what it does to magic users. It uses the mountain to vitalize the mages, makes them addicted, for lack of a better word, to the magic they feel down here – especially as they go deeper, get closer to the Undying One. So this way, the mages never want to leave. Then he slowly begins to drain the magic from the mages bodies, back into himself. He’s been doing this since he’s been cast down here.” Coy paused for a moment, “Your parents,” he pointed his thin, furry finger at Tawmis suddenly, “did not ‘escape’ from Grimrock. They were sent down here on a mission; a mission to try and stop the Undying One. The fabled Orb of Zhandul, staff of the mad mage Zhandul himself, that they had supposedly brought down here for ‘safe keeping’; that is the tale that is, as you would say, nonsense. The truth of the matter is they, along with their guardian, Mork the Minotaur, were escorting a mage academy dropout by the name of Sancsaron the Wry down to the Undying One to use the fabled Orb of Zhandul that they had helped Sancsaron locate. Sancsaron could not be trusted to do this alone, as he hungered for great power, and would have been easily corrupted by the Undying One. By the time they reached the Undying One, Sancsaron was too far gone – he turned on your parents. Mork died protecting them. Your father killed Sancsaron, and your mother shattered the Orb of Zhandul against the Undying One’s metallic prison. The resulting blast should have incinerated everyone in the room. It had barely damaged the Undying One’s prison, sending small fragments in different directions. The Orb was shattered, your parents alive, and the Undying One was still absorbing magic. Your parents retreated to the first floor again, and called out to the guard who tossed down a line to them and pulled them back out of this prison. Your parents came here to destroy the Undying One. They failed.”
Tawmis, with his hands still folded across his chest, scoffed. “How is it that you could possibly know all of this?”
“I’ve been down here a long time,” Coy replied. “A very, very long time. I’ve survived by moving through small tunnels and grates throughout Grimrock. I have waited for someone to come down here and destroy the Undying One. I believed that all of you were the key. At least I did until the mage was separated from us. Now I fear it may already be too late for him.”
“And now, us,” Coy finally added after a long moment.
Had some time during lunch to feel inspired…
“So we’re supposed to believe you have survived down here for that long?” Silvertan hissed, his serpent like tongue, flickering.
“I was thrown down here when I was really young,” Coy replied. “I stowed away on a ship from the Isle of Nex to Nothamton. From there, I rode with some travelers into the Kingdom of Conwyn, where I eventually stopped in Ranwyn. I lived on the streets there until I was caught stealing. I was found guilty and thrown into Grimrock. I survived down here, like I said, by squeezing into small tunnels and grates, moving all around Grimrock. I saw things, learned things. That is, for example, how I knew about the tunnel that allowed me to get behind the Uggardian.”
“The what?” Tawmis asked, furrowing his brows.
“The fire guardian,” Coy replied. “They’re called Uggardians.”
“So now you think our mage is in danger?” Taren asked, his massive, minotaur muscles twitched.
“We all are,” Coy replied. “If the magic of Grimrock corrupts him, he will become incredibly powerful,” Coy thought back and the seared ice lizard, “He’s already displaying power boosts beyond his normal ability. It won’t be much longer now, if we don’t get him out of here.”
“Do you know a way out of here,” Silvertan asked, almost sarcastically, “since you have been here for so long?”
“There’s only three ways out of here,” Coy replied. “The first, and most common one is death.”
“That’s helpful,” Tawmis muttered sarcastically.
“The second way,” Coy’s eyes fell on Tawmis, “you go the route his parents took. You get the local authorities to pull you out. That’s not going to happen.”
“And the third?” Silvertan asked.
“The Undying One,” Coy replied.
“You say he’s real,” Tawmis said, lowering his arms. “So how is the Undying One going to help us get out of here? From everything you’ve said, he’s evil. I doubt he’s going to show us the door.”
“He won’t,” Coy replied. “But his magic could get us out of here. The teleporters scattered throughout these dungeons – like the one that your mage friend passed through – are efforts by the Undying One trying to create a portal that would lead outside of the mountain. The first mages cast a spell around Grimrock that should prevent the Undying One from doing that… but it’s been a long time, their spell is weakening, while the Undying One is growing stronger. It’s only a matter of time before he gets a portal open and out of here. If we can destroy him, and if your mage friend isn’t turned, he could channel the magic released by the Undying One and create a portal out of here.”
“So, we just need to beat some ancient being who, according to stories told, nearly destroyed the world? That’s it? We do that and we’re free?” Silvertan spat the words, chuckling sarcastically.
“Exactly,” Coy replied, “doesn’t seem so hard, right?” He returned Silvertan’s sarcasm with his own.
“So when you say you’ve been down here a long time,” Tawmis began. “Just how long is ‘a long time.’”
They continued moving through the darkened hallways of Grimrock. “By human years, I have been down here twenty years,” Coy replied.
“Twenty years?” Silvertan turned around. “You have managed to survive down here for that long?”
“Like I said,” Coy replied, “you’d be amazed where a rat can get to, when it needs to. Ratlings, like myself, are no different. We adapt to survive.”
“Let me guess,” Tawmis shrugged, “you were once a normal rat that the magic of Grimrock changed into what you are now?” He raised an eyebrow sarcastically.
“It’s funny you say that,” Coy began.
“No. No.” Tawmis shook his head. “If you’re about to tell me I’m right, I am going to stop believing anything else that comes from your mouth.”
“I was not changed by the magic of Grimrock,” Coy replied, “though, having been down here as long as I have, I do feel it in my veins. However, among my people it is said that we did indeed come from the magic of Grimrock. When the First Mages first imprisoned the Undying One at the bottom of Grimrock and cast the spell over the mountain that should have kept him there; it is said that several rats, trapped there, also changed, along with everything else. The first Ratlings, they say, came from Grimrock itself. They escaped by going through the grates, further down the mountain, because it eventually leads into the Great Lake just south of Grimrock.”
Coy continued his tale after everyone stopped to listen. “It is said that those who escaped through the grate; those that survived anyway, ended up surfacing in the middle of the Great Lake. Most, as you can imagine, drowned before ever reaching the surface.”
Coy was silent for a moment. “But even those that did survive to the surface, not many survived beyond that. The terror of the deep, as they are called, had also been changed by the magic of Grimrock, just through proximity. You see, the spell cast by the First Mages, as I said, is growing weaker, while the Undying One is growing stronger, the more mages they throw down there, accused of various crimes. The Undying One’s foul magic is corrupting everything around it. Soon he will need to wait for those thrown into Grimrock. He will be able to absorb the magic from those within close proximity.”
Coy continued, “Those that were able to make it to shore followed the river south to Nothampton. There they found people reacted in terror and fear, and sought to destroy them, so they quickly stowed away on a ship Ormond, up north. However, as the ship passed through the Sunken Strait, it struck rocks and was run around. Several of the Ratlings managed to survive, along with some of the magic of the First Mages by making it to the Isle of Nex. The home of my people now.”
“This terror of the deep you speak of,” Taren said. “What is it?”
“Squid,” Coy shrugged. “Or that’s what it used to be. The Great Lake was full of small squid at one time; many fisherman made their home around its shores long, long ago. But several of the squid made their way into the very grates that the Ratlings escaped from, and found themselves being changed, growing larger within the mountain prison. Eventually they became so large, that they could not escape back through the same grates they had come in. So now, they lay in waiting for unsuspecting prisoners to pass over the grates that they lurk beneath – then with lightning quick reflexes, enhanced by the horrid magic of the Undying One – they snap prisoners in half and pull them through the grates and devour them whole.”
Taren nodded his massive minotaur head. “Then the terror of the deep you speak of is similar to the ones my people know. My people are the best sailors of this world – and there is a beast that we call ‘Krakoun’ – giant squid, so large that their tentacles can wrap around the hull of a ship and snap it in half, and like the ones of Grimrock, they too, have the need to feast on flesh.”
“They, and the slime,” Coy nodded, “are the main reason traveling through the grates is unsafe.”
“What is the slime?” Tawmis asked.
“Everything in Grimrock gains life, eventually,” Coy shrugged. “So far as I have been able to discover, the very algae water in the grates, has also gain life. The slime that roams Grimrock is a slow moving, ball of green liquid and moss. It attempts to devour anything that it can – whether it be stone, steel or even flesh.”
“It’s alive?” Tawmis asked, appalled.
“Alive,” Coy nodded, “but not intelligent. It simply exists to consume, no other reason. It will attempt to devour anything and everything – and anything killed by the slime, will eventually become slime as well, as the flesh bubbles and burns. It’s not a pretty sight,” Coy added. “We should really begin moving if we hope to find your mage friend.”
“Well, that was some good thinking,” Tawmis said looking behind him, the loud humming nearly deafening. It was suddenly silenced by clicking, then crackling. Tawmis peered around the corner again. “Okay, so what were those things?”
“Down here they’re called Shrakk Torr,” Coy explained. “They’re essentially flies that had mutated by the magic and become aggressive, and oversized.”
Tawmis looked around the corner again and watched as several Shrakk Torr struggled against the enormous webs that the giant spiders had weaved. He looked back at Coy, “It’s a good thing you knew about those giant spiders so that we could essentially lead them right into their webs.”
“Like I said,” Coy replied, his whiskers twitching, “I have been down here a long time. Many prisoners have fallen to those spiders. I survived by scavenging off the dead, using their weapons, gathering their food. The spiders in that room have been very beneficial to my survival.”
Coy heaved a deep breath and urged them on, “Come, we’re getting close.”
Silvertan trotted behind, keeping pace with Tawmis. “Have I mentioned,” Silvertan slithered the words from his reptilian lips, “that I don’t trust this Coy? He seems to know entirely too much about this dungeon. He survived down here for 20 years? Alone? Something’s strange with that one.”
Tawmis nodded, “I agree, something is strange. But we’re alive, and further than we would have probably ever got on our own. I trust him.”
Coy led them down another flight of stairs and into a large room, where there was one door caged. Magical writing was scribbling along the wall. Tawmis looked, “What does that say?”
“Thieves beware,” Coy replied. Silvertan looked at Tawmis, as if to silently question how the Ratling had been able to read the magic writing. As if to answer Silvertan’s unspoken words, Coy continued, “This is not my first time here. I was thrown down here with others. We got this far. We went inside this room and there’s a magical sword in there. One of the prisoners I was with tried to take it – it… did not end well.”
Coy pulled on the gate, and the metallic gate creaked open. Inside, as Coy had said was a blade that was humming with energy. “I would not recommend just trying to take the blade,” Coy warned. “Bad things happen.”
Tawmis stared at it for a moment. “The sign said thieves beware,” Tawmis pondered out loud. “But that blade is here for a reason.”
“To lure us to our doom,” Silvertan muttered.
Tawmis rolled his eyes at Silvertan. “No, like everything else in this crazy dungeon – it’s a puzzle. We just need to figure it out.”
“They key has to be in the warning,” Tawmis said. “And you’re sure you read that right? The magic writing?”
“I wasn’t the one that originally translated it,” Coy assured Tawmis. “One of the prisoners thrown down here was a mage, much like your friend. He had translated it.”
“So how do we take it, without taking it,” Tawmis wondered.
“What if we put something of equal weight upon the altar?” Taren asked. “That way, the altar never believes anything is taken.”
Tawmis was about to protest how silly of an idea that had been when he paused, gave it more consideration and finally said, “Taren, my friend, I believe you may have solved this riddle.”
Tawmis pulled out his sword and placed it just inches above the glowing sword, while using his other hand to wrap it around the magical blade, without lifting it off the altar. Tawmis took a deep breath and was about to do the swap, when he paused and looked at Coy, who was standing near the entrance, as if ready to bolt. “What happens if this goes wrong?” Tawmis asked.
“It’s just better that you don’t know,” Coy seemed to smile.
“That’s absolutely comforting,” Tawmis muttered. Tawmis took three deep breaths then swapped the blades. He kept his eyes closed for several seconds, waiting for death to come in some terrifying manner. After a few moments he opened one eye, then the other, and saw everyone standing around, also frozen in fear. Everyone was glancing around waiting for something to happen.
“You did it,” Coy finally said. “You really did it.”
Those words were exactly what Tawmis had needed to hear. He heaved a deep breath and collapsed to his knees, his entire body tingling with energy as the sword seemed to come alive in his hands. Tawmis stared at the blade, “There’s so much power in this sword.”
“From the mage that had perished in this room, he called it the Dismantler – a claymore supposedly forged deep in the underground magma furnaces. It is said to be the weapon that brought the Undying One to his knees, and that’s how they had captured him several thousand years ago.”
Coy peeked outside the room then turned to the others, “Now we’re ready to face the Undying One.”
Taren Bloodhorn led the front of the party; his massive, hulking body seemed almost as wide as the very tunnels themselves. He towered over seven feet tall, his horns nearly scraping the roof of the halls, forcing Taren to bend over slightly as he walked. Behind him, Tawmis walked, the Dismantler blade in his hand, crackling with energy, forcing Tawmis’ hair to stand on end. Tawmis stood nearly six feet tall, but next to his only friend in the world, Tawmis felt like a small pebble, and Taren a mountain.
Behind Tawmis, Silvertan moved quickly, his skin sometimes allowing itself to try and blend, like a chameleon to the wall. Silvertan was nearly five feet tall, falling short behind Tawmis. Silvertan’s arms and legs were exceptionally thin, which allowed him to easily squeeze into small, and what would otherwise be, uncomfortable areas. His reptilian body, however, allowed his bends far more flexibility than a human or minotaur.
Bringing up the rear was Coy, whom Silvertan had often voiced a lack of trust. Coy stood nearly five feet tall as well, and though his arms and legs were thin, his gut seemed pudgy. But that was mostly fur, because when he needed to, Coy could almost seemingly collapse his rib cage to allow him to fit into what seemed to be, impossible places. Like at Ratlings, Coy had the ability, much like a ferret to seemingly become paper thin and squeeze into areas that one would not expect him to be able to fit into.
Together, the four of them marched in grim silence. There had been no sign of Blaz’tik lately; no foot prints, no charred remains that he might have incarnated with magic. Tawmis could not stop thinking about what Coy had said about Blaz’tik, that he Insectoid mage was somehow now ensnared by the Undying One.
Tawmis could not shake the memories that came back to him as they walked in silence through the halls. The days, weeks, months, he had spent a prisoner of the Mages, who ripped his mind apart, devoured his soul, all because they wanted to know the location of Zhandul’s Orb. And if Coy was to be believed; and there was no reason not to trust the Ratling, since he had been truthful and helpful so far; the Orb was actually brought down into Grimrock by his own parents in an attempt to finally destroy the Undying One.
If Blaz’tik was a slave of the Undying One, with his last breath, Tawmis would kill Blaz’tik if it came to it. It was better to be free in death, than live enthralled, a slave to mad mages.
As if hearing Tawmis’ thoughts, Taren turned his head slightly and said, “We will find Blaz,” his voice was gruff. “We will free him one way or another.”
Taren and Tawmis had saved one another’s lives too many times to count. There had been an unbreakable bond between them. They shared blood. Their souls. Their hearts. And without question, their minds. It was no surprise to Tawmis that Taren knew exactly what he was thinking. Without saying a word, because no words were needed to be said, Tawmis simply nodded his head, a fire burning in his eyes.
The Shocking Conclusion?
Tawmis covered his ears, “What in the gods is that humming sound?”
“We’ve nearly found him,” Coy said, his nose twitching with excitement.
“Blaz?” Tawmis asked.
“Undoubtedly him as well,” Coy nodded, scampering ahead.
“Him as well?” Tawmis looked at Taren, who in turn, shrugged.
They quickened the pace and saw Coy peering around a corner. He turned and faced them and gestured for them to be silent as they approached. “What’s going on?” Tawmis whispered.
“It’s as I feared,” Coy replied. “The Undying One has taken control of your Mage friend.”
Tawmis peered around the corner, and in the center of a massive room was a magnificent cube made of gleaming steel and gears. Tawmis turned to Coy, “That’s the Undying One? Not exactly how I imagined him to look. I thought he’d look…”
“More human?” Coy asked.
“Less square,” Tawmis managed to joke. He peered around the corner again, “So what’s happening?”
“My guess? The Undying One is sending mental commands to your Mage friend to complete him,” Coy replied.
“Complete him? What do you mean?” Tawmis asked.
“When your parents came down here with the Orb to try and destroy the Undying One, they, as you can see did not kill him; but they did damage him. Pieces of him were scattered around the dungeon; some of the pieces flew with such force that it penetrated various levels of the dungeon, embedding themselves within the very walls.”
“So why isn’t that… statue… doing anything?” Tawmis asked, nudging towards the one massive statue.
“Those are called Wardens,” Coy explained. “They activate if they believe that there’s an attempt to free the Undying One.”
“So why aren’t they activated with Blaz in there?” Taren asked gruffly, sizing up the statue.
“The Undying One must be using his magic to ‘hide’ Blaz from their view,” Coy explained. “He can probably afford to hide one; but if we all come around that corner, the Warden is going to activate.”
“And that would be bad,” Tawmis asked, knowing the answer.
“Very,” Coy replied.
“So how do you propose we do something about this?” Silvertan asked, still not trusting Coy.
“Well, I suspect the only way out is activating the Undying One,” Coy shrugged, looking back at the others, and with a shrug of his furry shoulders, added, “but it might cost us all our lives.”
“Or just ours, as you make your escape,” Silvertan said aloud.
“I can see why you wouldn’t trust me, despite the effort I’ve made,” Coy replied. “If you know of any better ideas, I am more than happy to hear it. Going into a room with the Undying One siphoning the magic from your Mage friend and a big, stone guardian just waiting to activate as soon as we set foot in there is not exactly an ideal good time to me.”
“So how are we going to do this?” Tawmis asked.
“I take the Warden,” Taren said. Tawmis looked back into the room, gazing over the stone Warden then back to Taren.
“I can’t let you fight that thing alone,” Tawmis shook his head. “That thing has a flail in each hand. And its hide is made of stone.”
“You will need to get Blaz away from the Undying One,” Taren said. “I am the best suited to fight the Warden.”
“I will keep the Undying One occupied,” Coy said.
“I will help with the Warden,” Silvertan finally replied.
Tawmis looked at Taren, whose deep, dark eyes stared back down at Tawmis. A smile formed on the corner of Taren’s lips. “This will not be the last time we see each other, human.”
“It feels that way,” Tawmis whispered.
“There is the life after this one,” Taren said with a nod. “We will find each other again there.”
Tawmis and Taren clanked their blades together, and chanted, “In life, I lived with honor; in death, I will be remembered.”
Taren stepped into the room, holding his sword and shield. Instantly, the Warden’s eyes suddenly glowed blue.
Time seemed to suddenly move in slow motion as everyone charged into the room. There was no fear. Only a purpose to do what was expected. Death may come for them all – but there was no time to think of that now.
Taren dodged the Warden’s slow swings. Being made of pure stone, the Warden was at least slow. The Warden brought the flail downward, and though Taren was able to side step, the strength of the Warden became very apparent, as the flail crushed the stone floor that it collided with. It would only take a few hits to break through Taren’s massive muscles and shatter his bones.
Tawmis reached Blaz’tik, who seemed to be hypnotized. Tawmis was shouting at Blaz’tik, but the insectoid just seemed to stare forward at the massive, metallic box in front of him. Tawmis looked around and shouted, the words seeming to fall from his lips at a decelerated speed. “He’s not responding to me!”
As Tawmis looked around, he saw Silvertan trying desperately to pierce the Warden’s stone hide with his weapons. Tawmis looked around and could not see Coy.
“Where’s Coy?” Tawmis suddenly shouted as the room suddenly jolted into normal speed.
“I knew we couldn’t trust the damn rat!” Silvertan shouted as he barely dodged a backhanded swing from the Warden. “He set us up to die in here! Sacrifice to the Undying One! That’s how he’s lived down here so long! He’s made a damn deal with the demon!”
Suddenly Tawmis saw, from the corner of his eye, Coy was screwing a piece of a gear unto the Undying One. “What are you doing?” Tawmis shouted.
“Believe it or not, I am getting us out of here,” Coy replied.
“By putting the Undying One back together? You said my parents came down here to destroy him! Why would you undo what they risked their lives to do?” Tawmis shouted. He shoved Blaz’tik aside and quickly strode over to Coy.
“Because,” Coy said, stopping to look Tawmis in the eye. “I know how to get us out of here. I admit, I have not been up front with all of you. Yes, I did set your Mage friend up.”
“What do you mean you set him up?” Tawmis shouted.
“I knew the Undying One syphoned off magic from Mages,” Coy replied. “I knew from the time I was thrown down here nearly twenty years ago, when the mage that was thrown down here with me was compelled by the Undying One. In his dying words, he told me about the dreams he had, how the Undying One had visited him, called to him. Since then, I have been gathering the magical components of the mages that perish down here. Hoping one day, a set of prisoners would come down here, strong enough to possibly do something against the Undying One. So yes,” Coy snapped, “I knew giving those spell components to your Mage friend would trigger the Undying One to call upon your Mage friend. I knew this. I used your Mage friend as bait. But your Mage friend is the key. And by the gods,” Coy gestured to the Taren who was fighting the Warden. “I have never seen such courage and determination in anyone else that’s been thrown down here. The bond you two shared pushed one another to keep going. And to learn that you’re the son of Contar and Yennica… I knew this was the time. I knew it was now or never.”
Taren barely had time to worry about what was going on with Tawmis and Coy; he could only see that his dearest, and truly his only friend, was flailing his arms in an angry gesture as he was speaking to the Ratling. The Warden brought his flail down, which Taren was able to deflect. The chain around the flail wrapped around Taren’s blade, and the Warden was able to yank the blade from the minotaur’s firm grip. “I don’t need swords,” Taren growled. He bowed his head down and charged. The Warden managed to bring his other flail down into Taren’s back, ripping the minotaur’s fur, splashing blood upon the ceiling as the flail left the tattered skin. But Taren did not stop, he charged, his horns slamming into the Warden’s abdomen, barely giving Silvertan enough time to slide out of the way as Taren crashed the Warden into the far wall. With no need to breathe, the Warden was not stunned for long, and brought his flail down again, striking Taren in the back once more.
Silvertan watched in horror. There was nothing he could do to even damage the Warden. He watched in sadness as the Warden raised his arm, the bloodied flail coming up. Much to his surprise, as the flail came down it did not strike the crushing blow that would have severed Taren’s spine. Instead, it struck a metallic shield. Tawmis was now standing between the Warden and his best friend. “Not today,” Tawmis growled. “Not today…”
“Silvertan!” Tawmis barked. “Go help Coy put the Undying One back together!”
“We’re putting that thing back together?” Silvertan asked.
“Just do it,” Tawmis shouted as the Warden brought down the other flail, denting the shield in Tawmis’ hand.
“I can not believe we’re doing this,” Silvertan grumbled as he ran by Tawmis and began helping Coy put the Undying One back together.
Tawmis pulled out the Dismantler, the electric humming began, electricity coursed through his body. “What are the odds that this blade can cut through you?” Tawmis sneered as he brought it down upon the Warden’s arm. Much to his surprise and disappointment, it barely nicked the stone guardian’s armored flesh. “Well,” Tawmis muttered, “that’s certainly disappointing.”
He tilted his back towards Coy and Silvertan, “If you two are going to do something, you’re going to have to do it real quick. This is not going well over here.”
The Warden had forgotten Taren and now focused on the new threat; the one still standing, the one with a weapon – Tawmis. Time after time, the Warden brought its massive flails down; Tawmis tried to deflect with his battered shield until he was sure that the very vibration of the pounding he was taking had finally broke his arm, and he could not raise his shield anymore.
“It was a good plan,” he muttered, “except for the part where we all die.”
Much to his surprise, again, he saw two large, black hands wrap around the Warden’s throat from behind. Huge, gleaming eyes of crimson burned in the shadows. Tawmis had seen it before. It was Taren, and he was in a blood rage.
“No more,” Taren gargled, barely coherent, his words giving way to the savage beast within him. “No more.” He put all his weight into his hands and slammed the Warden down upon the ground. The surprised Warden was caught off balance and collapsed to the floor, seemingly unable to stand again.
“We’ve got it!” Coy shouted gleefully. The Undying One was now beginning to hum massively. “Now! Now!” Coy jumped up and down. “Strike it with the Dismantler.”
“Then what happens?” Tawmis asked, rushing to Coy’s side.
“We pray to the gods that your Mage friend is able to harness all the magic that’s about to come pouring out of him,” Coy shrugged.
Tawmis looked at Blaz’tik who still looked like he was in a trance. “He’s not even coherent!” Tawmis pointed to Blaz’tik with the Dismantler blade. “How is he supposed to know to channel magic?”
“The Undying One has been in touch with his mind,” Coy replied. “He will sense the release of the magic from the Undying One, and begin to absorb it into himself.”
“And then?” Tawmis asked.
“Hopefully your friend creates a portal before all of this explodes,” Coy smiled, as if he were saying, “The sun should come up tomorrow.”
“This seems like a really horrible plan,” Tawmis muttered.
The Undying One began to glow. “Horrible or not,” Coy said, “it’s the only one we’ve got and the Undying One is coming out of the magical trance. You do it now or he starts killing us.”
Tawmis thrust his blade into the Undying One – and at that moment, there was an unholy scream.
Magic suddenly poured out of the gaping hole that the Dismantler had put into the Undying One – and just as Coy had said; Blaz’tik suddenly opened his arms, closed his insect eyes, and gazed upward, pulling all the magic into himself. Though there were no doors, no windows, the wind within the entire room seemed to come alive.
The wind’s speed increased, so that it became a part of the Undying One’s screams.
A loud boom – and everyone was thrown to the floor. All except Blaz’tik who was floating in the air, arms out stretched, eyes glowing blue. “I have –tic!- found the way. We can –tic!- be free.”
“Blaz! You’re back?” Tawmis shouted with joy as he began to stand.
“I –tic!- am,” Blaz’tik replied. “I have never felt to –tic!- alive in my life. I can see the world in –tic!- ways you could not even begin to –tic!- imagine!”
He closed his eyes and a small shimmering light appeared; slowly it grew larger and larger. “We must –tic!- go quickly – tic!- for the Undying One is about to explode!”
The shimmering light grew to large square; through the lights, they could see the world outside. “A teleporter,” Blaz’tik smiled, “as I had assumed, not an incinerator.”
Tawmis smiled. He watched Coy quickly jump through. Tawmis helped Taren to his feet and allowed his friend to go through the teleporter. “What about you, Blaz?”
“I will close the door behind us,” Blaz’tik said, “so that –tic!- the explosion is hopefully contained within Grimrock.”
“Behind you!” came a shout from Silvertan who had not yet stepped through the portal. Tawmis turned in time to see Silvertan push him out of the way as the Warden’s flail came crashing down; crushing Silvertan’s fragile, reptilian spine. “Silvertan!” Tawmis screamed.
“Go!” Silvertan cursed, as the Warden moved forward. “Go, damn it! Go!”
“I can’t leave you behind!” Tawmis shouted.
“You must!” Silvertan said. “It’s already too late for me.”
Tawmis stared hopelessly. The Warden was approaching again. Tawmis cursed and stepped into the portal.
Blaz’tik looked back at Silvertan, “You found what you came –tic!- for here,” he said, nodding. Blaz’tik opened his insectoid hands and with a simple blast incinerated the Warden to rubble. He kneeled down in front of Silvertan. “You found honor –tic- and I will speak of it to all who listen.”
Silvertan gripped Blaz’tik’s hand and nodded, “Thank you.”
“I must –tic- go now,” Blaz’tik said. He turned and stepped through the Portal.
Blaz’tik emerged north end of the Great Lake, just south of the Deathfang Ridges. “We should be –tic- safe here,” Blaz’tik said.
Then the explosion came.
It was louder, stronger, more powerful than any of them could have expected. It knocked all of them into the Great Lake’s waters.
Tawmis opened his eyes, and looked around. There was a familiar sight. And for a moment, he wondered if he had dreamed the entire event of Grimrock – and wondered if he was still in the prison cell in Curvia, where this had all begun.
But when he could barely stand, and not because he was groggy from the explosion, but because the ground seemed to sway beneath his feet; he grabbed the bars for balance. Then he could smell it. The fresh ocean breeze. The sound of waves crashing against a ship.
He looked around him and saw Taren, Blaz’tik and Coy.
“Where are we?” Tawmis asked, having no memory after the explosion that shook Grimrock.
“We’re on a slave ship,” Taren muttered, recognizing the interior of the ship.
“The Elf Wind,” Coy said, “to be exact. Chances are we’re headed up Daejon for Gladiator combat slavery.”
“What happened?” Tawmis asked.
“The explosion drew a lot of attention,” Coy replied. “Mages. Warriors. Thieves. All interested in what might be within Grimrock’s remains. Apparently we were fortunate enough to be found by slavers and traders down stream from the Great Lake.”
“That’s just wonderful,” Tawmis sighed, and sunk against the bars. “What else could possibly go wrong?”
The Elf Wind rocked back and forth, cutting quickly through the dark, blue ocean waters. Tawmis heard a familiar groan and turned to see Blaz’tik finally regaining consciousness, the last of them to do so. “Glad you could join us among the living,” Tawmis said, leaning against his bars.
“If this -tic!- is living,” Blaz’tik muttered, “I much prefer being dead. My -tic!- head is pounding viciously!”
“The explosion back there at Grimrock would be responsible for that,” Tawmis nodded. “We all got the wind knocked out of us.”
“What -tic!- happened?” Blaz’tik asked.
“Well, you merged with the Undying One, as far as any one of us can guess,” Tawmis began explaining. “He was using you, absorbing your magic, to make himself more powerful. We sort of stabbed him with something called the Dismantler – made, specifically from what Coy says,” Tawmis gestured to the Ratling in the neighboring cage who looked less than pleased to be aboard the ship, “to destroy the Undying One. The result was a malfunction – and next thing we know, you were absorbing his magic. You made some portals, teleported us out. We landed near the Great Lake, and then there was an explosion. That’s pretty much the last thing any of us really remember, until waking up on this ship.”
“Slaver ship,” Coy muttered, “by the looks of the materials down here with us.” He heaved a deep sigh. “No doubt headed for the Gladiator rings. We will be sold as ‘The Slayers of the Undying One’ or ‘The Destroyers of Grimrock.’ We’re bound to fetch a high price on the Gladiator market.”
“But,” Tawmis interrupted Coy’s pessimistic tone, “now that you’re awake, that’s not going to be a problem, right?”
If Blaz’tik could raise a questioning eye brow, such as he had seen Tawmis do in the past, he would have. “How -tic!- do you figure?”
“Blaz,” Tawmis began. “All that magic you absorbed. The spells you were casting. We have the most powerful mage in the world at our side! Let’s melt these cages, take over this ship, and sail back home!”
“I’m,” Blaz’tik stammered, “I am afraid -tic!- that will not be possible.”
“Not be possible?” Tawmis stammered. “What do you mean ‘that will not be possible’?”
“I am trying to recall my -tic!- spells… and… I can barely remember -tic!- how to cast a light spell!” Blaz’tik confessed.
“A light spell? A light spell?” Tawmis sunk down. “Yeah, that’s just what I want right now. A light spell – to show how depressing our situation really is. How could you not know your spells?”
“I am -tic!- afraid that perhaps,” Blaz’tik began to explain, “that the explosion -tic!- may have jarred my memory… or perhaps what I -tic!- learned from the Undying One was a fleeting thing… it’s magic has -tic!- burned out and run its course.”
Coy looked over at Tawmis and shrugged, “I told you it wouldn’t be this easy.”
Tawmis heaved a deep sigh. “Do you insist on reminding me when you’re right?”
“No,” Coy replied. “Because I’d be repeating myself all the time to you.”
Tawmis lunged at Coy. “If these bars weren’t here, my hands would be around your throat right now.”
“If these bars weren’t here,” Coy retorted, “you’d have no reason to be upset.”
There was a pause, and Coy finally asked, “Am I right?”
“Just shut up,” was Tawmis’ only muttered reply.
Tawmis stood, hands on the bars of the cage and rattled them as much as he could, as if hoping he could bend them. “I refuse to fight in a gladiator ring again. I refuse to be a slave.” Tawmis’ eyes drifted to Taren who had been unusually silent. For both of them, they met in a gladiator ring. Together, they fought side by side and earned their freedom. But the time as a Gladiator was harsh. They had witness so much death, so much brutality. “We will find a way out of this,” Tawmis assured the massive minotaur.
Taren turned and looked at Tawmis and gave him a weak smile. “I am sure we will. Our path is just unclear at the moment.”
Suddenly the ship lurched to the right unexpectedly, sending all of them crashing painfully into the metal bars, unable to adjust to the sudden shift in the ship’s direction. Blaz’tik tried to pull himself up, but the ship was still pulling hard to the right. “What -tic!- is going on?”
“I’ve been on enough ships,” Taren replied. “This is not natural. I don’t even hear any wind. Something is pulling the ship to the right. And pulling very hard.”
Coy peered through one of portholes of the ship. “You may not hear winds, but those skies have turned black! Look!”
Outside it was as if a grey bottle of paint was spilled across the sky. Slowly, it spread, devouring the once blue skies, and making them dark and grey. Accompanying the change, the sea also began to surge; large waves slammed up against the ship, which rocked the entire boat. Down below, Tawmis and others found themselves being batted around their prison cages. Above deck, the crew members were shouting; the voices of most were clearly drenched in just as much fear as they were wet. Tawmis turned to Blaz’tik, “This you’re doing?”
“I’m afraid not,” Blaz’tik replied, his mandibles clicking nervously.
“This is not a natural storm,” Taren stared out the porthole. The ship took a massive dive, her front piercing deep into the ocean as she came over the wave. As she came back over the next wave, an island came into view.
“That’s Nex,” Coy replied.
“Isn’t that where you’re from?” Tawmis asked.
“Yes,” Coy replied, though he didn’t sound excited.
Just then, someone in the crow’s nest shouted something about land.
Then came the crash; and the coral reef ripped through the bottom of the boat, cutting her open, filling her with water.
The last thing Tawmis heard before the water washed over him was Coy mentioning something about “The Master.”
Tawmis heaved a deep breath and took in grains of sand, deep into his lungs. He began coughing and sputtering, breathing in the fresh air. Groggily he looked around to see where he was, and was pleasantly surprised to see that he was still alive. He coughed and choked, his head a hazy mess. He tried to push himself upright but felt his arms quiver under his weight. “I’ll just lay here for a minute,” he finally said and collapsed again into the sand.
He heard a loud, gruff cough not too far from him and knew that Taren was alive. “You alive over there?” Tawmis called out.
“Indeed,” Taren’s deep voice replied. “Though,” he added after a moment, “with as much pain as I am in, I think I’d much prefer to be among the dead.”
“You see Blaz or that Rat?” Tawmis called out.
“My name is Coy,” the Ratling replied. “It’s not like you don’t know that!”
“Oh good,” Tawmis muttered, “you survived too.”
“As did -tic!- I,” Blaz’tik managed to call out.
As the sun began to set on the horizon, Tawmis and the others gathered and used the dry wood from the shattered ship to make a campfire. The night grew cold, the breeze biting into their skin through their soaked clothing. Tawmis turned to Coy, “So, you’re from here. What can you tell us about this place?”
“I can tell you that it’s a death trap,” Coy said. “I didn’t get exiled. I left here to survive. And now I am back on this cursed island.”
“What happened to the -tic!- rest of the crew?” Blaz’tik wondered.
“If the Master of Nex had his way, they’re shark food,” Coy replied.
“The Master,” Tawmis repeated. “I heard you say something about that just before the ship slammed into the coral reef,” Tawmis said, as he tore off a piece of his clothing and wrapped his arm, that had a deep cut from the very coral reef he was speaking of. “What’s the deal with that?”
“The Master,” Coy replied, “is a mysterious figure who has made this island the death trap that it is.”
“What can you tell us about him?” Taren asked.
“Nothing,” Coy shrugged. “I literally know nothing about him. Only that he is a powerful mage of some kind. And his hobby is experimenting and creating death traps. He believes that only the strong will survive. In his mind, he thinks this benefits those who shipwreck on this island. He thinks he’s making the world a better place by removing the weak.”
“So,” Tawmis sighed and laid back on the sand, “we escape from Grimrock to land here, on this pleasant island of death?”
“We escaped Grimrock,” Taren growled, “we can get through this.”
“You don’t know this island,” Coy said, “our luck is going to run out.”
“No prisoner ever escaped Grimrock, but we did,” Taren replied.
“I suspect that’s exactly why the Master shipwrecked us here, and ensured our survival, and only ours,” Coy said. “Because we did escape Grimrock – in the Master’s eyes, we are strong. But are we strong enough to survive the island?”
“This Master sounds like a pleasant fellow,” Tawmis sighed. “Can’t wait to meet him face to face.” He paused, and finally added, “So I can run my sword through him.”
Tawmis grabbed a shell that sat, perched on the beach sand. He looked around and shattered a portion of it against a large boulder.
“What are you doing?” Coy asked.
“We’ve got no weapons because they sank with the ship,” Tawmis replied. “So I am going to make some weapons.”
“A shell is not going to be much defense against the horrors of this island,” Coy said, sitting back down.
“Neither is sitting there hoping some ship is going to come by and rescue us,” Tawmis retorted. Coy shot Tawmis a foul look.
Taren returned from the waters, holding an assortment of fractured panels of wood that had washed ashore from the sundered remains of the ship. Tawmis took one and began using the shattered shell to sharpen the point of one of them, creating a crude spear.
“You’re more resourceful than I would have given you credit for,” Coy admired. “Though I should have known, considering you managed to survive Grimrock as well.”
Taren chuckled. “You should hear some of the stories we could share,” the gruff minotaur said. “We have been through a lot, he and I. We have been in more predicaments than I can possibly ever hope to recall.” Taren looked over at Tawmis, “He has a habit of either bedding the wrong women, opening his big mouth, or wanting to help someone out, who is clearly in more trouble than they can handle.”
“You sound like a man with mix morals,” Coy said.
“I prefer to say that I am a complex individual,” Tawmis retorted, as he threw one of the panels of wood towards Coy. “Now if you’re doing trying to figure out the person that I am, we could use your help forging some weapons against this,” Tawmis tone changed to mimic Coy’s, “island of death.”
Coy picked up the wood and began carving away at the tip, “I still say this is a useless idea.”
“You’d probably get more done if you talked less,” Tawmis smiled. Tawmis turned to Blaz’tik, “Any luck recalling any of that wild magic you were casting before the explosion of Grimrock?”
“I am afraid not,” Blaz’tik admitted. “It’s as if I can see them there; whispering in my mind – but they have yet to come forward.”
“That’s all right,” Tawmis admitted. In truth, Tawmis was partially relieved that Blaz’tik could not recall all the wild magic. When they had found Blaz’tik, and he had absorbed all the magic of the Undying One into himself; Tawmis saw that the friendly humanoid-insect no longer resided behind those eyes; instead there was something there that craved even more power. It was almost a relief to know that Blaz’tik was back to being his normal, humble, less magical self.
Blaz’tik emerged from a small brush and help up a large sized egg. “Look what I found! There’s a few others here.”
“Something laid those eggs,” Taren noted. “Something fairly large.”
“Turtles,” Coy replied. “The western coast of this island is full of them.”
“Well that means we eat something other than these little crabs,” Tawmis nudged several crabs that had been skittering by his foot. “And now that we sort of have weapons; we start moving into the island itself and see if we can’t find a way off of here.”
After nearly a year… (Nov 2014 was the last time I officially added to the story!)
Blaz’tik emerged from a small brush and help up a large sized egg. “Look what I found! There’s a few others here.”
“Something laid those eggs,” Taren noted. “Something fairly large.”
“Turtles,” Coy replied. “The western coast of this island is full of them.”
“Well that means we eat something other than these little crabs,” Tawmis nudged several crabs that had been skittering by his foot. “And now that we sort of have weapons; we start moving into the island itself and see if we can’t find a way off of here.”
“The only way we’re likely to get off of this island is when we’re dead,” Coy sighed. “And even then, we’ll just be food for something on this island. So I hope you have some spiritual belief that allows your spirit to transcend away from this island.”
“Can someone –tic!- remind me why –tic!- he’s with us,” Blaz’tik muttered aloud.
“Because I’m familiar with the island,” Coy answered shortly, not realizing that Blaz’tik was being sarcastic; though it was always difficult to tell when Blaz’tik was anything other than serious, as insectoids have no influx of their voice; it’s always the same, flat, clicking sound.
The sun was beating down on the four of them as they moved along the shore. At high noon, the sun was becoming unbearable hot, forcing them to take shelter inside a small cavern on the coast’s shoreline. “These a network of caves,” Tawmis noted, exploring the back end of the cave.
Blaz’tik returned from outside, holding a tattered parchment in his hands. “Look –tic!- what I found –tic!- jammed into a log.”
Taren, the massive minotaur, approached Blaz’tik and read it aloud:
“Dear Visitor,
Welcome to my island! I hope your journey was not too detrimental to your health. I think you will find this island to be the most wonderful, yet the most perilous place, on Earth.
I don’t have high hopes about your survival, but maybe you can prove me wrong.
Better equip yourself before the night falls.
The Island Master”
Tawmis returned from the back of the cave. “Son of a… So someone purposely shipwrecked us?” Tawmis looked at Coy. “Demons of Dex, who is this ‘Island Master’ Coy?”
“I’ve seen him,” Coy answered, “but I can’t tell much about him. He’s shrouded in a black robe and wears a large key around his neck.”
“A wizard then,” Tawmis muttered. He glanced over at Blaz’tik, “No offense, Blaz.”
“None –tic!- taken,” Blaz’tik assured Tawmis.
Tawmis shook his head. “Why is it always wizards? I’m telling you, magic drives a sane person insane.” He looked at Blaz’tik again. “Sorry, again. No offense. It’s just it always seems to be wizards who are the main source of problems in my life. From my childhood to now.”
“It’s understandable –tic!- you’d feel as you do,” Blaz’tik assured Tawmis, his insectoid tone, flat and monotone. “I was –tic!- consumed by the magic of the –tic!- Undying One… and… for that brief –tic!- moment, I was… -tic!- not of my own mind.”
“Well,” Coy interjected, “I can promise you, without the insect’s magic, we would have never escaped the Grimrock dungeon. And without his magic, we won’t be getting away from this island.”
Taren came to stand, towering over Tawmis. “The rodent is bothersome,” his voice was deep and rumbling, “but he proved to be of great use while we were imprisoned in Grimrock. If he truly does know this island as well as he claims, he may yet again prove useful.”
Tawmis nodded in agreement. “I’m concerned that he may be using us for his own ends. He mentioned his people were on this island. What if he’s just trying to get back to them… and once he does, we’re as good as gone.”
“I shall endeavor to keep my eye on the rodent then,” Taren smiled, his teeth showing rows of glistening sharpened fangs. “I feel you’re concerned about our insectoid friend as well.”
“I am,” Tawmis whispered. “He’s not been the same since his mind merged with the Undying One. He’s not been able to channel magic – which, granted – I am somewhat thankful for. The less mages that exist in this world, all the better. But if this Island Keeper is some kind of mage – then having Blaz’tik at full power might be beneficial.”
Taren came to stand, towering over Tawmis. “The rodent is bothersome,” his voice was deep and rumbling, “but he proved to be of great use while we were imprisoned in Grimrock. If he truly does know this island as well as he claims, he may yet again prove useful.”
Tawmis nodded in agreement. “I’m concerned that he may be using us for his own ends. He mentioned his people were on this island. What if he’s just trying to get back to them… and once he does, we’re as good as gone.”
“I shall endeavor to keep my eye on the rodent then,” Taren smiled, his teeth showing rows of glistening sharpened fangs. “I feel you’re concerned about our insectoid friend as well.”
“I am,” Tawmis whispered. “He’s not been the same since his mind merged with the Undying One. He’s not been able to channel magic – which, granted – I am somewhat thankful for. The less mages that exist in this world, all the better. But if this Island Keeper is some kind of mage – then having Blaz’tik at full power might be beneficial.”
The repetitive sound of the lapping tide would have been relaxing; under normal circumstances. Instead, everyone sat towards the back of the cave, waiting for the beating sun’s relentless heat to pass to night. “When the night comes, it will be worse,” Coy finally said, breaking the silence. “The creatures of the island will also be coming out, when the air becomes cooler.”
Tawmis looked over at Coy. “Do you ever say anything positive? Uplifting?”
“The beaches here are beautiful,” Coy shrugged.
“That’s better,” Tawmis sighed.
“But they’re also deadly,” Coy added, after a moment.
“You never stop, do you?” Tawmis shook his head.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Coy confessed.
“I actually believe that you don’t,” Tawmis agreed.
The night had come, and with it a gentle, cool breeze. The entire island had the illusion of a peaceful setting; but each of them could feel it in their bones; the tension that made their muscles tighter. As the sun was setting, it also brought out a swarm of giant mosquitos, which Tawmis and Taren swung their primitive weapons at; and while striking a few with each swing, it never seemed to decrease the amount of flittering, bothersome, blood sucking mosquitos. Blaz’tik approached, and simply said, “Allow –tic!- me to try…”
He opened his right hand – closed his insectoid eyes – and closed his fist. A bust of flame shot forth from his hand, striking the mosquitos, eviscerating the majority of the swam; the rest fled.
“You… got some magic back, I see?” Tawmis asked.
“I –tic!- surmised that perhaps –tic!- once in a dangerous situation –tic!- some of my magic might –tic!- return to me,” Blaz’tik said.
“That’s… good,” Tawmis said beneath his breath.
The night had come, and with it a gentle, cool breeze. The entire island had the illusion of a peaceful setting; but each of them could feel it in their bones; the tension that made their muscles tighter. As the sun was setting, it also brought out a swarm of giant mosquitos, which Tawmis and Taren swung their primitive weapons at; and while striking a few with each swing, it never seemed to decrease the amount of flittering, bothersome, blood sucking mosquitos. Blaz’tik approached, and simply said, “Allow –tic!- me to try…”
He opened his right hand – closed his insectoid eyes – and closed his fist. A bust of flame shot forth from his hand, striking the mosquitos, eviscerating the majority of the swam; the rest fled.
“You… got some magic back, I see?” Tawmis asked.
“I –tic!- surmised that perhaps –tic!- once in a dangerous situation –tic!- some of my magic might –tic!- return to me,” Blaz’tik said.
“That’s… good,” Tawmis said beneath his breath.
As they made their way along the shore, bodies of the crew of the slave ship, The Elf Wind, had washed ashore. Along with their bodies, some armor and weapons, that Coy had no problem, Tawmis noted, pilfering and distributing. When Coy turned and saw the look of disdain on Taren’s face, he looked at the massive minotaur and shrugged, “What? It’s not like they’re going to need it.” He flipped a dagger between his fingers and sheathed the blade in his newly acquired belt. “And if we have any hope of surviving this island, you’re going to have to toughen up.”
“I am more than adequately ‘tough’,” Taren growled. “However, looting the dead is a dishonorable act.”
“They were slavers,” Coy retorted.
Tawmis was about to say something, until Coy had mentioned they were slavers, then he finally nodded in agreement. “I’ve got to side with him this time,” Tawmis admitted. “They were slavers. Not the greatest of people. I’ve had more than my share of time with slavers, being in their pens, fighting in their rings. At least we can take their weapons and armor and make something good out of what was normally pretty horrible people,” he shrugged.
“There is wisdom in your words,” Taren agreed. “Fine. We take their weapons and armor then. Give me that axe,” he pointed at the large axe strapped to the back of one of the dead slavers.
Tawmis strapped on a piece of leather armor around his chest and adjusted the sword at his side. He looked down and saw the symbol of the slaver ship’s crest on the chest piece of his armor and took the small dagger from the slaver’s boot and began scratching it out as much as he could.
Blaz’tik found a small, wooden chest washed ashore that had much needed spell components. Some of them had been ruined by their journey through the salty ocean; but some of the components had been wrapped tightly in bags. Blaz’tik’s insectoid armor gave him a natural defense, but still, some additional scrap leather here and there, helped protect more vulnerable locations.
Most of the armor from the slavers – most of which, had been human – did not fit Taren’s large body. He made due by tearing the armor, then punching holes in it with another dagger, and looping straps of leather through it, so that he could tie the leather around his body and offer some protection against whatever this island housed.
As Coy dressed himself in leather armor, he looked at the others. He placed his dagger in its sheath, his round eyes never once leaving the other three he had been stranded with. In his head, he was calculating his chance of survival. They had proved to be exceptionally useful in escaping Grimrock – but how much more did they have left?
As Coy dressed himself in leather armor, he looked at the others. He placed his dagger in its sheath, his round eyes never once leaving the other three he had been stranded with. In his head, he was calculating his chance of survival. They had proved to be exceptionally useful in escaping Grimrock – but how much more did they have left?
As they pressed on around the edge of the shoreline, they eventually came to what appeared to be a dead end.
“Well, that’s wonderful,” Tawmis grumbled. He peered over the rock ledge. “We could try to scale these rocks.”
“No need,” Coy’s voice emerged from the dark shadows that the moonless night provided. “I found a passage through the stone, just over here.”
Taren looked at Tawmis, and if he could roll his eyes, he would have. He whispered – as much as a Minotaur can whisper, with their booming, deep voice – “It is strange that our friend found a secret passage so quickly.”
Tawmis nodded in agreement. “He’s clearly been on this island, like he said before. So he knows the ins and outs of this place. I suppose, to that regard, he’s at least going to be useful helping us get around – and ideally – off this island.”
“If he does not betray us before then,” Taren muttered.
“Right, if that doesn’t happen,” Tawmis echoed.
As they moved deeper and deeper into the cavern, the blackness of night devoured them; the faint light of stars bleeding away, consumed by the shadows within the cave. “I can’t even see my hand in front of my face,” Tawmis complained.
“I can see just fine, follow my voice,” Coy suggested.
“Because that seems like a safe idea,” Tawmis growled.
“You still don’t trust me,” Coy whispered from somewhere ahead.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Tawmis replied, “it’s just that I don’t have complete certainty in you.”
“That’s the same thing as not trusting me,” Coy replied, again his voice seemingly coming from the very shadows.
“Sure, if you want to see it that way, I suppose it sounds like that,” Tawmis said.
“Please –tic!-,” came Blaz’tik’s monotone voice, “allow me.”
In the darkness, Blaz’tik brought his hand directly in front of his chest and released some of the powder he had found in the chest along the shoreline; opened his hand, then brought it down and closed his hand. The tip of his make shift wooden staff began to glow. When the passage lit up, just ahead of Tawmis, Coy stood, poised with dagger in hand.
Tawmis raised an eye brow. “Why’s your dagger out?”
“Because,” Coy said after a moment, as if thinking of an excuse. “I can see in the dark. And these tunnels are not without creatures. You weren’t thinking I was…” Coy looked as though he was offended. “You did not think I was going to attack you, did you?”
Tawmis looked at Coy, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. “You have to admit that looks a little odd; especially since you’re facing me, and not forward if you’re anticipating something in these caves…”
Coy smiled, his two front teeth glistening in Blaz’tik’s magical light, “Is it not proper human behavior to turn and face those you are speaking with?”
Tawmis had a bad feeling that Coy was – literally – lying through his teeth.
“After all,” Coy continued, “what good would you be to me, dead so soon?”
“So soon?” Tawmis echoed.
“What I mean is, so early on, if I was going to kill you – and I don’t plan to – it’d be later, when I feel safe,” Coy explained.
“That still doesn’t make me feel better,” Tawmis replied, his hand no longer on his hilt. “You can see why I don’t trust you.”
“So you admit it then,” Coy chuckled, and turned his head continued down into cave, dagger still in hand, “You don’t trust me. Just like I said.”
Blaz’tik looked over at Tawmis, and if the insectoid could chuckle, he probably would have.
“So you admit it then,” Coy chuckled, and turned his head continued down into cave, dagger still in hand, “You don’t trust me. Just like I said.”
Blaz’tik looked over at Tawmis, and if the insectoid could chuckle, he probably would have.
Following Coy, through the darkened cavern, all of them noticed the same thing ahead; a light, blue hue that was all too familiar. “Don’t tell me,” Tawmis muttered.
“If it is what we think it is,” Taren rumbled, his deep, resounding voice, echoing slightly in the cavern, “then that may be a very good thing.” The cavern led to a large, circular opening; with a Crystal of Life hovering to one side. But that’s not what caught Tawmis’ attention.
He pointed at a decimated, ship-wreck in the center of the clearing. The front of half of the broken ship was buried under several feet of sand. Seaweed dangled from the ship, blowing gently in the night sky, as if it had just been plucked from the ocean.
As he approached the ship, he ran his fingers along the hull. It was, as he suspected – and feared – it was the remains of the slaver ship that had been destroyed, and as a result, stranded them on the island. He pointed to the crest at the front of the ship, “The Elf Wind,” he pointed out. “Someone care to tell me how the ship that was destroyed with us on it – ended up here,” he spun in a circle, “in the middle of a rocky area, with no water around?”
“Magic,” Blaz’tik’s monotone, insectoid voice replied. “Whoever this –tic!- key master is undoubtedly –tic!- lifted the ship from the –tic!- bottom of the sea and –tic!- placed it here.”
“Why,” Tawmis shouted. “Why would someone place the ship here?”
“I can tell you,” Coy twitched his nose. “That ship wasn’t here before.”
“Clearly,” Tawmis muttered, “since that was the slave ship we got stuck on.”
“Do you think it’s a message?” Taren asked, his massive, boulder sized hands, resting on his hips.
“Or –tic!- perhaps a clue,” Blaz’tik added.
“There’s got to be a reason it’s there,” Coy hissed.
“Other than the fact that this mage is just as insane as over other mage I know?” Tawmis growled.
“No –tic!- offense, I know,” Blaz’tik said from behind Tawmis.
Tawmis spun and turned and looked at Blaz’tik, “Right. No offense intended. Again.” Tawmis walked around the ship, “Only a wizard would think that putting a ship in the middle of land is a good idea for a clue.”
Tawmis halted, coming to stand in front of Blaz’tik. “I swear, I don’t mean you, Blaz. I mean whoever this Key Keeper or whatever the ratling called him.”
“Rest assured – tic!- I still take no offense,” Blaz’tik nodded.
They each stared at the ship, shattered in the middle of the field, surrounded by rocks. The boards creaked against the gentle breeze, her tattered flag – a pine tree with two cross swords through it – flapped in the wind, as if waving to get their attention.
“There’s got to be a reason it’s there,” Coy hissed, walking around the outside of the stranded ship.
“Other than the fact that this mage is just as insane as over other mage I know?” Tawmis growled.
“No –tic!- offense, I know,” Blaz’tik said from behind Tawmis.
Tawmis spun and turned and looked at Blaz’tik, “Right. No offense intended. Again.” Tawmis walked around the ship, “Only a wizard would think that putting a ship in the middle of land is a good idea for a clue.”
Tawmis halted, coming to stand in front of Blaz’tik. “I swear, I don’t mean you, Blaz. I mean whoever this Key Keeper or whatever the ratling called him.”
“Rest assured – tic!- I still take no offense,” Blaz’tik nodded.
Tawmis screamed out suddenly. Taren rushed to his friend’s side. Tawmis continued to point. “Tell me I don’t see what I think I see.”
There was a statue, remarkable quality – which would not be entirely unusual – except that the statue was of the very captain of The Elf Wind slaver ship – Captain Bairon. Tawmis leaned close, examining the statue. “The workmanship is uncanny. You don’t suppose there was a statue of the captain aboard his own ship? I mean, that seems a little more than egotistical…”
Taren shook his head, his rumbling voice like thunder rolling across the heavens. “I fear that this was not fine workmanship that you believe it to be, my friend.”
Tawmis looked between the statue and Taren. “What do you mean? You can’t deny that whoever carved this thing did some uncanny work.”
“It’s the work of a medusa,” Taren finally said.
“Ma-what?” Tawmis turned around.
Blaz’tik came to stand close by now as well. “Such –tic!- creatures were thought to be –tic!- mythological.”
“Not so much,” Taren finally said solemnly. “On Maunlatore, where I live, the Medusa thrive… typically, deep inside caves… if they don’t get you with their poison tipped arrows… or their poison tipped nails… or the snakes on their head… there is their gaze… which,” Taren gestured towards the statue, “causes petrification – as in, changing flesh to stone.”
“So you’re about to tell me you think this Key Keeper or whatever,” Tawmis muttered, “has some kind of pet Medusa and used it to make this slaver – not that he deserved any better, being a slaver – into stone?”
“That would be my guess,” Taren nodded, looking around. “We haven’t seen any wild life turned to stone; so I suspect that the Key Master utilized the Medusa for a very specific purpose.”
“Like putting the slaver’s ship in the middle of this clearing,” Tawmis growled. “Because what would be the purpose of –“ Tawmis’ hand brushed against something. He looked. There was a note in the statue’s hand. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Tawmis reached over and unrolled the parchment, “It would seem our host has left us another clue.”
He read the note aloud:
“The second most precious thing in life for a seafaring captain is his sword, because without it he cannot command his crew. Thus, upon losing his weapon somewhere on Shipwreck beach, he lost what is most important to him: the respect of his crew.”
“It would seem –tic!-,” Blaz’tik thought aloud, “that we are to find this slaver’s sword –tic- and place it in his hand –tic!- where the note was.”
“This is getting ridiculous,” Tawmis growled. “I almost wish I was still imprisoned in Grimrock.”
Tawmis pulled the note from the statue’s hand and read it, “The second most precious thing in life for a seafaring captain is his sword, because without it he cannot command his crew. Thus, upon losing his weapon somewhere on Shipwreck beach, he lost what is most important to him: the respect of his crew.”
“It would seem –tic!-,” Blaz’tik thought aloud, “that we are to find this slaver’s sword –tic- and place it in his hand –tic!- where the note was.”
“This is getting ridiculous,” Tawmis growled as he crumbled the note. “I almost wish I was still imprisoned in Grimrock.”
Elsewhere on the island…
The tide crashed violently against the shore, and with it, more bodies and tattered remains of the slaver ship, The Elfin Wind. One of the bodies rose up, coughing and choking. It was a large, burly man, whose muscles showed signs of constant usage. His tribal markings up and down the left arm, as well as those on his forehead marked him as a barbarian from the Endless Tundra far to the northern lands.
Next to him, another body stirred; a tall man, whose long blond hair, and trimmed mustache showed he was someone of some class. On his side, a massive sword that had clearly meant something to him. He was helping a woman wearing red robes, whose blond hair and blue eyes, were striking and unusual features.
The fourth person to wash ashore was also another human, who wore slaver’s clothing. The fourth person stood up and immediately took a defensive position. “Do not try anything,” she warned, as she reached for her pouch and pulled out a crimson flask.
The large barbarian growled in response. The human with the large sword, put his hand back. “Hold,” he said to the barbarian. He looked around. “That was no natural storm that brought the ship down. And this island is not on any map that I have ever seen.”
“It was magic,” the woman in the red robes told him, still coughing and vomiting ocean water from her lungs. “I told you that I sensed magic as soon as the storm appeared.”
“If something has washed us ashore on purposes, then it is probably a fair assumption that we face a common enemy,” the human with the sword said. “Let us not fight amongst each other. There will be time to dole out justice when we are off of this cursed island. My name is Sir Karin, of the Knights of Malanian Empire.” He gestured to the woman next to him, “This is Alissa, Battle Mage of the Malanian Empire.”
The Alchemist slaver introduced herself, placing the flask back in the pouch, “My name is Jorale. I was the ship’s … alchemist.”
The barbarian grunted his introduction at last, “Stonebreak Bloodrage,” the barbarian said, introducing himself while reaching down and picking up one of the planks that had washed ashore and began smashing it and smoothing it against one of the jagged coral rocks. “I was one of her,” he stared at Jorale, “slaves, while the two of you rode on the top of the ship,” his gaze turned to Karin and Alissa.
“We didn’t know it was illegal slavers,” Sir Karin retorted, tying back his long blond hair, and stroking his mustache so that the hairs were not pointing in every direction. “They had the proper documentation when we asked…”
“Because slavers are honest people,” Stonebreak growled, slamming his newly forged club into the sand with a look of satisfaction, perhaps imagining one of them crushed beneath it, rather than the sand. As the night approached, a cold wind followed. They made a fire pit just under one of the rock outcrops, using the small cave as protection from the chilling wind.
“I am Alissa’s guardian,” Sir Karin was speaking to no one in particular; for he was never fond of silence between people. “We are Representatives of the Malanian Empire. Our wonderful and just King had sent us on a mission to Terradin, in the Western continent to open up a trade route between the two kingdoms.”
Alissa, whether she did not want to appear weak, or did not enjoy the ideal of a male escort, further explained, “The Malanian Empire is known for their research in Magic; and thus, the knowledge of their Mages is greatly prized and sought after, so far as to even attempt to abduct and,” she looked over to Jorale, “enslave us. So we are always assigned a Knight,” she gestured to Sir Karin, “to assist us in defending ourselves.”
“If your magic is so great, then why do you need protection,” Stonebreaker asked from the shadows, just beyond the camp fire’s illumination.
“Because,” Alissa replied, “despite our vast knowledge of magic; there are ways still to cancel out our magical abilities. In such instances, someone skilled with a blade,” she looked from Sir Karin to Stonebreaker in the shadows, “comes in great use, until we can step away and rechannel our magical abilities to defend ourselves.”
Jorale, the slaver, finally spoke up. “So what’s our plan on getting off this island?”
“I sensed great magic in that storm that sunk your captain’s ship,” Alissa replied. “We are not getting off this island until we deal with whatever brought us here first. So building a raft and trying to escape the island before that’s done will only result in our return to the island – or, perhaps – our demise.”
“Do you think others survived and might be on this island?” Sir Karin asked, shining his weapon which glistened under the starless night, as the flames from the camp fire danced, and send shadows frolicking against the wall.
“I did not see anyone else,” Jorale said, “when we washed ashore. If they did, they could have washed ashore on a different part of the island.”
NOTE: I liked the idea of bringing in some new classes that Pizzadude suggested; and figured I would do it – and make it four characters, so it stays sort of true to the LOG2 theme of a max of 4 characters. I also made two of them females, because an AnnElfWind had mentioned, I think in their story, their dislike of female characters; so I wanted to challenge myself and see if I could make any female characters that they might enjoy! So now the questions is – how will these two sets interact? What are the consequences of these new four people washing ashore as well? Join forces? Fight? Never meet up? I would like to say I have an idea; but I don’t. Part of this challenge is writing what comes to me without planning the next part at all. Hope you guys like the recent addition; when I get home I am going to go through the official LOG/LOG2 portraits and pick out the four (I made need to edit hair colors, but that’s no big deal).
Tawmis looked around him and heaved a deep sigh. “So we’re looking for the captain’s sword,” he muttered beneath his breath, looking around the ship. “It’s not here,” he finally concluded.
“I did find this,” Coy appeared, seemingly from the shadows, holding a shovel in his hand.
“You expect us to dig up this whole island to find this man’s sword,” Tawmis gestured to what he still believed to be a statue, and not a petrified version of the Captain of the slaver ship, The Elf Wind.
“There was this,” Coy held out a parchment, “wrapped around the handle.”
“Well, that’s certainly convenient,” Tawmis grumbled as Taren and Blaz’tik came to stand behind the Ratling.
Coy unraveled the paper, and there was a mark of a blue dot, and then a path, with some numbers. Blaz’tik recognized it immediately, “That –tic!-,” he said excitedly, “is the –tic!- life stone over there. These –tic!- must be the steps to –tic!- find the Captain’s sword.”
They followed the directions, turning at the tree, take a few more steps and coming to stand by a small mound. “It would seem,” Taren’s voice boomed, “that something is indeed buried here.” Coy handed the shovel to Taren. The massive minotaur looked down at the Ratling.
“You’re the biggest one here,” Coy shrugged. “It’s going to take you the least amount of time and effort to dig up the Captain’s sword.”
Taren’s nostrils flared. The Ratling was right. He began to dig where the mound was, and eventually the shovel struck something. The others gathered around the hole, and were amazed to see, as Taren cleared off the dirt, that it was wood.
“What now?” muttered Tawmis.
Taren continued to dig, well into the night, until what he had uncovered was a coffin.
“This doesn’t bode well,” Tawmis said aloud. “I mean, who puts a coffin in the middle of an island with a map to dig it up?”
“Wizards,” Blaz’tik answered before Tawmis could accuse the mages.
“That’s right,” Tawmis couldn’t help but smile at Blaz’tik’s answer.
“It could be –tic!- trapped,” Blaz’tik noted, looking over at Coy.
“You want me to jump down that hole and check if a coffin is trapped?” Coy asked in disbelief.
“You are the stealthiest one,” Taren smiled, seeing Coy squirm uncomfortably. “It’s going to take you the least amount of time to see if it’s trapped.”
Coy, if he could, would have rolled his eyes, as he had seen Tawmis do plenty of times; instead, his whiskers twitched in annoyance. Taren lowered Coy into the rather deep hole. Coy ran his thin fingers around the edges, and sniffed for explosive powder. He looked up, “Nothing! Now get me out of this hole!”
Taren extended his arm and helped Coy out. “You seem unusually timid around coffins,” Tawmis noted.
“Just because my people are like the rats of your cities, does not mean we enjoy being around the dead,” Coy said, “especially, if you have seen what I’ve seen.” Coy, uncharacteristically, shuddered.
Taren jumped down and opened the coffin, expecting a stench and decaying body; there was a stench, but it was something that he had smelled before. But there was no body, just a pair of robes, of a pale green color.
“I know those robes,” Tawmis said, “and that odor. The odor is embalming fluid. Those robes are ones traditionally worn by embalmers in the temples.”
Blaz’tik shrugged, “I –tic!- would wear them,” he pulled on his current, tattered rags, “over –tic!- these robes.” Taren reached down into the coffin and pulled out the robes and handed them to Blaz’tik.
“So where’s the sword?” Tawmis suddenly realized. “I thought that’s why we dug this hole up?”
“We –tic!- assumed that the –tic!- sword was here,” Blaz’tik countered, as he slid the embalmer’s robes on.
“That would have been too easy,” Tawmis finally said and sat down on the mound of freshly dug dirt.
Elsewhere on the island…
Sir Karin hacked away at the brush before him, his massive sword, glistening beneath the stars as branches snapped and broke before his wrath. “What kind of island has such a dense forest?” He complained as he knelt down to breath for a moment, leaning heavily on his long sword. Stonebreaker was smashing branches with his massive club, showing no signs of slowing down, despite being significantly older than Sir Karin.
Stonebreaker’s next smash opened up a pathway.
“He’s old,” Jorale whispered to Alissa, “but those muscles are fun to watch.”
Alissa blanched at the thought. “He’s a primitive man.”
Jorale smiled, “That’s all you need under the tent; a good, strong, primitive man, that knows how to swing his club.”
Alissa turned her head, as if exposed to a horrid odor.
Sir Karin stepped through the clearing first, while Stonebreaker examined the damage done to his club, by the relentless destruction to the odd trees. “There’s a sign,” Sir Karin called out behind him, “It appears this forest is known as Twigroot. There’s also a satchel, and,” he paused, “a dead body next to it.”
He kneeled down and took the satchel and opened it. “This might do you some good,” he handed the rolled parchment to Jorale. “It would seem our deceased friend here was an Alchemist, much like you. By the looks of it, stranded on this island for some time.”
“It appears,” Jorale confirmed, scanning the parchment, “that they had noted what plants were poisonous or not, and even how to make a mending potion with some of the components on the island.”
“That will come in useful no doubt,” Alissa noted, noting that the hike through the condensed trees had broken two of her finger nails, which had been decorated with flecks of gold.
“The body needs no such healing,” Stonebreaker grunted from the back. His rippling muscles were adorned in hundreds – if not thousands – of various scars and battle wounds. “Such dependencies make the body weaker, more reliant on such things.”
Sir Karin looked from Stonebreaker to Jorale, and then down the path. “I suppose we should press on down this path. At least that means less hacking away at trees.”
“Yes,” Alissa said as they began, “but one must wonder what killed the man…”
“I know those robes,” Tawmis said, “and that odor. The odor is embalming fluid. Those robes are ones traditionally worn by embalmers in the temples.”
Blaz’tik shrugged, “I –tic!- would wear them,” he pulled on his current, tattered rags, “over –tic!- these robes.” Taren reached down into the coffin and pulled out the robes and handed them to Blaz’tik.
“So where’s the sword?” Tawmis suddenly realized. “I thought that’s why we dug this hole up?”
“We –tic!- assumed that the –tic!- sword was here,” Blaz’tik countered, as he slid the embalmer’s robes on.
“That would have been too easy,” Tawmis finally said and sat down on the mound of freshly dug dirt.
“Over here,” came the rumbling voice of Taren. Tawmis looked across the field, and with the moon watching over them, could see Taren’s massive form.
“What is it?” Tawmis called out. “Another mound? Another coffin? Another statue?” His sarcasm carried on his voice over the quiet night.
Taren turned his head slightly, “It would seem the Island Master has another riddle in mind.”
Tawmis, Blaz’tik (wearing his new robes, and observing how they glistened in the dark night) and Coy made their way to stand next to Taren. “What is this?” Tawmis blurted out loud, gesturing to the square stones on the ground.
“I believe –tic!- it is another riddle, as the minotaur said,” Blaz’tik commented.
Tawmis eyed Blaz’tik from the corner of his eye. As an insectoid, Blaz’tik wasn’t able to fluctuate his voice or even smile; but Tawmis got the impression the insectoid was indeed trying to be funny.
It was three rows of three square stones, in the form of a larger square. “We’re supposed to figure out what to do with this?” Tawmis asked, looking at the others. He turned and faced Blaz’tik, “Can you magic something? Get a tingly sensation? Maybe a clue?”
“I sense no magic vibrating from these stones,” Blaz’tik confessed immediately.
Coy was looking at the edge of one of the squares. “There’s gears. I can hear them. These are pressure plates.”
“So we step on the wrong one and potentially meet a painful death,” Tawmis muttered beneath his breath. He was about to say something about Mages; but looked over at Blaz’tik and silenced himself before the words came out of his mouth.
“What if these are all linked?” Taren asked.
Tawmis looked at his best friend, “What do you mean?”
“We’re looking for the Captain’s sword,” Taren explained. “The note made references to the love of the sea and commanding his crew. So what if this,” he gestured, “what if this is where ‘X’ marks the spot?”
“I’m not following you,” Tawmis replied, raising an eye brow questioningly.
“Put a stone, heavy enough to trigger the pressure plate on these two corners and one in the center – it would form an ‘X’ like on a map,” Taren explained.
“That sounds almost entirely too logical to be right,” Tawmis said.
“Have you any other ideas?” Taren smiled, his teeth glistening in the moonlight.
Tawmis stood there for a moment and finally said, “Come to think of it, no.”
As they set the last stone in the center, Tawmis closed his eyes – expecting death to come in the form of some fireball or other magical means. After a few moments, he opened his right eye and looked around – they were all still standing there – alive. He opened his other eye and smiled when he saw a door that they had not noticed was now open.
“Well,” he said, as if he had always believed this plan would work, “now we’re getting somewhere.”
Elsewhere on the island…
Uncomfortable about traveling into the unknown, and unusually thick woods, Sir Karin had recommended making camp at the mouth of the cave that had led them into the Twigroot Forest. Jorale agreed to the idea, wanting to take the time to go through the journal that they had recovered from the deceased person that they had found. Such knowledge would be useful to an alchemist such as herself. Alissa seemed to care neither way; she was primarily concerned with getting off the island and completing her mission to Terradin, in the Western continent to open up a trade route between the two kingdom as her King has requested of her. After all, she felt that anything that was on this island was not up to facing a trained mage from the Malanian Empire. Stonebreaker sighed at the idea of needing rest, but agreed. He immediately offered to take the final watch.
When Sir Karin woke up, he could smell fresh meat cooking. He sat up and saw Stonebreaker sitting by the campfire. “What did you hunt?”
“Hunt?” Stonebreaker turned. “Why hunt when there was good meat here?”
“Good meat?” Sir Karin rubbed his eyes. He then noticed that a skull hung from Stonebreaker’s belt that he had not noticed before. “Where did you get…”
Suddenly Sir Karin sat up. “By the Sha-Raessh Serpent! You’re cooking the dead man! And you have his skull on your belt!”
Stonebreaker seemed unaffected by Sir Karin’s accusations as the others began to awake. “I carry his skull because my people believe that if we take the skulls of those who have fallen; we carry them with us, gaining their strength, insight and wisdom. This man was clearly a wise man, from what he noted in his journal. Carrying his spirit with us seems to be a wise choice. As for cooking his flesh,” Stonebreaker continued, “it is better than it feeds us, who respects what he once was, rather than savage animals who would disrespect his body.”
Alissa looked over at Jorale, “Still think he would be good under the covers?”
Jorale smiled, “More convinced than ever,” she smiled.
Alissa should have known. Jorale was a slaver. Not a civilized person.
The Origin of Sir Karin and Alissa, Part One.
“I really wish you would reconsider,” the knight adorned in the armor of the Malanian Empire said, voicing his concern as he rode on his white horse. He looked back at the woman in red robes, riding her black horse.
“It is the only way to continue my education in magic,” the blond woman replied, casting a glance at the knight, and adding, “and you did not have to come, Sir Karin.” She spoke the words with annoyance, and emphasis on his name.
“Lady Alissa,” he said after taking a deep breath, “I understand that you do not wish an escort to Theareona.”
Before the knight could complete his sentence, she cut him off, “Because I am more than capable of taking care of myself, Sir Karin. While I may not be a Mage of the High Order – yet –,“ she emphasized, “I am able to cast spells that would defend myself from any attackers and reduce any foolish enough to try and lay a hand on me to babbling fools. I have more than simple ‘tricks’ at my disposal.”
“I am not questioning your abilities or powers,” Sir Karin continued his previous thought, addressing Lady Alissa’s concerns. “But the Mages of Malanian are highly sought after, because of the sheer power you possess. All mages are assigned a knight in their life, to escort them and assist them, in the event we are needed. I am to lay down my life for you, if it calls for it, and I would do so with great pride. These are the orders of my king; and I follow the orders of our glorious and wonderful king,” Sir Karin replied, riding alongside her.
“Licking the feet of the king, like a loyal dog,” she muttered beneath her breath, as she pulled the red hood over her head. The words did not go unheard; nor did Sir Karin think they were meant to go unheard. “Do not treat me like a fool, Sir Karin,” Alissa snarled from beneath her red hood. “You know who I am.”
“I do,” Sir Karin nodded, “Lady Alissa, daughter of King Saric; king and just ruler of the Malanian Empire.” He smiled, at her though she returned his smile with a scowl of her own. “All the more reason,” he explained, “that it is important that I ride with you. As the daughter of the glorious King Saric, you are a prize to many who would seek to hold you for ransom, or do worse to you, just to strike at King Saric.” He paused for a moment, “And you know, just as well as I do, despite the combined efforts of both Mages and Knights, the very woods that surround our kingdom is full of danger; especially the forest Ogres.”
Alissa sighed. “I suppose I should be thankful that you stepped up to escort me. As I understand it, my father was going to send Boris Thunkal of the King’s Men to escort me. (1) I cannot stand that man. He’s a brute – and the way he looks at me, is no way any man should look at royalty – or any woman, for that matter.”
“I am all too familiar with Boris Thunkal,” Sir Karin said, smiling, seeing that Alissa was at least – for now – speaking more candidly and the edge in her voice had dulled. “Both of us had applied to become a King’s Man at the same time. I suspect the day we were to report to your father, to apply, he had several thugs attack me in an alleyway, preventing me from reporting to your father, and so he was selected over me. I then ventured into simply remaining a Knight. I too, have spoken to your father, about Boris Thunkal, and his questionable actions. I have seen him at The Fallen Star; which is a place of questionable reputation and riff-raff… and he wasn’t there to arrest people, but to partake in some of its … activities.”
Alissa shuddered, “I knew there was something off about him.”
Sir Karin pulled the reigns on his horse, bringing it to a halt. He slid off the horse with great ease, despite the full set of armor. He began unraveling the latches on the side of the saddle. “This is a good place to camp for now.”
Alissa looked around once, and agreed.
The Origin of Sir Karin and Alissa, Part Two.
Sir Karin pulled the reigns on his horse, bringing it to a halt. He slid off the horse with great ease, despite the full set of armor. He began unraveling the latches on the side of the saddle. “This is a good place to camp for now.”
Alissa looked around once, and agreed.
Sir Karin had gathered dry and brittle wood, but never wandering far enough that Alissa was not within his sight. As the embers chased one another into the sky, casting shadows against the trees, Sir Karin sifted through the burning wood with the tip of his sword. “May I ask,” he began, his eyes focused on the flames, before finally looking up to meet her steel gaze, “what made you want to become a Mage?”
“Because it was the only way to escape the thumb of my father’s coddling,” Alissa shrugged. “He would never let me do anything – and certainly,” she looked at Sir Karin’s sword as it stabbed the wood, whose embers burned red, like blood, “never let me learn something like a sword. So I lied. I told my father that I was going to the Great Library to study about history; in truth, I studied nothing but magic, day in and day out, until I felt that my eyes closed because they could bare to not read another word.”
“Most,” Sir Karin shrugged, pulling his sword from the crimson embers, “would die to have the life you had; to be the daughter of royalty, to be doted upon, to have whatever your heart desired.”
“That’s just it,” Alissa growled defensively, “I did not want to be doted upon. I wanted to earn the things that were given to me. Do you realize –“ she began, then halted, calming herself, once she felt the anger burning like the fire that warmed her, “My childhood was horrible. Children were envious of me. None wanted to be my friend. They gathered in circles and whispered vile things, as most children do. But I was exiled by those I sought to be friends. Those that did dare to become friends, were quickly scared away, by words whispered by their parents; that if I was ever to get angry at them, my father would hang them and their family – even if that wasn’t true.”
“I had not considered that,” Sir Karin nodded, his gaze lost in the flames of the fire. He looked up at her, “My apologies, Lady Alissa. I was inconsiderate of your own feelings, and sought to turn you back from something you desired. I hope, I can ride with you, from this moment forward, not as your guardian, but your friend.”
“My friend,” Alissa whispered the words, now it was her gaze that was lost in the flames; the flickering fire reflected in her eyes, piercing deep into her soul, where for many years now, there was no trace of warmth. She shook her head after a long moment, “I wish I could believe you,” her gaze lifted to meet his, “but I see what you’ve done. You pried and found a weakness in my armor, and now, to better serve the king you so faithfully follow – my father – you seek to adjust your ‘quest’ with kind words of offered friendship knowing I was never given such as a childhood. Clever,” she sneered, “I almost believed you – if but for one small moment. You,” she said, as she laid down and pulled her bedroll over her, “should truly look into joining a Thieves Guild, rather than the Knighthood – because you make an excellent liar… and know how to backstab with the best of them.”
Sir Karin reached out – he wanted to say something – but he knew there was no way to convince her. She was, he had found, very stubborn. He had sincerely met his words of friendship. He clenched his teeth for a moment, and poked the fire with his sword again, sending ashes and embers flying towards the stars.
The Origin of Sir Karin and Alissa, Part Three.
Sir Karin was a knight of the Malanian Empire, who faithfully served the king. Assigned to escort Lady Alissa, an aspiring mage, and also daughter to the king, on her voyage to Theareona. Lady Alissa was unlike any other woman; especially a princess. She despised being dotted upon. She believed she was capable of doing anything any other female – or male – could do. So while she had no personal dislike towards Sir Karin, she could not help but feel he was hired as a baby sitter.
The last few days of riding had been spent in silence. Every time Sir Karin spoke, she looked at him with a scathing look, then silenced him. He had tried to apologize several times, about their previous conversation; but she would not have it.
The city of Theareona came into view on the seventh day of riding, and that was when she finally spoke. She looked over her shoulder, “I thank you for your service, Sir Karin. You are free to ride back to the king,” she spoke not her father’s name. “Your duty to me is complete.” It was cold and callous, and said in such a way that she was making it clear that she no longer wanted him around, and that she was giving him an easy out.
Sir Karin smiled weakly, “Of course, Lady Alissa. May the gods watch over you. I am sure the Mages of Theareona will see the great potential you possess.” He pulled on the reigns of his horse and began a slow trot back to Malan Tael.
Lady Alissa urged her horse forward, never looking back.
The gates of Theareona were made of ivory and stone, depicting two great warriors engaged in battle with one another, towering over thirty feet tall. Inside the city gates, the town bustled with activity, with merchants on the sides of the cobble stone road, shouting about their wares and goods. Lady Alissa made her way to the Tower of the Magi Order, where she was greeted by a mage in dark blue robes.
“Lady Alissa?” the mage smiled, his face hidden beneath the shadows of the cowl.
“I am,” she said, proudly, dismounting from her horse, as the mage signaled for another to come around and take its reins.
“We’ve been expecting you,” the mage continued to smile. “It’s such a great honor to have such… royalty among our kind.” He bowed before her, “Follow me, if you will,” and he began to walk down the same alley that the other mage had taken her horse.
“There is no need to bow before me,” Lady Alissa said, with some urgency. “While I may be royalty, here, among all of you, I am just another mage.”
A few steps into the alley, the mage turned, “You are much more than that.”
The mage pulled off the robes, and revealed black leather with a serpent head emblem on his chest. Lady Alissa smiled. “Serpents of Harbardar,” she smiled smugly, leaving the rogue wondering why she was not surprised. “You have underestimated me,” she growled, “and were fools to think that I wouldn’t notice that your robes were missing the distinct mark of the Tower of Magi – the Dawn Star emblem – which can’t be duplicated, since it’s magical. And I recognized your accent the moment you spoke, and knew who you were.”
Her hands began to glow, as silver and red energies crackled around her clenched fists. Bolts flew from her arched finger tips striking the rogue, and the second who had taken her horse. Their lifeless bodies collapsed to the ground.
“Impressive work,” another voice said from behind her. She turned to see ten more of the Serpents of Harbardar standing there – and in the clutches of one of the men, with a dagger to his throat, was Sir Karin. “But,” he looked at the knight, who already looked as if he had been severely beaten. “We found someone that you know. Come with us peacefully, or we kill this knight.”
Sir Karin laughed feebly, blood pouring out of his mouth, “You’ve made a mistake, Serpent of Harbardar… she cares nothing for me… at all… she could not get rid of me… fast enough…”
“So you said,” the Serpent of Harbardar said. “Then, let’s just slit his throat and see how this fight between us goes…”
“If you kill him, and harm me, you will bring the wrath of the entire Theareona upon Harbardar,” Alissa warned.
“You think the Serpent of Harbardar fear your aging father?” the leader smiled. “We already have agents within your kingdom. Your father lives, only because I need him to live… When the time is right, the Serpents of Harbardar will sink their blades into your father’s back with our venom tipped blade… and his kingdom will fall.”
“You’re lying,” Lady Alissa’s lip curled in anger.
“Try me,” the leader shrugged. “Attack me, bring me down – see how much longer your father lives beyond that moment.”
“Swear to me upon the Constellation of Searar that you will not harm the knight if I surrender to you,” Lady Alissa said.
“No,” Sir Karin muttered, barely conscious.
“So the Knight is something to you,” the leader smiled.
“He is a loyal knight to my father, nothing more,” Alissa said.
“No,” Sir Karin fell to his knees as the leader released him from his hold. “Alissa, you must not…”
“I have no choice,” she said, “if I fight they kill you and my father.” She looked at the leader. “What is it you want with me?”
“Your blood,” he said, matter-of-factly. “As it turns out, you come from a long line of powerful Magi,” the leader explained. “And we have need of your blood.”
She extended her hands, and several rogues moved forward – admittedly – hesitantly – towards Alissa and bound her hands and fingers, so that she could not use her magic.
The leader turned and pointed to the Knight, “Bring him along. He will be a wonderful addition to the slave mines.”
“No!” Alissa shouted, “you promised me.”
“I promised he would come to no harm,” the leader smirked. “As long as he does what he’s told in the slave mines, he should live long enough.”
The Serpent Wave cut through the dark waters, as the storm raged.
“I am sorry for this,” Sir Karin muttered, barely able to breath, without the bubbling sound brewing in his lungs.
“You had nothing to do with this,” Alissa said, looking down at the Knight whose face was covered in cuts and bruises. “What happened to you?”
“They ambushed me,” Sir Karin said. “A wagon was broken down on the side, with a woman screaming for help… when I dismounted, they came at me from every side… I cut down six… maybe seven… before one cut me… and the poison took away my strength… when I fell, they circled me, laughing, and beat and kicked me until I lost consciousness…”
“If I could get my hands free, I could heal these wounds,” Alissa said, looking at Sir Karin, perhaps for the first time, with sympathy. “Does it hurt?”
“Only when I breathe, my lady,” Sir Karin managed to smile, blood bubbling on his lips. “If you could do something about the storm, that, I would like to see…”
Alissa smiled, “Dargos, the Storm God, certainly seems upset about something…”
“May the Dargos strike this ship down and render it into a thousand pieces,” Sir Karin muttered. “Both to send these bastard Serpents of Harbardar to the ocean floor and to spare you whatever fate they have in store for you.”
She smiled, “And you? Are you not afraid of the slave pits?”
“Slave pits? You’ve worked for your father,” he jested. “Slave pits on Harbardar may be a vacation.”
She laughed, despite the dire situation; or perhaps because of the dire situation. “You would never speak so if you believed for a moment you were going to live through any of this.”
Sir Karin chuckled. “Perhaps not.”
A loud crackle forced them both to jump, as the sounds of panic began to escalate on the deck. “Dargos?” Alissa asked.
“Dargos,” Sir Karin confirmed with a smirk. “It would seem if the storm god does not like Searar’s followers.”
“And with good reason,” Alissa smirked.
They both knew, that tonight, they were going to die. The sound of the mast above snapping ripped through the ship. The screams of panic decreased, as bodies were washed ashore and pulled beneath the giant waves that now slammed the Serpent Wave.
“It was an honor serving you, Lady Alissa,” Sir Karin whispered.
“I wish I could say the same about your company,” she shrugged. “You were bothersome.”
He laughed.
The ship ripped in half, and a current pulled Sir Karin away, into the ocean, while another tide slammed Alissa into the side, rendering her – perhaps – thankfully – unconscious.
Sir Karin opened his eyes to warmth. But the ground he was laying on was still not stable. He squinted, still beaten and bruised. A woman leaned over him, “This one’s still got life in him. Take him down below so that Jorale can look at him. He might be happy to know that the woman we found floating in the same wreckage is also alive. They both seem to be from the Malanian Empire by the markings they bare.”
Another? Sir Karin couldn’t help but hope that it was Alissa…
The woman smiled – though not with kindness, and she spoke the words, “Welcome about the Elfin Wind.”
NOTES: Harbardar , the city exists (if you look on the bottom left hand corner of the map, on that continent you see peeking out), however, The Serpents of Harbardar are completely made up for this story. They don’t exist in the actual Legend of Grimrock game. Neither do the gods (I don’t think any gods are ever mentioned in Legend of Grimrock?) – Searar, the Serpent God (and God of Lies and Thieves) or Dargos, The Storm God (and God of the Oceans).
Posted Mon Jun 06, 2016 5:33 pm
The Origin of Jorale and Stonebreaker Bloodrage
Two weeks before the rescue of Sir Karin and Alissa…
The Elfin Wind cut through the seas, the bow of her ship, like an arrow, striking true and hard against the waves that slammed against her. The ocean breeze was refreshing, as the wind whipped around. “Zarakour favors us,” Jorale smiled as the mist from the colliding waves gently sprayed her face. She could taste the salt on her lips, said to be from the tears of Dargos himself, when his daughter was murdered.
“It’s best Zarakour keeps his scaly eyes upon us, and keeps us hidden from Dargos’ view,” Bairon, the captain of the Elfin Wind cautioned.
The story, Jorale had heard, went that Dargos, the God of the Seas, had a young daughter named Eillenna. One night, she had wandered in the Heavens and was spied upon by Zarakour, the god of the Zarchtons, who grabbed a star and threw it through her. The fallen star pierced her chest, and send her heart plunging to the world below. When Dargos found his daughter, he wept so much that once desert lands, were flooded, and the oceans were made. Now, Dargos is furious against those who have evil in their hearts; so those that sail the seas, cleanse their hearts and souls before taking to the seas.
Only those, with less than good intentions in their heart, called upon Zarakour to hide them from Dargos as they traveled the sea; for fear that the Sea God would crush their ship and send them to the ocean depths below.
The wind had a touch of chill that made their cheeks rosy red. “We’re getting close to Icefall Bay,” Captain Bairon said.
“It will be a long sail back to Sanchi,” Jorale noted, having been on the ship for several weeks. While the Elfin Wind was primarily a slave ship, headed to the Icefall Bay to gather barbarian slaves, Jorale took the journey as well, since there were ingredients that were unique in Icefall Bay, needed for her alchemy. She pulled her black robes tightly around her as another cool breeze opened. Captain Bairon stared at her and smiled. It had been a long voyage, and Jorale, despite her… interests… she was a very beautiful and striking woman. He slid his arm around her and gave her a knowing smile. Captain Bairon was not an attractive man. He had a scar down his right eye that came across both lips, giving him almost a snake like appearance. He was missing several fingers on his right hand, both from battles and various rotting diseases. Still, this was much easier for her to endure his touch, rather than pay for the months of voyage that it would cost to gather these ingredients.
After an all too brief session, Jorale put her robes on and left the slumbering captain in his cabin. One of his crew gave her a knowing smile as she walked by.
A few short days later, the bells rang aboard the Elfin Wind, as the ship crashed through thin layers of ice of the Icefall Bay. Several men, adorned in thick furs, and baring the symbol of Sanchi Kingdom disembarked from the ship, followed by several figures in the yellow and black adorned robes of the Sanchi Mages.
On an icy ledge, age old eyes stared down at the ship. This was not a strange sight. They had seen this ship many times. Stonebreaker Bloodrage growled. He pulled the horn from his hip and sounded the alarm. Barbarians of the Icefall Bay had been watching the ship’s approach for days, as it struggled to cut through the ice around the bay. The last time the slave ship had come, their warriors and mages tried to cross the frozen bay, and the barbarians hurled large rocks down the hills, and that were too heavy for the ice to sustain, and crackled, sending hundreds of armored men and mages, to a freezing death at the bay’s frozen bottom. The slavers had learned their lesson and got their ships as close as they could so that crossing the frozen bay was not such a far distance to land.
The barbarians hid in the snow, waiting for the slavers to struggle against the deep snow, and would tire themselves out before the barbarians launched their attack. When the armored men were in position, near the crest of the frozen hill, Stonebreaker gave the signal and the barbarians sprung up from the snow behind them, cutting down the dangerous mages first, and disorienting the armored soldiers who now had to try and turn in the snow, while wearing heavy metal armor. The barbarians cut through the mages, then pushed whatever warriors they could, over, then sprung on top of them, removed their faceplates and crushed the men’s faces.
“The savages have learned,” Jorale noted with some interest, “since our last visit here.”
“You sound like you admire that,” Captain Bairon looked at her strangely. “They actually present a legitimate threat to us.”
“I do admire them,” Jorale said with a shrug, not an ounce of fear or concern in her voice. “I truly thought these barbarians were simple animals. This is an interesting turn of events…”
NOTE: As noted previously, LOG has never made mention of gods; so Dargos, and his daughter, Eillenna, and the lore behind her fate, and how the oceans came to be, as well as the god of the Zarchtons being named Zarakour, is all strictly made up for this story and is not in any way associated to anything in the games. (In case you’re wondering if you missed something in the games). It’s just me, alibiing some lore to give the stories more depth. Hopefully you’ve enjoyed these little lore additions.
Posted Tue Jun 21, 2016 5:58 pm
The Origin of Jorale and Stonebreaker Bloodrage, Part Two
Two weeks before the rescue of Sir Karin and Alissa…
On an icy ledge, age old eyes stared down at the ship. This was not a strange sight. They had seen this ship many times. Stonebreaker Bloodrage growled. He pulled the horn from his hip and sounded the alarm. Barbarians of the Icefall Bay had been watching the ship’s approach for days, as it struggled to cut through the ice around the bay. The last time the slave ship had come, their warriors and mages tried to cross the frozen bay, and the barbarians hurled large rocks down the hills, and that were too heavy for the ice to sustain, and crackled, sending hundreds of armored men and mages, to a freezing death at the bay’s frozen bottom. The slavers had learned their lesson and got their ships as close as they could so that crossing the frozen bay was not such a far distance to land.
The barbarians hid in the snow, waiting for the slavers to struggle against the deep snow, and would tire themselves out before the barbarians launched their attack. When the armored men were in position, near the crest of the frozen hill, Stonebreaker gave the signal and the barbarians sprung up from the snow behind them, cutting down the dangerous mages first, and disorienting the armored soldiers who now had to try and turn in the snow, while wearing heavy metal armor. The barbarians cut through the mages, then pushed whatever warriors they could, over, then sprung on top of them, removed their faceplates and crushed the men’s faces.
“The savages have learned,” Jorale noted with some interest, “since our last visit here.”
“You sound like you admire that,” Captain Bairon looked at her strangely. “They actually present a legitimate threat to us.”
“I do admire them,” Jorale said with a shrug, not an ounce of fear or concern in her voice. “I truly thought these barbarians were simple animals. This is an interesting turn of events…”
“Well, admire this,” Captain Bairon growled. He turned to his left, “Bring the ships into the bay. Load the cannons. We will teach these savages what we come with.”
The boom of cannons rang deafeningly through the air. Frozen ice shattered, and barbarians that were lunging forward, spears and clubs in hand, massacring all who stood in their way, were now being flung far and wide. Death came fast and furious from an unseen enemy as cannon balls decimated all in their path; friend and foe alike.
An hour later, Captain Bairon led his men on land, who rummaged through the bodies; killing those who were too severely wounded to be of any use; whether former members of Captain Bairon’s crew or intended for slavery. He would “mourn” the dead who “died valiantly” against a barbaric horde of savages; which would inspire others to join Captain Bairon’s crew in the name of glory, which would then refill the ranks of those that perished.
Slavery was a ruthless business, and few were more cold and callous than Bairon. But there was one, that even he felt lacked any form of soul – but she was astoundingly beautiful – and knew how to use that beauty – and that was the woman who seemed to glide next to him, Jorale, the alchemist.
Captain Bairon had met Jorale when he docked in Nothampton, and paid a visit to the local alchemist store that had been owned by Arigana. He was surprised when Arigana was not in the store, and this young, striking woman was – who claimed to be the granddaughter of Arigana. Though, through all the years that Captain Bairon had traveled to Nothampton, not once had Arigana ever made mention of a husband, a daughter, or a granddaughter. Captain Bairon was no fool; he knew Jorale was lying. But she was beautiful, and she seduced him; and he discovered, alchemy may be one of her greatest tricks, but paled in comparison to the passion and things she could do in the privacy of a bedroom.
Two of his men broke him out of his reverie he was feeling, thinking of the voyage back and how she would keep him warm on those long, cold nights aboard the ship, as she had done on the way to Icefall Bay. “We’ve captured their chief,” one of the men dropped the massive, nearly eight foot tall barbarian face down in the snow. Around his fallen body, the snow turned a soft shade of pink as the blood seeped out of several of his gaping wounds.
Captain Bairon shook his head. “Shame he’s bleeding out everywhere…”
“He killed sixteen of our men before we could take him down,” the second man said, staring, still shell shocked, at the fallen savage.
“He’s too wounded. He would be dead before the night’s fall. Put the savage out of his misery, but keep his head. I will put it on the bow of the ship,” Captain Bairon sighed.
“No,” Jorale said, whispering, but her voice seemed to reach each of the men in their head. “Allow me to apply some alchemy solutions. I do believe I can save this man’s life. Then he will fetch us a great fortune.”
“Us?” Captain Bairon turned to face Jorale. “You are merely a passenger on this voyage. An observer. And a nice roll in the covers. There is no ‘us.’”
“You misunderstand me,” Jorale bowed slight, “I mean ‘us’ as in the crew. If people hear of our ability to capture the savage’s chief – it will raise your worth, and be a victory for us all.”
She was a snake. Captain Bairon knew it. But the way she smiled. He couldn’t help it. He should kill her now. She was going to prove to be deadly. But… she was so good at what she did… Just one more night he would let her live.
Just like he told himself for the last sixteen nights…
Posted Tue Jun 28, 2016 4:00 pm
This story brings up and ties into the final origin of Sir Karin & Alissa… bringing these six together…
The Origin of Jorale and Stonebreaker Bloodrage, Part Three
“He’s too wounded. He would be dead before the night’s fall. Put the savage out of his misery, but keep his head. I will put it on the bow of the ship,” Captain Bairon sighed.
“No,” Jorale said, whispering, but her voice seemed to reach each of the men in their head. “Allow me to apply some alchemy solutions. I do believe I can save this man’s life. Then he will fetch us a great fortune.”
“Us?” Captain Bairon turned to face Jorale. “You are merely a passenger on this voyage. An observer. And a nice roll in the covers. There is no ‘us.’”
“You misunderstand me,” Jorale bowed slight, “I mean ‘us’ as in the crew. If people hear of our ability to capture the savage’s chief – it will raise your worth, and be a victory for us all.”
She was a snake. Captain Bairon knew it. But the way she smiled. He couldn’t help it. He should kill her now. She was going to prove to be deadly. But… she was so good at what she did… Just one more night he would let her live.
Just like he told himself for the last sixteen nights on the way to the Icefall Bay.
On the way back, she had spent her nights below quarters, among the slaves. Captain Bairon checked on her each and every night, hoping she would come up and lay with him, but instead she tended to the barbarian chief.
On the fourth night, the bell in the crow’s nest began to ring violently, waking Captain Bairon from his sleep. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, seeing that once again, Jorale was not at his side.
Captain Bairon slid on his black, leather boots and stormed to the top of the deck. “What is it?”
“There,” one of his men pointed out in the ocean. Fragments of a ship, sundered to a thousand pieces, floated adrift. The mast of the shattered ship, dipped in and out of the ocean, her flags drenched in blood. “Serpents of Harbardar,” the man said, shuddering. The Serpents of Harbardar were slavers, much like those aboard the Elfin Wind; but the Serpents of Harbardar frequently tortured those that they thought were too weak to fetch significant coin, and throw the dead or dying bodies over the edge of their ship to honor their god, Searar, the Serpent God, who is said to be a giant snake that lives in the darkest reaches of the ocean’s bottom.
“We have someone alive,” another person shouted from the edge. “There. Look.”
Captain Bairon signaled his men to throw a line down and fetch what appeared to be a woman. Two men tied themselves to the rope and dove into the water. The rest of the men hauled them back, and they saw it was a woman. Captain Bairon kneeled down and looked at the blond woman. “She’s royalty,” Captain Bairon muttered. “Malanian Empire, by the clothes she wears. We can return her and fetch a high price. Put her up in one of the rooms. Take good care of her. Do not let her below decks. She must not know we’re slavers.”
“Another one!” a crew member shouted.
“Potentially from the Malanian Empire as well,” Captain Bairon smiled. While Jorale had not laid with him for several days; that seemed to drift to the back of his mind as he thought of the money he was about to make. They pulled the next survivor, which was a man, dressed in leathers, but also bore the mark of the Malanian Empire.
That man was Sir Karin.He opened his eyes to warmth. But the ground he was laying on was still not stable. He squinted, still beaten and bruised. A woman leaned over him, “This one’s still got life in him. Take him down below so that Jorale can look at him. He might be happy to know that the woman we found floating in the same wreckage is also alive. They both seem to be from the Malanian Empire by the markings they bare.”
Another? Sir Karin couldn’t help but hope that it was Alissa…
The woman smiled – though not with kindness, and she spoke the words, “Welcome about the Elfin Wind.”
Posted Tue Jun 28, 2016 4:47 pm
So since the previous story brought Sir Karin & Alissa together with Jorale & Stonebreaker…
I thought why not bring all six of them together (since they were all aboard the same ship when it went down) with Tawmis, Coy, Blaz’tik and Taren…
And explain it…
So there’s the segment with Captain Bairon and how he acquires our original heroes…
And then I had to dig up some of the older story segments to add at the bottom to piece it together…
And with this… we resume the current story with where everyone was left off at… Which I will probably need to do a refresher for (anyone reading this as well as myself!)…
Captain Bairon looked at Jorale, who had not slept with him now for several days, preferring the company of the barbarian chief that they had enslaved. She claimed she was “nursing him back to health” to fetch a higher profit, but at night, Captain Bairon heard her moans; he knew them well. He knew that she had been doing more than tending to his wounds. He approached her and said, “We are going to be stopping in Nothampton. Do you need to go by your alchemy store?”
Jorale shook her head, “No, I sold the store when we left. I will stay aboard the ship when we dock.”
Captain Bairon knew why she wanted to remain aboard the ship. “Fine,” he said, his words were intended to cut like a dagger; but she cared little for what he thought, so she kindly offered a false smile.
When the Elfin Wind docked, Captain Bairon walked through the streets of Nothampton and noticed that there was a noticeable amount of energy and people gathered and talking. He made his way to the Broken Dagger; a bar of some questionable establishment. Even there, everyone seemed unusually excited. Captain Bairon leaned on the bar and ordered a drink. When the bartender came and delivered his drink, Captain Bairon asked, “What’s all the excitement?”
“Have you not heard?” the bartender asked. “About the explosion?”
“Explosion?” Captain Bairon sipped his drink. “What explosion?”
“Grimrock,” the bartender replied. “It exploded. Caused massive damage and shockwaves.”
“Grimrock… exploded…” That seemed so unlikely; impossible to comprehend. “The prison? That Mount Grimrock?”
“One and the same,” the bartender assured him.
“How?” Captain Bairon stammered for words. This was certainly not what he had expected to hear. Being out to sea, the roar of the ocean, had covered any chance of hearing the explosion, if it did indeed explode.
“Well, no one knows for sure,” the bartender admitted. “However, there were what appears to be four survivors – people are saying they’re the ones who made the mountain explode. Some slavers docked with the survivors – they were supposedly found around the Great Lake. The slavers intend to sell them for a high price – as ‘the destroyers of Grimrock.’ I can’t help but imagine that would fetch a pretty penny to any slaver. If,” the bartender smiled, “you were into that kind of thing.” Most of the patrons in the Broken Dagger were indeed slavers, or murderers, and the ilk. Usually hiding here, waiting for the next ship to get off the main continent and escape justice.
“If I were into such a thing,” Captain Bairon reached deep into his pockets and slid several gold coins across the bar. “On which ship might I find these ‘destroyers of Grimrock’?”
“Well,” the bartender said, palming the coins, “from what I heard, the last group of slavers that has these ‘destroyers of Grimrock’ are the ones aboard the Night’s Moon.”
“Thank you,” Captain Bairon finished his drink and slid it across the bar and began to walk out.
“Be cautious however,” the bartender called out, fiddling with the coins. “From what I have heard, that’s the fifth ship they’ve been on; seems the slavers all have the same idea, and keep killing one another, to try and steal the slaves. So if you get them – you might think of sailing out as quickly as possible.”
Captain Bairon reached into his pouch and flipped another coin to the bartender who caught it easily, as if money simply gravitated to his hand. “Thank you for the advice,” Captain Bairon smiled.
He returned to the Elf Wind and gathered several men who made their move at night. Most of the crew of the Night’s Moon were extremely intoxicated, celebrating their victory of how much these slaves would fetch them. Captain Bairon’s men moved through the ship, slitting throats and throwing bodies over the edge. Below the deck, they found three prisoners unconscious – a human, minotaur, an insectoid and even a Ratling – who was the only one conscious. “What an odd collection of prisoners,” one of Captain Bairon’s men whispered.
“What are you doing?” Coy, the Ratling prisoner asked.
“We’re here to liberate you from the Night’s Moon,” Captain Bairon smiled.
“You’re slavers too,” Coy sneered.
“And you’re observant,” Captain Bairon snarled back. “Make a sound and we slice you wide open. Is that understood?”
“Crystal clear,” Coy replied. “But you will get yours before this is all done.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” Captain Bairon replied, as he gestured his men to try and lift Taren, the Minotaur.
Several hour later…
Tawmis opened his eyes, and looked around. There was a familiar sight. And for a moment, he wondered if he had dreamed the entire event of Grimrock – and wondered if he was still in the prison cell in Curvia, where this had all begun.
But when he could barely stand, and not because he was groggy from the explosion, but because the ground seemed to sway beneath his feet; he grabbed the bars for balance. Then he could smell it. The fresh ocean breeze. The sound of waves crashing against a ship.
He looked around him and saw Taren, Blaz’tik and Coy.
“Where are we?” Tawmis asked, having no memory after the explosion that shook Grimrock.
“We’re on a slave ship,” Taren muttered, recognizing the interior of the ship.
“The Elf Wind,” Coy said, “to be exact. Chances are we’re headed up Daejon for Gladiator combat slavery.”
“What happened?” Tawmis asked.
“The explosion drew a lot of attention,” Coy replied. “Mages. Warriors. Thieves. All interested in what might be within Grimrock’s remains. Apparently we were fortunate enough to be found by slavers and traders down stream from the Great Lake.”
“That’s just wonderful,” Tawmis sighed, and sunk against the bars. “What else could possibly go wrong?”
They spent several days aboard the Elfin Wind, occasionally visited by an attractive woman, who seemed interested in how they had “destroyed” Grimrock – but none of them felt like talking.
Later that evening, Tawmis stood, hands on the bars of the cage and rattled them as much as he could, as if hoping he could bend them. “I refuse to fight in a gladiator ring again. I refuse to be a slave.” Tawmis’ eyes drifted to Taren who had been unusually silent. For both of them, they met in a gladiator ring. Together, they fought side by side and earned their freedom. But the time as a Gladiator was harsh. They had witness so much death, so much brutality. “We will find a way out of this,” Tawmis assured the massive minotaur.
Taren turned and looked at Tawmis and gave him a weak smile. “I am sure we will. Our path is just unclear at the moment.”
Suddenly the ship lurched to the right unexpectedly, sending all of them crashing painfully into the metal bars, unable to adjust to the sudden shift in the ship’s direction. Blaz’tik tried to pull himself up, but the ship was still pulling hard to the right. “What -tic!- is going on?”
“I’ve been on enough ships,” Taren replied. “This is not natural. I don’t even hear any wind. Something is pulling the ship to the right. And pulling very hard.”
Coy peered through one of portholes of the ship. “You may not hear winds, but those skies have turned black! Look!”
Outside it was as if a grey bottle of paint was spilled across the sky. Slowly, it spread, devouring the once blue skies, and making them dark and grey. Accompanying the change, the sea also began to surge; large waves slammed up against the ship, which rocked the entire boat. Down below, Tawmis and others found themselves being batted around their prison cages. Above deck, the crew members were shouting; the voices of most were clearly drenched in just as much fear as they were wet. Tawmis turned to Blaz’tik, “This you’re doing?”
“I’m afraid not,” Blaz’tik replied, his mandibles clicking nervously.
“This is not a natural storm,” Taren stared out the porthole. The ship took a massive dive, her front piercing deep into the ocean as she came over the wave. As she came back over the next wave, an island came into view.
“That’s Nex,” Coy replied.
“Isn’t that where you’re from?” Tawmis asked.
“Yes,” Coy replied, though he didn’t sound excited.
Just then, someone in the crow’s nest shouted something about land.
Then came the crash; and the coral reef ripped through the bottom of the boat, cutting her open, filling her with water.
The last thing Tawmis heard before the water washed over him was Coy mentioning something about “The Master.”
Elsewhere on the island…
The tide crashed violently against the shore, and with it, more bodies and tattered remains of the slaver ship, The Elfin Wind. One of the bodies rose up, coughing and choking. It was a large, burly man, whose muscles showed signs of constant usage. His tribal markings up and down the left arm, as well as those on his forehead marked him as a barbarian from the Endless Tundra far to the northern lands.
Next to him, another body stirred; a tall man, whose long blond hair, and trimmed mustache showed he was someone of some class. On his side, a massive sword that had clearly meant something to him. He was helping a woman wearing red robes, whose blond hair and blue eyes, were striking and unusual features.
The fourth person to wash ashore was also another human, who wore slaver’s clothing. The fourth person stood up and immediately took a defensive position. “Do not try anything,” she warned, as she reached for her pouch and pulled out a crimson flask.
The large barbarian growled in response. The human with the large sword, put his hand back. “Hold,” he said to the barbarian. He looked around. “That was no natural storm that brought the ship down. And this island is not on any map that I have ever seen.”
“It was magic,” the woman in the red robes told him, still coughing and vomiting ocean water from her lungs. “I told you that I sensed magic as soon as the storm appeared.”
This isn’t a new post – this was previously posted – just reposting (as a reminder for myself) where everyone is currently now that all the origin stories are out of the way…
“I know those robes,” Tawmis said, “and that odor. The odor is embalming fluid. Those robes are ones traditionally worn by embalmers in the temples.”
Blaz’tik shrugged, “I –tic!- would wear them,” he pulled on his current, tattered rags, “over –tic!- these robes.” Taren reached down into the coffin and pulled out the robes and handed them to Blaz’tik.
“So where’s the sword?” Tawmis suddenly realized. “I thought that’s why we dug this hole up?”
“We –tic!- assumed that the –tic!- sword was here,” Blaz’tik countered, as he slid the embalmer’s robes on.
“That would have been too easy,” Tawmis finally said and sat down on the mound of freshly dug dirt.
“Over here,” came the rumbling voice of Taren. Tawmis looked across the field, and with the moon watching over them, could see Taren’s massive form.
“What is it?” Tawmis called out. “Another mound? Another coffin? Another statue?” His sarcasm carried on his voice over the quiet night.
Taren turned his head slightly, “It would seem the Island Master has another riddle in mind.”
Tawmis, Blaz’tik (wearing his new robes, and observing how they glistened in the dark night) and Coy made their way to stand next to Taren. “What is this?” Tawmis blurted out loud, gesturing to the square stones on the ground.
“I believe –tic!- it is another riddle, as the minotaur said,” Blaz’tik commented.
Tawmis eyed Blaz’tik from the corner of his eye. As an insectoid, Blaz’tik wasn’t able to fluctuate his voice or even smile; but Tawmis got the impression the insectoid was indeed trying to be funny.
It was three rows of three square stones, in the form of a larger square. “We’re supposed to figure out what to do with this?” Tawmis asked, looking at the others. He turned and faced Blaz’tik, “Can you magic something? Get a tingly sensation? Maybe a clue?”
“I sense no magic vibrating from these stones,” Blaz’tik confessed immediately.
Coy was looking at the edge of one of the squares. “There’s gears. I can hear them. These are pressure plates.”
“So we step on the wrong one and potentially meet a painful death,” Tawmis muttered beneath his breath. He was about to say something about Mages; but looked over at Blaz’tik and silenced himself before the words came out of his mouth.
“What if these are all linked?” Taren asked.
Tawmis looked at his best friend, “What do you mean?”
“We’re looking for the Captain’s sword,” Taren explained. “The note made references to the love of the sea and commanding his crew. So what if this,” he gestured, “what if this is where ‘X’ marks the spot?”
“I’m not following you,” Tawmis replied, raising an eye brow questioningly.
“Put a stone, heavy enough to trigger the pressure plate on these two corners and one in the center – it would form an ‘X’ like on a map,” Taren explained.
“That sounds almost entirely too logical to be right,” Tawmis said.
“Have you any other ideas?” Taren smiled, his teeth glistening in the moonlight.
Tawmis stood there for a moment and finally said, “Come to think of it, no.”
As they set the last stone in the center, Tawmis closed his eyes – expecting death to come in the form of some fireball or other magical means. After a few moments, he opened his right eye and looked around – they were all still standing there – alive. He opened his other eye and smiled when he saw a door that they had not noticed was now open.
“Well,” he said, as if he had always believed this plan would work, “now we’re getting somewhere.”
Elsewhere on the island…
Uncomfortable about traveling into the unknown, and unusually thick woods, Sir Karin had recommended making camp at the mouth of the cave that had led them into the Twigroot Forest. Jorale agreed to the idea, wanting to take the time to go through the journal that they had recovered from the deceased person that they had found. Such knowledge would be useful to an alchemist such as herself. Alissa seemed to care neither way; she was primarily concerned with getting off the island and completing her mission to Terradin, in the Western continent to open up a trade route between the two kingdom as her King has requested of her. After all, she felt that anything that was on this island was not up to facing a trained mage from the Malanian Empire. Stonebreaker sighed at the idea of needing rest, but agreed. He immediately offered to take the final watch.
When Sir Karin woke up, he could smell fresh meat cooking. He sat up and saw Stonebreaker sitting by the campfire. “What did you hunt?”
“Hunt?” Stonebreaker turned. “Why hunt when there was good meat here?”
“Good meat?” Sir Karin rubbed his eyes. He then noticed that a skull hung from Stonebreaker’s belt that he had not noticed before. “Where did you get…”
Suddenly Sir Karin sat up. “By the Sha-Raessh Serpent! You’re cooking the dead man! And you have his skull on your belt!”
Stonebreaker seemed unaffected by Sir Karin’s accusations as the others began to awake. “I carry his skull because my people believe that if we take the skulls of those who have fallen; we carry them with us, gaining their strength, insight and wisdom. This man was clearly a wise man, from what he noted in his journal. Carrying his spirit with us seems to be a wise choice. As for cooking his flesh,” Stonebreaker continued, “it is better than it feeds us, who respects what he once was, rather than savage animals who would disrespect his body.”
Alissa looked over at Jorale, “Still think he would be good under the covers?”
Jorale smiled, “More convinced than ever,” she smiled.
Alissa should have known. Jorale was a slaver. Not a civilized person.
“Put a stone, heavy enough to trigger the pressure plate on these two corners and one in the center – it would form an ‘X’ like on a map,” Taren explained.
Tawmis folded his arms in front of his chest, glancing back and forth between the oddly shaped stones and his large minotaur friend. He nodded a few times, before he said, “You know, that sounds almost entirely too logical to be right.”
“Have you any other ideas?” Taren smiled, his teeth glistening in the moonlight.
Tawmis stood there for a moment and finally said, “Come to think of it, no.”
As they set the last stone in the center, Tawmis closed his eyes – expecting death to come in the form of some fireball or other magical means. After a few moments, he opened his right eye and looked around – they were all still standing there – alive. He opened his other eye and smiled when he saw a door that they had not noticed was now open.
“Well,” he said, as if he had always believed this plan would work, “now we’re getting somewhere.”
Tawmis peered through the doorway and saw an open field. “Looks like we’re clear.”
Just as the entered the center of the field, a humanoid creature resembling the mixture of a human and a frog leaped out in front of them, squawking an odd sound and shaking it’s spear. Tawmis took a step back and cast a side glance to Coy, “I suppose you know what that thing is?”
“Zarchton,” Coy replied. “Aquatic creatures. They only come out on land to gather food.”
“So if we leave it alone, it will go back to the water,” Tawmis began.
“No,” Coy added quickly, “they’re also extremely territorial and aggressive.”
“Of course they are,” Tawmis muttered. “And us without weapons.”
“I wouldn’t -tic!- say that,” Blaz’tik smiled. He gestured his hands in the air, forming small circles, then throwing dust into the air. A white sphere, composed of pure light, shot from Blaz’tik’s hands and struck the Zarchton in the eye. The creature howled and reeled back. Blaz’tik tapped Taren on the arm. “Do you -tic!- thing!”
Taren lowered his head, charging the Zarchton and impaling it on his horns. The stunned, blinded, creature dropped its trident, and flailed, hopelessly, perched on Taren’s horns, until the light died from his blind eyes. Taren lowered his head, and the hapless, dead Zarchton slid off his bloody horns.
Coy looked at the towering minotaur and said, ever so softly, “I see now, how you got your last name…”
Elsewhere on the island…
Suddenly Sir Karin sat up. “By the Sha-Raessh Serpent! You’re cooking the dead man! And you have his skull on your belt!”
Stonebreaker seemed unaffected by Sir Karin’s accusations as the others began to awake. “I carry his skull because my people believe that if we take the skulls of those who have fallen; we carry them with us, gaining their strength, insight and wisdom. This man was clearly a wise man, from what he noted in his journal. Carrying his spirit with us seems to be a wise choice. As for cooking his flesh,” Stonebreaker continued, “it is better than it feeds us, who respects what he once was, rather than savage animals who would disrespect his body.”
Alissa looked over at Jorale, “Still think he would be good under the covers?”
Jorale smiled, “More convinced than ever,” she smiled.
Alissa should have known. Jorale was a slaver. Not a civilized person.
Sir Karin stood, “Alissa and I can not travel this island with you two…” He blanched as Stonebreaker took another bite of the dead man’s flesh he had been cooking. “You – you’re a slaver,” he pointed to Jorale, “who got us into this whole mess… and you… you… you’re an uncivilized… beast.”
Stonebreaker chewed the meat of the cooked dead man, before standing and towering over the tall, valiant, knight. “Go on. Leave,” he gestured with the limb of the dead man, with meat still dangling on it. “See how long the two of you survive. This island is a death trap,” he gestured towards the remaining carcass of the man he had cut up and cooked. “Whatever killed this man surprised him. This man shows no signs that he put up a fight. Something attacked him and killed him before he could even defend himself. If you think you and your lady friend can survive this island… then go. Me? I will do what it takes to survive. Make no mistakes – if either of you die, I will cook your flesh, and honor your skull – and take your power into myself. Because I will do what I must to survive.”
Alissa looked at Sir Karin. “He’s right. We need each other if we hope to survive. At least, long enough to get off this island.”
“The beast just said he would eat us if we perished,” Sir Karin pointed at Stonebreaker. “How can you even think to travel with such a beast?”
“Because that beast has the power to survive,” Alissa replied. “He’s a Northerner, who has survived in frozen wastes, with next to no food. And look how strong and powerful he is. I may not like it – I may not like him – but there’s no denying that to separate from him and even the slaver, who from what I am told – is an accomplished alchemist – would be foolish. The barbarian is right – this island is a death trap. I can feel it all around me – there is magic at work here. Foul, dark magic. And we are being watched… like chess pieces on a board, being moved …”
Sir Karin shook his head and heaved a deep sigh.
Posted Wed Jun 14, 2017 10:39 am
Tawmis kneeled and picked up the spear that the slain Zarchton had dropped and examined it, judging its weight and balance. He looked over at Coy, “So how many of these Zarchton things live on this island?”
“They live in every body of water,” Coy answered, searching the dead Zarchton and discovering two daggers, which he quickly slid into his own belt. “They’re also out there on the beach – they tend to salvage through wrecked ships that get too close this this island. That’s where they get most of their weapons.”
“Good to know,” Tawmis said, turning from Coy to Blaz’tik. “So… you got some magic up your sleeve? Remembering spells?”
“Some spells are -tic!- coming back to me,” Blaz’tik admitted. “I have found some -tic!- components around the island that I can use for my -tic!- spells. Some of it I am -tic!- improvising, so I am not always -tic!- sure what the end result will be. -tic!-“
“With out luck,” Tawmis heft the spear onto his shoulder, “you’re probably going to end up killing us. But then,” he patted Taren on the shoulder, “we will finally be out of our misery and done with the ill luck that seems to cling to us, eh, old friend?”
Taren smiled, his rows of glistening teeth and fangs, shined in the moonlight. “And my life debt to you will finally be over, and I will be able to go my own way in the After-life, and be free of the bad luck you bring,” Taren joked, his laugh sounding like boulders being crushed.
“Me?” Tawmis feigned offensiveness, “What do you mean me? You’re the one who was in the arena because of your bad luck.”
“You had wizards picking apart your brain,” Taren laughed, “which certainly explains why there isn’t a lot left there.”
Both situations were dire; and no one, but these two, could make fun of it. Had anyone else made fun of Taren in the arena, Tawmis would have run his spear through them; and likewise, had anyone mocked Tawmis for having his mind ripped apart by wizards, Taren would have crushed their heads in. These two shared a unique bond of unbelievable strength and loyalty towards one another.
Elsewhere on the island…
Sir Karin had watched as Stonebreaker continued to cook the remains of the dead body. He had to admit, despite his disgust, the meat was beginning to smell good. He had eaten only berries while on the island, and he could feel his muscles suffering for it. The armor was getting heavier. It was more of a strain to walk and take each step forward. If he wasn’t careful, if he wasn’t strong, then the death trap of an island would claim him too. Stonebreaker smiled at the valiant knight and extended some cooked meat towards him. “Don’t think of it as a person,” Stonebreaker said. “Think of it as whatever animal you ‘civilized’ people eat. You may not like it – may not like me, like you said – but, in the end, I also need you to be as strong as you can be.”
Sir Karin pushed the meat aside. “No thank you, savage.”
Jorale ate a portion of the meat. She was surprised. “It’s not bad,” she admitted. “It’s very tender. Juicy.”
Sir Karin blanched at the thought, his stomach churned. “You’re eating the flesh of a person.”
“I am doing what I must to survive,” Jorale replied. She reached into her pouch and pulled out some spices that she worked with and applied it to the meat, allowing it to soak for a moment before taking another bite. She offered it to Alissa, who looked at Sir Karin, then back to Jorale and took the meat.
“You’re not thinking of eating that,” Sir Karin said, shocked.
“I’m hungry,” Alissa replied, her voice low. “I tire of just eating berries and plants. My body is getting weak, and so is my mind. I can feel the spells slipping away, because I can’t focus on anything but my hunger.” She took a bite of the meat and slowly chewed. She was surprised. She had never eaten human flesh before; she did not know what to expect for taste… but… It did not taste bad. Her next bite she took with more confidence and enjoyment, removing from her mind that it was human flesh, as the hunger consumed her.
“A curse,” Sir Karin whispered, “a curse will fall on all of you. There is a legend in our lands, of those who devour human flesh, become monsters who prowl the night looking for more human flesh.”
“Probably,” Stonebreaker said between chewing, “because it tastes good.”
Sir Karin shook his head; and tried to hide the sound of the rumbling of his stomach as the smell of meat wafted into his nose.
Posted Thu Jun 15, 2017 1:29 pm
Tawmis covered his nose. “What is that awful odor?”
Coy looked behind him, leading the others, and answered, “They call it Keelbreach Bog.”
A green mist rose from the ground, like emerald embers, getting into their eyes, nose and mouth. Coy continued to explain, “About sixty turns of the season, a pack of Forest Ogres got in in their head to block the rivers to stop the troublesome Zarchton… well, they did too good of a job. The waters here backed up and flooded the lands, creating this bog. The waters became extremely stagnant and toxic, so now only nuisances live here… though their life spans are typically quite short. Even the Forest Ogres that started this died off, killed by the very waters they sought to block off, because of its toxicity. Ironic, no?”
“Sure,” Tawmis muttered, “ironic. Just where are you taking us?”
“We need to get to the castle if we have any hope of escaping this island,” Coy replied. He looked over his shoulder, his rat like nose twitching as his lips formed – for a Ratling – what was a smile. “That is still the plan, right? Get off the island.”
“Of course it is,” Tawmis muttered. He looked over at Taren and rolled his eyes, gesturing at Coy.
“We are fortunate,” Taren’s booming voice said, “that Coy is from this island and knows the ins and outs of it.”
Blaz’tik was moving slowly behind them, picking an abundance of odorous mushrooms and shoving them into his pouches as spell components. “I suppose that -tic!- is a benefit that my kind -tic!- do not really use smells the same as -tic!- you.”
Coy cut away and some vines and revealed several arches where beams of light passed through in a forward motion; repeating itself.
“What… is that?” Tawmis asked.
Blaz’tik smirked. “I -tic!- recognize the magic signature -tic!- … It’s displacement… probably a teleporter…”
“This is new,” Coy admitted. “Well, new as in, it wasn’t here twenty years ago,” he shrugged. He looked at the others, “So… who is going first?”
Elsewhere on the island…
Sir Karin leaned on his sword for balance, retching the berries from his gut. Alissa lingered close by, covering her mouth. “The odor is strong,” she admitted, “but it’s also because you have not eaten any of the meat. Stonebreaker has more in his bags. You should eat some. It will help you regain your strength.”
Sir Karin stood proudly, his face bleached white from illness, his arms and legs wavering beneath the weight of his own body. “I am fine,” he finally managed to said, though his voice was barely audible.
Jorale had covered her mouth from the odor emanating from the bog just ahead of them. She admired how Stonebreaker seemed unaffected. “How does this odor of this bog not bother you?”
Sir Karin, had he the strength and wit he normally possessed, would have remarked that Stonebreaker probably was used to the smell, because this was how his people smell all the time. Instead, Sir Karin pulled his sword out of the mud and took an uncertain step forward.
Stonebreaker turned to Jorale, “Because I have lived my life on the battle field. I have smelled the scent of the dead and dying, lying on a battle field for weeks on end. This smell is scarcely any different. Suddenly Stonebreaker stiffened and raised his hand. “Hold.”
He kneeled, touching the mud.
“Someone has been here recently,” Stonebreaker pointed to several prints in the mud. “By the looks of it – a large rat…”
“Ratling,” Jorale corrected. “Nothampton is full of them in the docks. A lot of sailors use them for minimal work and give them rotting food as payment.”
Stonebreaker nodded, “Think I saw one of them aboard the ship you enslaved me to,” the large barbarian eyed Jorale, who did not flinch under the barbarian’s stare. He added, “By the looks of it, he was also with a human, and a minotaur – a big one, by the depth of that print – and an insectoid.”
“Do you think they’re survivors of the shipwreck also?” Alissa asked, leaning over.
“Good chance,” Stonebreaker admitted. “But knowing the type of people she enslaved on the ship,” the large barbarian said, “they may or may not be friendly.”
NOTE: Had a creative itch… but couldn’t get anything down for my novel I am working on… so I launched LOG2… played a little, inspired me to come back here and begin writing this… I realized, looking at my oldest save game, that LOG2 has been out for three years and I’ve still not finished the game… But in the meantime, a new segment! In this one, I took the lore of the Lindworm (from the actual base of the lore) – and applied it to the Legend of Grimrock story, with my own twist… Hope you enjoy!
Tawmis placed his hands on his knees and buckled over, retching. The jaunt through the teleporter had made him feel as if each of those six stops was done at neck breaking speeds. After being certain there wasn’t anything else in his stomach to violently dispatch, he tried to stand tall, his head swaying like wheat blowing in a gentle breeze, and forced a smile. “It’s totally safe,” he gurgled before something else decided to find its way out of his stomach.
After the others had passed through the jaunting teleporter, Tawmis looked over at Coy. “You mentioned that we need to get to the castle on this island. How is that going to help us get off the island?”
“The Master of the Island has a large mirror there,” Coy explained. “With it, he can think of any place, and travel through the mirror to that location. It’s going to be the best way off of this cursed island.”
“Well, I don’t think this ‘Master’ you keep talking about is just going to let us use this magical mirror of his,” Tawmis muttered, “as I am pretty sure he’s the one who wrecked the slaver ship on his island in the first place, and turned Captain Bairon to stone using one of his Medusa… So does this ‘Master’ have a name?”
“We’ve always known him as the Master – but he is not alone. He has a brother – known as the Lindworm,” Coy shrugged. “As it turns out, this place wasn’t always… evil. He’s been driven mad by the curse, brought on by the greed of his mother, the once and former Queen of Nex and it’s his madness,” Coy gestured around him, “that’s also changed the island…”
“What curse do you –tic!- speak of?” Blaz’tik asked, curious if it involved magic.
“The story goes, over one hundred years ago, the King and Queen of Nex longed for a child. But despite their efforts, the Queen seemed to be barren. One day, the Queen had walked out into her garden and encountered a sorceress there, who said she had heard of the Queen’s woes and had come to help her. She pulled a ‘seed’ from her pouch that was as large as a young infant, and told the Queen to plant the seed and water it for two days. On the third day, two flowers would spring; a red and a white flower. The Queen must eat one of the flowers – red, and she would bare a son; white, she would bare a princess. But – she was not to eat both. Doing so would have dire consequences,” Coy began explaining, as sat down, to try and recall the story as he had heard it, passed down through generations of Ratlings bound to the Isle of Nex.
“Well,” he heaved a deep sigh, “I suppose you can guess what happened next. The Queen, buried the large seed, watered it and spoke to it affectionately for two days, and as the sorceress had promised, on the third day, two roses sprung from the seed; a white and red flower. The Queen was desperate. She wanted to give her loving husband, the King, an heir to the throne. But, she was fearful that this would be the only way to have a child, and she had wanted a young daughter of her own, to raise, and share those things that were hers, to pass down. It wasn’t fair, the Queen had told herself that only my husband should have an heir to pass down his things. So the Queen devoured both flowers. Several months later, she was pregnant. The King was unaware of the dealings that the Queen had made he only knew that at long last, the curse of her barren womb was finally at an end. However, in the delivery room – something tragic happened, as the sorceress had predicted. Slithering from the Queen’s womb came a Lindworm – a young dragon.”
“You mean to tell me you expect me to believe that a young dragon came out of a mother’s womb and she survived the experience?” Tawmis asked in disbelief.
“You once had your mind, literally, and magically, ripped open by The Mages of Des, and you survived the experience,” Taren reminded him.
“Yeah, but that’s different… they used magic to keep me alive through that whole process,” Tawmis muttered.
“And it was magic,” Coy added, “that kept the Queen alive; for she was to survive and see the curse of her greed and what it would bring down upon her family. The Lindworm slithered away, no bigger than a serpent, uncared for and unloved. But after the serpent’s birth, came a normal son – the one, we all know as The Master.”
“The Lindworm was not seen again, for eighteen years,” Coy continued the story, “until it came to find the Master a young princess to marry, and be his future Queen. The Master rode out to seek a woman, but the Lindworm appeared and demanded that the princess be his, as he is he elder brother. The Queen, broken, explained what had happened to the King. And so the first princess found, was given to the Lindworm who devoured her. So the Master rode out again, seeking another princess – but the Lindworm appeared again, and demanded the princess be his – and again, it devoured her. This happened until there were no more suitable princesses on the Isle of Nex, and the King was forced to seek out a young princess for his son, beyond the Isle of Nex – but the Lindworm had grown strong and powerful – and gained wings. It would destroy approaching ships with a suitable princess, and keep the princess – and devour her. Soon, none wanted anything to do with the Isle of Nex. The King and Queen died – but not before seeing the people of their kingdom become the food for the Lindworm, with no way to escape the Isle – and the lands fell to ruin and darkness. When the King and Queen died, the Lindworm returned to the castle – and it whispered things to the Master… the two became bonded, and the Isle fell into its greatest darkness. The Master was said to be one of the most beautiful humans in all of the world – and the Lindworm wanted his beauty. So the Lindworm used its own magic to twist the Master, and make him forgo everything in hopes of finding a way to restore the Lindworm into a human form. Now the Master has created these magic traps and teleporters and the like – all in the hopes of restoring his elder brother… so we must be weary… for the Master is a trickster… and what looks one way, may not be what it truly is.”
There was a long pause, before it was Tawmis who broke the silence. “So what you’re telling me is… not only do we have to deal with a crazy, magic wielding ‘Master’… but his older brother who is a dragon of some kind?”
“A Lindworm,” Coy corrected, “but yes. Essentially.”
“Wonderful,” Tawmis muttered.
Elsewhere on the island…
“The air down here is rancid,” Sir Karin choked. A thick, green, hazy, mist, full of pollen that was impossible not to breathe, inhale, and attached to the inside of their mouths and throats, that caused the very liquid from inside them, to seemingly dry upon contact.
“It’s Herdlings,” Jorale said, being familiar with Herdlings. They were often killed and dissected to be used for various potions – and more often than not – poisonous components. “There must be a den of them somewhere around here.”
“What are Herdlings?” Alissa asked, though a strong woman in her own right; she, as the Daughter to the king of the Malanian Empire, was not allowed to explore beyond the castle walls of her home, until she had used guilt to force her father to learn magic – but that voyage had been cut short when she and Sir Karin were abducted by the Serpents of Harbardar, then dragged onto the Elfin Wind slaver ship, that had now crashed on the Isle of Nex.
“Herdlings,” Jorale she began, then paused. “Imagine, if you will, if fungus and mushrooms had gained sentient life, and could walk around and act like you and I – except, they’re brainless. They’re still plants… but they’re aggressive. Larger ones are called Herders. And if there’s a Herder-Spore present, then… we’re going to run into a lot of them.”
Stonebreaker smiled, “You said they’re aggressive?”
“Very,” Jorale nodded. “And because they’re absolutely brainless, they keep attacking in waves, and never run. It’s do or die, every time with them.”
“I almost admire them,” Stonebreaker chuckled, then coughed as he inhaled some of the pollen. “If it wasn’t for the fact that they make it difficult for me to breathe.”
“What’s with the fences and everything around here?” Sir Karin asked. “If they’re so mindless… it doesn’t seem like they would be the ones that built this?”
“Depends on what you believe,” Jorale explained. “There’s a lot of different stories about the Isle of Nex. They say, once long ago, this was a prosperous kingdom – and the Queen, in a moment of greed, cursed herself, her land and her kingdom. By the looks of it – this area was probably the stables near the garden. The cursed garden probably spawned the Herdlings – and the Herdlings, without anyone to bother them – have spread their spores and taken it over.”
“This pollen that we’re breathing is safe, yes?” Sir Karin asked.
“What do you mean?” Jorale asked, turning to the Knight of Malanian Empire.
“I mean, inhaling it – we’re not going to turn into mindless plants, controlled by the Herdlings?” Sir Karin asked.
Jorale raised an eye brow. “I … had not considered that… all the Herdlings and Herders I always dealt with were dead… and come to think of it, those that hunted Herdlings and Herders for their… internal value… always came back with fewer people than they left with…”
Coy lead them further through the swampy area until they reached a cave with stairs forged in mud. An all too familiar odor drifted from the cave beyond. “I know that smell,” Taren growled.
“Me too,” Tawmis nodded. “Herders.”
Coy looked back, “And many of them,” he added with a twitch of his nose and whiskers. “The Master of the Isle used them for farming, before the Ogres ruined the land with their flooding. Once the flooding happened, the Master lost control of the Herders, which then took sanctuary in this cave… and have since… taken it over… as a result… have become… extremely aggressive.”
“Familiar with that,” Taren muttered. “The last time we ran into herders, as prisoners at Mount Grimrock… they were less than welcoming.” This brought the memory of Silvertan to Taren’s mind. It had been Silvertan who told them about Herders the first time they had encountered them in Grimrock. This reminded Taren how Silvertan had given his own life, by diving in front of the Warden’s flail as he had tried to strike Tawmis down, crushing Silvertan’s spine. Taren clenched his axe tighter. Silvertan had died for Taren’s best friend. It should have been Taren who died, to fulfill his blood debt to Tawmis. “If there’s herders down there, like it smells like there are, they will fall before my axe,” Taren growled, his teeth clenched tightly.
Coy paused suddenly and pointed at the ground. “Someone has been here… before us.”
“You said there’s been prisoners on this island,” Tawmis said. “Could it be one of them?”
Coy turned his head, “Not likely. The prisoners usually do not last long. These are new prints.”
“Could it be -tic- survivors of the ship crash?” Blaz’tik asked.
“Other survivors?” Tawmis turned to Coy, then to Blaz’tik. “I suppose it could be. Stands to reason someone else would have survived that cursed ship crashing into the island.”
Coy examined the prints, “One, a man… heavy armor, by the depression left if the mud… one a moment… faint… light… another woman… also, faint like… robes too, because there’s drag marks in the mud… and another male, by the size of the print… heavy… but primitive attire by the foot prints… not armored like the first.”
A primative hammer nearly crushed Coy’s skull, but the humanoid rodent moved quickly out of the way when his ears picked up the sound of the wind. Suddenly a large, elderly human, who – despite his age – still posed as a threat – stood before them. “Who are you,” the barbarian boomed.
“Wait,” Tawmis yelled. “You,” he pointed to the barbarian. “Stonebreaker, was it?”
The barbarian paused. “How do you know my name?”
“We were slaves on that ship,” Tawmis explained, “as were you.”
“So you were,” a female’s voice crept from the darkness behind the barbarian.
“You!” Taren now lunged forward, but the barbarian stood in front of the minotaur threateningly. Only the North Men were brave enough – or foolish enough – to challenge a minotaur.
“Wait, my friend,” Tawmis said, placing his hand on the minotaur’s shoulder. “Why do you defend the slaver, barbarian? When she is the one that captured you and some of your people, and caged you, to be sold off as gladiator entertainment?”
“Because, if we hope to survive, we must remain together, despite my hatred of this woman,” Stonebreaker replied.
Sir Karin and Lady Alissa stepped forward and introduced themselves, explaining that they were not slavers; but they had paid for passage aboard the cursed ship.
“So,” Tawmis looked around, “now there’s eight of us. I’d say we have a better chance against this Master of the Isle and this Lindworm thing.”
“Lindworm?” Stonebreaker asked. “There is a Lindworm on this isle?”
“Yes,” Coy nodded. “Tied by blood to the Master. Why?”
“My vision, when I was young, showed I would die fighting a Lindworm.”
Jorale finally weighed in, “I’ve heard of your family – and even you, Tawmis – have a reputation of getting into – and out of – trouble.” She turned to Sir Karin, “For now, I say we follow Tawmis and see if he can keep his streak of reputable luck.”
“It’s not luck,” Tawmis muttered beneath his breath. “It’s all skill.”
“Normally, the strongest lead my people,” Stonebreaker eyed Taren, “but in this case – there appears to be magic involved with this island, so I concede to those who understand the foul works of magic.”
Blaz’tik made an audible clicking sound with his mandibles, eyeing the giant barbarian.
Giving Blaz’tik no attention, Stonebreaker turned to Tawmis. “You’re experienced in the ways of magic?” he looked Tawmis up and down, “You look like a warrior to me. This one,” he roughly patted Blaz’tik on the back, nearly knocking the air out of his lungs. “This one looks like he’s weak and feeble, and thus, a wielder of the dark arts.”
“Not all magic,” Blaz’tik ticked with mandibles again, “is ‘dark art.’ I am also, no leader. When Tawmis has needed advice on magic, I have lent -tic- him my knowledge.”
“As for me,” Tawmis learned against the cavern wall that led into the den of herders, “I’ve had more than my share of dealings of magic. Ever heard of the Mages of Des?”
“No,” Stonebreaker said flatly. “Should I have?”
“They’re also known as the Crimson Order,” Tawmis went on to say. “They kidnapped me at the age of thirteen – and for seven, very long years – tortured me, and ripped at my brain, trying to peel away layers of it, like it was an onion, to see if I had any knowledge of my parents usage of the Orb of Zhandul. For seven years, they ripped at my mind. From there, they shipped me off where I was a slave in Namaer. In the Xafi Desert, both Taren and I were captured by the Magnates of the Burning Wastes, and subjected to tournaments that involved Mages blasting at us from a safe distance – like stabbing fish in a barrel. Then there was the sprites in the Bacodar Forests…”
“Let’s not speak of the sprites,” Taren shook his head at the memory.
Tawmis looked over at Taren and nodded. He turned his gaze back towards Stonebreaker. “So, yes, you could say I have had my experience with dealing with magic.”
“Well then,” Stonebreaker smiled broadly and placed his make-shift axe on his shoulder. “Lead on.”
“Hold on,” Sir Karin stepped forward. “If knowledge of magic is the key to leadership on this cursed expedition, I would nominate Alissa. Not only is she royalty, but she’s an actual mage.”
Alissa’s expression bleached white. “I have never led anyone… I … do not want that responsibility.”
Sir Karin’s face went flat. Clearly he had wanted Alissa to take leadership so that the Malanian Empire would be the ones leading this, if not himself.
“Well, if Alissa will not take leadership,” Sir Karin finally said, after a moment. “I would still like to nominate myself. As a Knight of the Malanian Empire, not only have I led countless sieges, leading many men to victory, I have also had the distinct honor of marching into these battles with the Mages of Malanian – which,” Sir Karin’s voice seemed smug suddenly, “I am sure you are all aware, are some of the best mages throughout the land.”
“Simply because your king, trains them, to syphon their magic,” Tawmis smiled, bringing up the previous discussion.
Alissa placed her hand on Sir Karin’s shoulder. “I appreciate you trying to defend my father,” she said, seeing that Sir Karin was boiling with anger again, “but this is not a war. This is a matter of survival of a different kind. I, as your princess, command you to yield command to this Tawmis individual.”
Sir Karin turned on her, “Now? Now you use your title on me? When all throughout this, you have told me to treat you as a mage and not as royalty? Now you would take your title and use it against me?”
“Looks like the party’s spoken,” Tawmis smiled. “So…” he juggled a stone he had picked up, “… you in or you out?”
“Fine,” he finally said, nearly spitting the words.They began their descent into – what Jorale suspected was a Herder Den, based on the smell of the pollen that hung heavily in the air. Sir Karin put a cloth over his mouth as he lingered near the back and looked at Stonebreaker. “Why did you cede to this fighter? I thought you said among your people the strongest always led?”
Stonebreaker turned and faced the Knight but did not cover his mouth. “The strongest leaders are not always the strongest themselves; but a loyal companion or guard may be the wall between them and you. And,” he looked over the others just ahead of them, “that fighter you have your problems with has a minotaur who would die for him. Although Minotaurs are not common in the frozen tundra, their strength, honor and fighter skill has still reached our ears. Mortal enemies of the Ogres of the world, they live to kill Ogres… and having dealt with Frost Ogres and Snow Wargs, who serve those Frost Ogres… I’ve seen what those Ogres are capable of… and to think these minotaurs will blindly rush in to kill one – even at the cost of their own life? The strongest leader here is indeed that human that you insist on fighting with.”
“So you only follow him because the Minotaur is his guardian,” Sir Karin asked.
“Yes, and before you think of poisoning or doing something to the Minotaur to usurp that fighter’s position as the current leader of this merry band,” Stonebreaker smiled at Sir Karin, “keep in mind, if you try to assume rulership, it’d be my duty to prove that I am stronger than you. And rest assured, without the element of surprise like Jorale and her slaves had, I would crush you. Without even breaking a sweat. So right now, that Minotaur is also keeping you alive.”
Sir Karin waited for Stonebreaker to laugh or smile or give a sign he had been joking; after all, during the short time on the island, they had come to rely on one another; rather than this stranger that they knew nothing about. But if Stonebreaker was joking or making a jest, he never gave any indication. Sir Karin thought back on when the barbarian had devoured the flesh of one of the dead men found and realized, this towering mass of flesh and muscle never did have much of a sense of humor.
A few moments later, there was chaos.
As Jorale had suspected, it was a Herder Den. The cavern was thick with spores being kicked up in the air, and for a moment Sir Karin thought about how Jorale had said the spores might be lethal is inhaled; because the people she had sent to fetch the spores and pieces of the Herders that could be used for poisons and potions, never came back with the entire party that left.
For a brief moment, because the visibility was barely a foot in front of his vision, he considered trying to locate Tawmis and running his blade through him, and make it look like one of the Herders took him down or that he was a casualty of the chaos; but he knew he would immediately be accused and the Minotaur would undoubtedly run him through.
Several large Herders were running around, screeching their unique sound, emitting pores everywhere, so that visibility was difficult.
“There’s a Herder Spore in here,” Jorale called out, swinging in the darkness with her makeshift dagger. “That’s what they’re trying to protect. Take it down and the rest will fall apart with no way to truly communicate with one another. Try not to damage the red spore on it – I could use that.”
“It’s difficult to be -tic- delicate,” Blaz’tik shouted as he launched a volley of bolts, “in this chaos.” Alissa was standing with her back to Blaz’tik launching spells in the opposite direction.
Taren was bull rushing the entire room, taking down Herders left and right, and on more than one occasion had clipped Sir Karin, which the Knight was beginning to think was intentional.
The sounds the Herders were making were suddenly different.
“Found the spore,” Coy called out, “and, took care of it.”
Now the Herders were more frantic. Their central line of communication was now severed. Some of the Herders were turning on each other, attacking anything that moved.
By the time the last Herder was taken down, Stonebreaker was clinging to life, Jorale had several cuts and gashes that were deep – but not like threatening, Coy’s one good eye was damaged by excessive spores when he had taken down the Herder Spore, and Taren had a large gash across his chest which was bleed profusely.
“I found something,” Blaz’tik commented, examining the wall. “Runes of some kind.”
Alissa approached Blaz’tik as Jorale tended to Stonebreaker’s wounds. She examined the runes, running her hands over them. “These were runes used to animate what were known as Stone Philosophers. Mages would imbue the stone with knowledge to be parted to those who discovered them – to offer a hint or clue. Often solely meant for the Mage to understand and mislead anyone else who did not understand the clues given. Mages did this to hide some of their secrets and magic.”
She walked over to Jorale and took her makeshift dagger and returned to the wall and began scraping against the years of grime built up by the spores that had come to rest on the wall, and soon revealed behind it all, were a pair of pale, glowing eyes.
“Demons of Dex!” Blaz’tik took a step back. “The wall?”
“It’s a Philosopher Stone,” Alissa answered as she began scraping away the rest of the grime until the stone face was fully revealed.
It suddenly showed an image of ten circles – four on the top, three in the next row, two in the next and finally a single circle on the bottom.
“It appears to be an arrow pointing down,” Alissa looked at it strangely, then looked at the ground.
“That can’t be -tic- right,” Blaz’tik said, stomping his insect foot on the floor. Aside from the gunk from the pores, the floor was rock solid.
“Wait,” Coy hobbled over and looked at it. He waved his hand in front of the Philosopher Stone’s eyes. “Move three to see what lies beyond me,” it said in a haunting voice.
“We need to move three of the circles,” Coy said, “in some pattern to see what this really means.”
“But the combination could be anything… if we move any three…” Alissa tried to move three random circles, and they all moved back after the third one was moved.
“Wait,” Coy said, “on the island – where the master dwells. There’s a pyramid. This looks like an upside down pyramid.”
Taren, still bleeding approached, he moved the bottom to the right, then the next one to the right, then the following to the right – until the three he moved appeared to make a pyramid. The Philosopher Stone suddenly opened and revealed a passage beyond.
“How did you know that?” Alissa looked up at the muscular Minotaur.
“My people are philosophers and we spend an inordinate amount of time studying the stars as well,” Taren walked back to help Stonebreaker stand and offered a shoulder to lean on despite his own wound bleeding. “Just because we are all muscle do not think that’s all we are.”
Each of them slowly entered the cavern which soon led upwards.
“But the combination could be anything… if we move any three…” Alissa tried to move three random circles, and they all moved back after the third one was moved.
“Wait,” Coy said, “on the island – where the master dwells. There’s a pyramid. This looks like an upside down pyramid.”
Taren, still bleeding approached, he moved the bottom to the right, then the next one to the right, then the following to the right – until the three he moved appeared to make a pyramid. The Philosopher Stone suddenly opened and revealed a passage beyond.
“How did you know that?” Alissa looked up at the muscular Minotaur.
“My people are philosophers and we spend an inordinate amount of time studying the stars as well,” Taren walked back to help Stonebreaker stand and offered a shoulder to lean on despite his own wound bleeding. “Just because we are all muscle do not think that’s all we are.”
Each of them slowly entered the cavern which soon led upwards.
The minutes passed, the hours passed, even the days.
“I can see why the riddle was a pyramid,” Tawmis growled, nibbling on a piece of rotten meat to quench his hunger. “Because we’ve walked into a tomb.”
“You may not be far off the mark, my friend,” Taren commented, looking at the etching on the walls. “There is ancient writing here.” His large, muscular hands brushed away the dust and webbing. “All along these walls.”
Blaz’tik was standing next to Taren, observing, “They -tic!- do not appear to be -tic!- magical in nature.”
Coy shook his head. “That’s because they’re not. That’s an old language… It’s Vacarian.”
“You know the language, Ratling?” Sir Karin asked.
“The name’s Coy,” he replied, “and I am familiar with the lettering, but was never taught to read it. Vacarian is the language originally spoken on this isle – back when it was called Vacaria. Before… it became the epicenter of all things … magical. Then it became the Isle of Nex… and that’s when everything began to change.”
Alissa nodded her head, “The Ratling knows his history.”
“As I said,” Coy repeated, “The name is Coy.”
Alissa ignored him. “When this isle was known as Vacaria, a wizard in black robes, hair white as snow, eyes like crescent moons appeared – claimed that there was magic on the isle. The King and Queen of Vacaria at the time, told the wizard they wanted nothing to do with him – but the wizard named Talistan refused to listen. Deep in the woods he forged a Wizard’s tower – and corrupted the woods around it to protect the tower. Animals were twisted by his magics – so normal wolves had become wargs, vicious, relentless in their hunger and need to kill.
“Talistan opened some portal to… another dimension… unleashed chaos on Vacaria – but in the process captured and channeled this magic into his own body,” Alissa continued the story, as she had been told. “As a matter of fact,” she turned to Coy, “it is said that…”
“Yes, it’s true, what you’re about to say,” Coy growled.
Alissa looked back to the others, “Talistan had used his powerful magics, obsessed with becoming as powerful as god, and morphed regular rats into Ratlings, to be his servants. They did all of his manual labor.”
“Just as Talistan was about to achieve godhood, they say,” Alissa recalled from her teachings, “his servants – the Ratlings, turned against him. They murdered him as he was channeling a spell to another plane of existence – realizing, too late the betrayal – he swore he would be reborn again.”
“The explosion,” Alissa’s voice lowered, “caused massive devastation and change to the island and its inhabitants. Changing people… animals… trees… the very core of life itself, as Talistan had always obsessed over. Cities… towns… were buried in the change.”
“So, you’re saying it’s possible that we’re in the tomb of an ancient Vacarian burial temple?” Jorale asked.
“I am not saying it’s possible,” Alissa replied. “I am saying that’s exactly where we are.”
“There is no need to fear the dead,” Stonebreaker growled.
“But there is reason to fear the undead,” Tawmis whispered.
Elsewhere, the Lindworm growled, “Someone knows my true name…”
Taren Bloodhorn – Minotaur (Gladiator)
Blaz’tik – Insectoid Mage
Coy Twofang – Ratling Rogue
Sir Karin – Human Knight
Alissa – Human Mage
Jorale – Human Alchemist
Stonebreaker Bloodrage – Human Barbarian
Moving cautiously through the Vacarian ruins, Tawmis looked back at the Ratling, Coy, who seemed to ne nervously looking and peering at every shadow. “How deep – or how far – do these ruins run?”
Coy looked up, a bit startled, “Well, it looks like we’re in the fallen castle of the former king and queen. So, it ran a large portion of the northwestern part of the island. The problem is, in the explosion that was caused by Talistan back then – naturally a lot of the halls and caverns have long since collapsed… especially since the island is susceptible to non-stop tremors from the magic rumbling around beneath the surface.”
“So how long do you think we could be down here,” Tawmis asked, coming to a pause, staring down three different passage ways.
“The honest answer?” Coy asked coming to stand next to him.
“That would be nice,” Tawmis answered, peering down at the Ratling.
“We could die down here,” Coy finally said with a shrug of his shoulders. “My people used to come down here and recover things… and as we did so we would map out the ruins… but those days have long since been over. We may have mapped maybe two percent of the ruins down here.”
“Do we want to know why your people stopped coming down here?” Taren’s deep minotaur voice seemed to echo in the silent, bleak halls.
“There are things that reside down here, that I would, if we could, avoid at all costs,” Coy once again answered matter-of-factly.
“I -tic!- sense great magic -tic!- down here,” Blaz’tik admitted. “It -tic!- tugs at me in every -tic!- direction.”
“I believe,” Coy said, “that whatever Talistan was doing – he was pulling magic from the island – and when my people ambushed him and interrupted his spell… I feel like it’s as if there’s a gaping hole somewhere deep beneath the island – a broken portal – that now devours the island slowly. That’s what I think is causing the tremors.”
“That might -tic!- explain the tugging -tic!- sensation I feel,” Blaz’tik nodded his insect head. “As if -tic!- the island is trying to -tic!- siphon the magic from my body.”
Sir Karin stepped up, wiping off the spider web he’d stepped into from his armor. “All the more reason we need to get off this island as soon as possible.”
“I agree,” Alissa admitted, “since we’ve been stuck down here, like the insect –“
“Blaz’tik,” Blaz’tik interjected his name.
“Sorry, yes, as Blaz’tik said, I too feel a strange sense of phantom tugging all around me – as if unseen spirits are pulling at me to go with them,” Alissa admitted.
Jorale stood need Stonebreaker. She was concerned about what they were saying, but her mind also wandered about what it would be like to be in the barbarian’s arms for one night. All this talk of doom and gloom made her long for companionship.
Coy looked at Sir Karin, “I’d love to get out of here as quickly as possible – but down here – you can just rush through here. You will get yourself killed. These caverns used to have several feet of water,” he looked around, “You can see where some sea life has died.”
Tawmis looked, and now he noticed plants, now dead that were unique to the ocean – as well as some dead sea life. “That’s what smells.”
“Yes,” Coy answered, “death is everywhere down here.”
“But where did the water go?” Taren asked, looking around.
“When the spell destroyed and sunk the castle, it flooded these chambers… we came down here, as I said, to get things – from treasure to food. Then one day, the water was gone. Fish were dead everywhere. We gathered the fish – but that’s when the horrors came.”
“What kind of horrors?” Tawmis asked.
“I can only describe them as some kind of octopus… but they have one large eye… and they shoot ink, like an octopus … but their ink causes temporary blindness… and sometimes…. Madness. We called them Eyctopus – because of their appearance.”
“Perhaps all the water vanished down the hole that you theorize exists,” Alissa said to Coy.
“Would make sense… could be these horrors broke through that shattered portal that lies somewhere beneath these ruins…” Coy added.
Fri Apr 26, 2019 3:38 pm
Sir Karen hacked away at several rogue plants as they marched in darkness. “That Tawmis person is infuriating,” Sir Karin growled. “No respect for you or I or our heritage or kingdom.”
Alissa, who was also from the Malanian Empire, like Sir Karin, shrugged her shoulders. “He has no couth, that is for certain,” she admitted, “but, his comrades all seem to trust him. And if half of what the Minotaur has said about Tawmis, and what he’s done, lived through, and endured, it’s no wonder he has no cares for structure. His entire life has been nothing but chaos. His parents are the infamous Contar Stoneskull and Yennica Whitefeather – the only known people – until Tawmis led the others out – to have ever escaped Grimrock. And that,” she added after a moment, “is impressive.”
Sir Karin halted in his steps. “You sound like you almost admire him.” In the darkness, Alissa could not see the fury – and perhaps – jealousy? – that now burned on Sir Karin’s facial expressions.
“I don’t know if I admire him,” she replied, her own cheeks flushing red with embarrassment – also thankfully hidden in the shadows of the ruins. “But I am certainly fascinated by him. His mother – Yennica – after all, is considered one of the most powerful Mages to have walked the world. Especially if the rumors are true that she found – and perhaps, still possesses the Orb of Zhandul.”
“No one knows if either of them are alive or if they ever really did escape Grimrock,” Sir Kiran argued.
“Someone knows,” her eyes drifted ahead to Tawmis. “I am sure if they escaped, they must have paid him a visit. He may even know where they are now – and where the Orb is.”
“Is that your sole interested in our ‘fearless leader’,” Sir Kiran asked, his words tainted with sarcasm.
She looked at him, trying to hide her surprise. “Are you accusing me of being attracted to such a … uncivilized person?” She wondered briefly if she had sounded convincing.
“The way you speak of him,” Sir Kiran whispered, and turned and continued to walk forward. “It’s more than just about his parents and the Orb.”
Tue May 14, 2019 1:42 pm
Alissa stared after Sir Karin as he walked ahead of her. They had known each other since they were young children, and often pretended – as children – to be in love, and discussed how they would change things, and how they would rule Malanian Empire. They people would love them, as they had loved each other, they told themselves.
But then, as a teenager, those emotions did not go away, but Karin was brought in as a squire for one of the most respected Knights of the Malanian Empire; a man named Braun Lightshope. Days of being a squire led to weeks, sometimes months, away from Alissa as Karin learned to become a Knight of the Malanian Empire. He had left a young boy, but when war came – and he returned to the Malanian Empire, with Braun having been killed during the war – Karin was changed. He had left a young boy but returned as a man who had seen the horrors of the world beyond the Malanian Empire, and the devastating results of war.
Alissa, in the meantime, as the princess, and eventual heir to the Malanian Empire’s throne, had taken up an interest in magic, despite her father’s protests. The Mages of the Malanian Empire were torn; because they did not want to defy their king; but Alissa was born with an incredible latent ability to hone, control, and weave magic. Even as a young teenager, Alissa was accomplishing things with magic that students, many times her elders, and far more experienced, were not capable of doing.
When Karin returned from the war, he was excited to see Alissa. What neither of them could prepare for was how life had changed both of them. The wonderful, open, caring heart that Karin had left with, had died on the battlefield. He was hardened, calloused, bruised. He had been sworn in as a Knight during the war, and now lived by the blade. Alissa on the other hand, while no longer the delicate princess Karin knew when he left to be a squire during the war – was far more honed into magic and the finesse of how to control it.
They had, over the years, become opposite sides of the same coin. One, brutal with cold steel. The other, kinder, softer, and despised war. Despite this, there was a memory of their love, and their dreams – frozen in time.
Sir Karin glanced over his shoulder, and Alissa realized she’d be standing there, thinking how much they had changed.
“Are you coming along?” Sir Karin asked, a bit of envy swirling in the tone of his voice. He mistakenly believed she had been thinking of Tawmis.
Her cheeks flushed red as she ran up beside Sir Karin. “I wasn’t thinking about him, just now,” she whispered in low tones, looking up at Tawmis who had been crouched down examining some runes on the floor. “I was actually thinking about you. About us. And how much we’ve changed from when we were children.”
Sir Karin paused and looked over at her. “We have changed.”
“Those were much simpler times,” she said, remorsefully.
“The world is a cruel place,” Sir Karin nodded. “And it did everything it could to change us.”
“It may have,” Alissa admitted, “but we are both stronger for it. We are not the naïve children we once were.”
“Nor are we in love, like we once were,” he added distantly, and continued to walk up until he stood next to Tawmis, to see what they had been looking at.
Thu May 16, 2019 2:32 pm
“What is it?” Karin asked, looking over Tawmis’ shoulder.
Tawmis who was knelt, looking at the floor, noted not only a specific rune that seemed out of place on the floor – as if it were a warning – but footprints. By the looks of it, fresh footprints. “Someone’s been here,” Tawmis noted, “and recently. The dust is recently kicked up. And by the looks of it, it’s someone who lives down here.”
“Who would live in a cavern so deep into the ground?” Alissa asked.
“On an island as lethal as this one,” Stonebreaker replied, “I would say a wise person.”
“You don’t seem the kind to cower from a fight,” Coy retorted, peering over his shoulder.
“I’m not,” Stonebreaker assured him. “But I am also not the type that hides behind skin made of steel,” his eyes drifted to Sir Karin, who still wore some semblance of the Malaian Empire Knighthood. “But, I am also not keen in fighting the unseen – the unknown – which this entire island seems to radiate. Everything here seems to be an attempt to kill you, twisted by magics that should have never been tampered with.”
“You wouldn’t be far off,” Coy nodded. “Talistan’s magic destroyed the island… sunk the cities… so being in this ancient Vacarian tomb… I wouldn’t be surprised if someone… or something… has taken up residence down here.”
Tawmis turned, “You mentioned creatures before that lurked down here – Eyctopus – or something? I don’t suppose they walk on two feet.”
“No,” Coy replied. “As I said before – they look like octopus – but float in the air… have one eye that is full of untamed evil.”
“So do you know who it might be, leaving these footprints,” Tawmis stood as he pointed to the ground. “You mentioned you’d been down here before. Did you ever find anything that would give you a clue as to who it might be?”
“Well,” Coy said nervously. “Judging on where we are down here, my best guess would be Xorul Wormbound.”
“Ok,” Tawmis nodded, “that’s something… So if this place was flooded, like you were saying… you don’t really think it’s him do you?”
“Who is this Xorul Wormbound,” Taren asked, noticing that Coy looked unusually uncomfortable.
“Xorul Wormbound was one of the King’s most feared Knights,” Coy explained.
“But that was … what? Several hundred years ago?” Taren asked, his voice rumbling.
“Yes,” Coy nodded, “but … I was there… when all of this happened.”
“That means you’re several hundred years old,” Jorale finally spoke up from the back. “That’s impossible.”
“That magic that poured out of the sundered portal,” Coy explained, “changed everything. I suspect that’s why the undead still walk. The magic that poured out of there has extended the life span of everything on this island. And, that life energy is undoubtedly what powers the undead. And,” Coy took a deep breath, “if there’s someone who drowned down here and rose up again… it would be Xorul Wormbound. But there’s worse news…”
“Worse than some terrifying -click- undead?” Blaz’tik questioned, his insect fingers rubbing against each other nervously.
“He has a twin brother, just as ruthless, name Orul Wormbound,” Coy added. “With both of them, the King and Queen were sure to be safe… that is until Talistan came along… They had tried to stop Talistan… but the wizard was too powerful… and now… my guess is, those tracks are Xorul’s… and he’s pacing these halls, undead, cursed to try and protect the King and Queen… bound to his duty in death.”
“Is everything so dramatic with you?” Jorale said, exasperated.
“Live for as long as I have, on this cursed island,” Coy turned to Jorale, his eyes burning with fury. She took a step behind Stonebreaker and placed her hand gingerly on his arm. “It’s just as he said,” Coy pointed to Stonebreaker, his whiskers twitching irritably. “This entire island is out to kill you. It doesn’t care who or what you are. It doesn’t care where you came from,” his finger pointed to Alissa and Sir Karin, then to himself, “whether you’re royalty or some rat whose been alive for several hundred years, thanks to a mad wizard’s vision.”
“Easy friend,” Tawmis placed his hand on Coy’s shoulder. “We’re all a little tense here. We all want to come out of this alive. She meant nothing by it.”
Fri May 17, 2019 4:22 pm
“So, you and the human have an interesting friendship,” Stonebreaker said, looking over at Taren as they walked cautiously ahead.
“The human,” Taren followed Stonebreaker’s gaze. “Tawmis,” he said noting who Stonebreaker was glancing at. “He was a slave of Namaer, the homeland of my people. I was accused – falsely – of murder. Tawmis recognized a plant that’s used to heal if applied to the skin, but if consumed, causes distortion. The plant was put into my food… and Tawmis broke his chains and risked his life for me.” Taren looked at Stonebreaker, then back at Tawmis, then back to Stonebreaker. “My people have a thing called an Arena of Justice. Those accused of crimes, no matter how petty or severe, are put there to fight off seven waves of gladiators. If you survive the experience, we believe the gods find you innocent. Our Emperor was impressed by the bravery of Tawmis… but we were banished from the lands, despite being found innocent. I owed him a life debt.”
“From the sounds of things, you two have been friends for a long time,” Stonebreaker noted. “Surly you’ve repaid the life debt by now?”
“I have,” Taren replied. “Many times. As he’s saved my life many times since then.”
“So why stay?” Stonebreaker asked.
“Because he is my friend,” Taren replied. He paused, before adding, “He is my family.”
Stonebreaker, a Northman knew of the Minotaurs. Knew they were vicious fighters and honor bound. But he also knew the superiority complex commonly known among the Minotaurs; that every race that wasn’t a Minotaur was either meant to be food or fodder. Seeing such depth in Taren, he wondered if the life debt opened a door that forged an unbreakable friendship.
Not far behind them, Alissa was walking next to Jorale.
“I don’t trust that rat,” Jorale sneered, casting a baleful gaze in the direction of Coy, who was at the front of the expedition.
“Interesting,” Alissa commented, “you not trusting a rat.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jorale asked, halting in her steps for a moment.
Alissa did not slow down. “Is there any rat worse than a slaver?”
“I am not a slaver,” Jorale growled as she caught up to Alissa and gave her a stern look.
“Funny, from where I sat, behind those bars, you looked like a slaver to me,” Alissa sneered back. “You and the captain – what was his name? – Barion – seemed very cozy. And now, I see you getting cozy with the barbarian. You don’t even know who or what you are. You need a man to make you feel complete and secure. First the captain, a man in a position of power. Lose him then you try to warm up to the barbarian – one of the men that your previous lover captured in hopes of selling him off to the slave markets for profit.”
“You dare judge me?” Jorale looked at her, even more furious. “While you grew up with a loving family in your giant castles in your massive empires, I grew up in Sanchi – which, I don’t know if you know this – is a Hell Hole. The heat kills newly born children as quickly and easily as we kill the ants beneath our feet. The harsh conditions make it so parents rarely dote on their children or show them any compassion, because they could die as young children thanks to the heat and lack of water. All you ever knew was a loving family – all I ever wanted was to be loved. So I ran away. I ran away when I was young. I sought a better life for myself. Yes, I used my looks to get me further in life, because I didn’t have the luxury of a father whose purse was full of endless riches.”
“You do not know what love is,” Alissa replied. “You think my life was so easy because I was rich? The vast castle and vast empire you think I grew up in – I never saw. I was the only daughter my parents had. They were paranoid that I would be abducted and held for ransom. I was barely able to leave my room most nights, because of the fear my parents lived in. From my window, I could see people – my own age – laughing and playing with one another. As the years went by, I could see teenagers when I was of their age – kissing in the garden. The only person my parents ever trusted was Sir Karin’s mother and father, because his father was a part of my father’s Knighthood. That’s why Karin and I became as close as we are. Because he was my only friend I ever got to know. I was just as much as a prisoner as you were. I wanted to know the love and friendship of others and be free of the prison my parents had placed me in.”
Both ladies walked in silence.
Alissa turned to Jorale. “I’m sorry for what I said about you.”
“As am I,” Jorale replied, “as to assuming you had a perfect life.”
“There is no such thing as a perfect life,” Alissa said, looking over to Karin, then over to Tawmis. “Life is always full of trouble and turmoil.”