Legend of Grimrock: Destiny's Chance.

[Sir Tawmis]

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.


1. Crularious is a plant. It's effects are explained in the previous story entry found here.

[Komag]

Aha, some action! good mix

[Komag]

After posting my story I suddenly have noticed that our titles have the same format! I suppose it's a good one, but I must say I didn't mean to copy the style, sorry

[Sir Tawmis]

After posting my story I suddenly have noticed that our titles have the same format! I suppose it's a good one, but I must say I didn't mean to copy the style, sorry

Oh, please! It's a pretty common format! I don't mind at all! Especially having just read your story! You, sir, have raised the bar, considerably!

[Komag]

Thanks! And I look forward to your continuation

[Sir Tawmis]

Thanks! And I look forward to your continuation

Well if work slows down I hope to venture back and continue the tale of Tawmis, Taren Bloodhorn, Blaz'tik and Silvertan!

[Sir Tawmis]

Tawmis Sanarius – Human (Son of Contar Stoneskull and Yennica Whitefeather)
Taren Bloodhorn – Minotaur
Blaz’tik – Insectoid
Silvertan – Lizardman

How 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. (1 – Read about the ‘Snail/Slug’ reference here)

“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. (2 – Read more about Tawmis’ origin here)

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?)

[Komag]

Sir Tawmis! Welcome!

This was a very nice update to the story! NOOOOO, he can't be dead! We'll see what happens

[Sir Tawmis]

Sir Tawmis! Welcome!
This was a very nice update to the story! NOOOOO, he can't be dead! We'll see what happens

It's nice to be back and climbing through the grimy Dungeons of Grimrock with these companions again!

[Sir Tawmis]

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. (1 – Read here what the Crowern are)

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. (2 – Read about their encounter with Herders here.)

“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. (3. Read about when Blaz’tik called the stone a ‘Heart.’).

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?”

TO BE CONTINUED?

Well, of course!