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. 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.

To Be Continued?

Good luck Tawmis, may the caretakers watch over you!

Daniel.

Excellent writing Sir Tawmis! Fits perfectly into the world of Grimrock. Thank you!

Darklord wrote:Good luck Tawmis, may the caretakers watch over you!
Daniel.

Thank you!

petri wrote:Excellent writing Sir Tawmis! Fits perfectly into the world of Grimrock. Thank you!

Yeegads! One of the coders read it? You have complimented me, beyond my words to explain! (Especially saying it would fit so perfectly in Grimrock!)

What's funny is - I wrote it, because as it often seems to occur - the "voices" in my head demand their story to be told! You can see the blog that talks about the story above and why I did it!

So I am quite honored that anyone even read it. It was most done because I had to - because they refused to press on within the dungeon, without getting some background done!

That's a nice prologue you wrote there for your party!

Was interesting to read.

Thels wrote:That's a nice prologue you wrote there for your party!

Was interesting to read.

Thank you very much! Was a quick write up (since my brain refused to let me progress much further in the game without it!) I am curious if my brain will force me to return to it, and write about their adventures within Mount Grimrock...

As I suspected, these characters had more to tell...
===========================================

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.

Nice explanation for the everlasting internal illumination.

jontycampbell wrote:Nice explanation for the everlasting internal illumination.

Thank you! I love doing that kind of stuff - finding a way to explain little things like that. And since a lot of the lore about Grimrock talks about magic, it seemed to be a nice, natural way to explain it. (Here's hoping Almost Human needs a lore writer sometime in the future for Grimrock 2)...