Legend of Grimrock: Destiny’s Chance. (Part 6)

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.”