Legend of Grimrock: Destiny’s Chance. (Part 7)

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.