Legend of Grimrock: Destiny’s Chance. (Part 13)

With the announcement of Grimlock 2, and the reveal about the Ratlings – how could I not return and tie my story to it all? It’s posted on the Legend of Grimrock forum here! Please enjoy! Comment! Good, bad, what you liked, disliked, whatever! I love comments!
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For the one or two of you who have stumbled upon this site, with no idea what you’re reading… or if you are the one or two, who was bored beyond reason at 3am, unable to sleep and read my previous Legend of Grimrock fan pieces, and are quite surprised that after (over!) a year, I have added another one – and you want to brush up on the previous stories – here’s links to them!

Part 01
Part 02
Part 03
Part 04
Part 05
Part 06
Part 07
Part 08
Part 09
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
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“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.

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Tawmis Sanarius – Human (Son of Contar Stoneskull and Yennica Whitefeather)
Taren Bloodhorn – Minotaur
Blaz’tik – Insectoid
Silvertan – Lizardman
Coy – Ratling from the Isle of Nex