Neverending Nights

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.”

It’s to the point that my mind has turned against me. Every fear I have ever had seems to be alive in Grimrock. The torch casts flicking shadows against the wall and it seems like something is always waiting just beyond the shadows; waiting for the torch to be extinguished.

“Do you smell that,” I heard Silvertan hiss behind me. I paused and sniffed at the air. All I could smell was the burning torch. I looked at Silvertan, whose scales seemed to be etched in blackness, with small shadows decorating and accentuating them.

“I don’t smell anything,” I answered.

Silvertan seemed to look at me with a twitch of disgust in his eyes. I am not sure if it was because of who I am, or the fact that I’m human. He’s said things that seem to elude to the idea that he might know who my parents are.

“Truluffs,” he answered.

I looked at him blankly. What he said made no sense to me. “What is Truluffs?”

“Mushrooms,” Blaz’tik answered. “Very rare mushrooms.”

“Extremely rare, except in my homeland, within the Terragrass Marshes,” Silvertan added.

I looked back and forth between them. “So, what’s the big deal with some mushrooms?”

“You humans use it for cooking,” Silvertan answered. “Though, they’re very rare, because of the wild swine within the Terragrass Marshes… the truluff spores emit the same scent as the pheromone that the wild boars emit in their saliva. Thus the wild female swine, sniff them out and devour them. Later, when they excrete the remains, the spores replant themselves within the feces and the cycle begins anew. Truluffs require a dark, dank, moist environment.” Silvertan seemed to smile, “Although eating them raw will have … lucid effects, if they’re not cooked – except to female swine.”

“That’s all good, but I don’t think anyone here is willing to sit down and cook a gourmet meal,” I shrugged.

“They are –tic!- also highly prized as –tic!- magical components,” Blaz’tik said.

“Magical components,” I said. “Now that we can use. All right,” I turned to Silvertan. “Which way?”

Silvertan walked by me, his serpent eyes on me until he passed me by. Taren, the minotaur caught it as well. “What’s his problem?” Taren asked gruffly.

“I wish I knew,” I whispered. “But something tells me it may have to do something with my parents.”

“Your parents?” Taren asked. “But how could he know? You’ve changed your name…”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know.”

We followed Silvertan through the dungeon until we came into a massive room where the entire floor seemed to be made of mushrooms. “This,” Silvertan’s serpent like hiss was thick, “is not natural. Someone made this.”

“Or something,” Taren’s nostrils flared, as if trying to use his own heightened sense of smell.

“Grab some mushrooms and make it quick,” I said, gesturing to the massive mushroom patch.

Then I heard it.

Coming from the darkness down the hall, beyond the torch light.

It sounded like a herd of angry turkeys.

“What in the seven gods is that sound?” I asked.

“Herders,” Silvertan said, nodding. “Now it makes sense. There’s herders in here.”

“What is a herder?”

“A living mushroom, to make it quick,” Silvertan said. “They’re native to the Terragrass Marshes. I don’t know what they’re doing here. They’re nothing to be fearful of – they’re only a few inches in height. It’s the Spore Herders and Elder Herders that you need to be very mindful of. They’re extremely lethal.”

However, what came bursting through the darkness was hardly a few inches in height. These herders stood nearly four feet tall, appearing to be – as Silvertan noted – living mushrooms, with root like appendages for feet and arms.

I began swinging my torch back and forth, as I stared back at Blaz’tik. “Let me guess, this is kind of like the worm situation? These guys used to be a few inches tall, but the magic inside this place has ‘evolved’ them to these larger species?”

“That –tic!- sounds like the most –tic!- logical explanation,” Blaz’tik nodded as he grabbed another handful of mushrooms.

As we backed away we found stairs that led down a level. A rusty gate was between us and them as we reached the stairs. I looked at Taren, and without a word, he pulled the gate down, and part of the wall with his magnificent strength.

As I turned around I saw a massive blue stone floating, and Blaz’tik was already running his hands on it.

“What is that thing now?” I asked.

“A heart,” Blaz’tik answered excitedly. “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.”

“We should smash it then,” I explained.

“No,” Blaz’tik shook his head. “Don’t you see. This stone… it’s magnificent. It… brings life… through magic.”

I frowned.

And I saw Silvertan looking at me.

I had made it clear I was not a fan of magic.

“So you’re telling me, if one of us should fall in combat this stone… thing… could bring them back to life?” I asked.

“Hypothetically speaking,” Blaz’tik said excitedly, “That’s –tic!- exactly what I am saying.”

“The Mages here were messing with forces they shouldn’t have,” I said as we worked our way down to the second floor. Suddenly, the explanations, the horror stories of ‘The Undying One’ made much more sense…

I am not most.

I typically hate being right.

This is because I have a very sarcastic sense of the world around me. I typically believe if things can go wrong, that merely means they will go wrong – usually sooner rather than later.

My voice was nearly raw from shouting. “By Tyrell’s Blade! Back! Go back! There’s a giant slug in this room! Back!”

Even as we slowly made our way backwards, swinging our torches back and forth in front of the giant creatures, I heard Silvertan’s lisping voice behind me, “That’s actually a giant snail. Snails carry coiled shells on their backs, while slugs do not.”

I turned towards Silvertan, my eyes burning holes through him (though not literally, despite every bone in my body wishing I could). “Really? Now is the time to give me a run down between snails and slugs? This couldn’t wait until, you know, never?”

Taren quickly pulled the rusty gate down, as we backed out of the room, leaving the slithering giant snails to circle within the room, the disgusting sound of the mucus being spread on the floor as they slithered about.

I wiped the sweat from my brow, and went down to my knees. “By the Satarien Mages, how did those things get to be so big?”

Blaz’tik was leaning near the downed, rusted iron gate. “Just as you –tic!- said.” He turned his insectoid head towards the rest of us. “Magic. I can feel it –tic!- coursing through them.”

“Someone did that to those things?” I asked, shaking my head. “Who would want giant slugs –“ I saw Silvertan about to correct me again, “Or giant snails – whatever they are – leaving their mucus all over the inside of Mount Grimrock?”

“Was not –tic!- that someone changed them –tic!-,” Blaz’tik explained. “It’s that –tic!- Mount Grimrock has –tic!- changed them. It would seem the –tic!- magic that flows through –tic!- Mount Grimrock has changed the very –tic!- food that these snails feed upon.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, not entirely understanding. I have never liked magic. Never trusted it. Where did it come from? How did it work? I’d much rather have a blade in my hand. I can see it. I can control it. I can touch it. I know what it does. It does what I want it to, when I want it to. Magic seemed too… chaotic.

“The –tic!- moss,” Blaz’tik continued to explain. “It grows within –tic!- Grimrock. The entire mountain is –tic!- flowing with magic. Since the moss grows from Grimrock’s stone –tic!- it has been altered, down to its genetic level –tic!- so that the snails that feed upon it –tic!- are also being changed. Many –tic!- generations, these were probably –tic!- ordinary snails. Over time, as the fed upon the –tic!- moss within Grimrock, each generation grew more –tic!- powerful, more ‘tainted’ if you will –tic!- by the magic coursing through Mount Grimrock.”

“That,” I said, throwing my arms in the air, “is absolutely wonderful. Let me guess, if there’s rats in here, they may have fed on the snails, and over generations, we might be running into giant rats down here?”

“Honestly, -tic!-,” Blaz’tik answered, “it would not surprise me if that is exactly the case.”

“You’re a very comforting individual, did you know that?” I sighed.

“A good thing –tic!- that you said you were not worried earlier, yes?”

I don’t know if I was just imagining things, but I could swear the insectoid smiled at me.

As impossible as that sounded.

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.