“The most frightening dead in the world, are the ones with any sense of loyalty beyond the grave.” Lord Antonio of Morghal (5-30 A. F. E.).

The scent of rot and death oozed across Garassk’s tongue as he went through the tunnel, causing him to stop flicking it out after doing so a few times. The smell came from the opened crypt at the end of the room. Garassk went down the stairs and took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness.

Cold air smothered the stone caverns of the crypt. Everyone’s steps echoed as they moved down the hall. Garassk was fairly certain that his breath had an echo down here. When they finally caught up with Morgwar, they all walked the halls together.

“So there’s at least one explanation for why the island is like this, right?” Garassk asked.

“Some say that the last king to wear the Crown of Tusks died defending his kingdom from an invading army from the Tiberean Empire,” Morgwar said. “Whether their mages carelessly unleashed something on the land, or the Tiberean forces released a spell as retaliation for their defeat is unknown.”

“Those are the only options?” Thora asked.

“It does sound like something was left out,” Garassk added. “It sure sounds like someone wants you to think that one side won no matter what.”

“This land never was actually conquered,” Morgwar growled said.

“I’ll be sure to congratulate the king when we meet him,” Garassk said.

A rustling sound stopped them in their tracks. Garassk drew his sword at the exact moment that a lumbering shape moved into their sight. An armored figure lumbered forward. Bone peeked through the few bits of flesh that were visible beneath its armor, and the axe it wielded looked rusty. Two blue flames gleamed through the eye-holes. Ragged breaths echoed through the hall.

“Um… hello there,” Garassk said.

“You are trespassing on sacred lands,” the rotting figure said, its voice echoing throughout the cavern. “All who enter these halls must be approved by King Hrogvorth.”

“Sorry we’re late. Thora ate some bad berries, and Rathorn overslept,” Garassk replied sarcastically. “Hrogvorth’s expecting us. I promise.”

“You dare to mock our great and glorious leader so openly, wretched lizard?” the orc snarled. “I will bring your heads to him as punishment for your impudent words.”

Garassk didn’t wait to see if he would actually do it. He charged forward, reversed his grip so he held his sword by the blade, and slammed the hilt against the corpse’s head. The body collapsed like a puppet severed from its strings, and the head rolled down the stairs behind it. A relieved sigh seemed to blow from the body as it fell.

“Well, now we know that Hrogvorth is still alive,” Thora said.

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“Good,” Morgwar grunted. “Our journey was not in vain.”

He pushed past Garassk and pressed on. The group descended further into the tomb.

The lower chambers were more spacious. It felt less like a tomb, and more like an underground city.

“This place is amazing,” Garassk whispered just loud enough for everyone to hear. “If we weren’t in the middle of a war, I would love to spend more time here.”

“How long has this city been buried?” Thora gasped at the sight. “And what else could be here, if not the crown?”

“There could be lots of magic here,” Rathorn suggested. “The ancients spared no expense on temples, castles, or cities.”

“But is Hrogvorth in here?” Garassk asked. “Because we could be here all day if he’s hiding in a space this big.”

“One of his undead cultists just mentioned him. Why wouldn’t he be where there’s plenty of supporters crawling around?” Thora snorted.

“Not the answer I wanted, but noted,” Garassk sighed. “I guess we’d best press on.”

Without even waiting to see if they were following, he kept moving. A rusty door waited for them at the end of the chamber, but soldiers lined the floor nearby. It only took seven steps for the soldiers to rise, and the rotted corpses raised their weapons in a show of intimidation, screaming as they did so.

“Here’s more!” Garassk hissed. He heard Rathorn start loading a bolt, and Morgwar charged straight toward the undead soldiers, scattering their bones across the floor. Garassk saw a skeletal arm start crawling toward him and jumped away in disgust. He looked up to see Morgwar stomp on one of the skulls, and looked back at the arm, which had fallen inert.

Thora jumped into the fray, hacking at any undead nearby. Several soldiers moved behind her in a more disciplined fashion. Garassk charged forward and slammed into a skeleton that was hacking futilely at Morgwar’s own plate armor. The head rolled off, and he grabbed it up and slammed it against a wall, causing it to crack like an egg. He heard an arrow whistle in the air not long after, and saw another knight collapse as its head crumbled into a powder-like substance.

Garassk turned back to Morgwar, only for an undead soldier to descend upon him. Before he had the chance to retaliate, it shoved him to the ground with its shield and pinned him down with a foot. Several loosed arrows from a nearby archer managed to spill some rotted flesh on Garassk’s body, but did little to slow it down. Morgwar roared, grabbed the corpse from behind and squeezed it, pouring more rot on Garassk, and slammed it against the ground, destroying the head.

“Gods, this is disgusting,” Garassk hissed, getting up and trying to clean the rotted flesh off of his armor. “Please tell me that Hrogvorth is nearby, and that we won’t have to be down here much longer.”

“Perhaps he’s waiting in the next room,” Morgwar answered. “I think that it leads to the main chamber.”

“How do you know that?” Rathorn asked.

“Many castle graveyards on the mainland have similar layouts,” Morgwar answered.

“Thank the gods,” Garassk gasped, charging right for the door.

“There are side doors with other corpses in them,” Rathorn warned. “Perhaps it would be wise to take out some soldiers before Hrogvorth can use them?”

“Feel free,” Garassk said. “I'm going for the throat if it means getting out of here faster.”

The next room was completely dark. A loud horn pierced the air. Flames lit up the room, revealing undead archers watching the trio from various high ledges, and an army awaiting them down below. One figure stood slightly higher than them.

“Do I finally have an audience for my crowning?” a rough voice called out mockingly. “Come right in! You won’t be leaving here anyway!”