“Halt, friends!” a voice sounds out from nowhere.
“Leave them!”
“Aye aye, hetman!” the zombies let go of you.
In a corner of the room, sitting with an ease at odds with his extraordinarily muscular build, is a man of indeterminate age. You notice an elaborate, but very solid looking chest by his side.
“What brought you here? My companions and I haven’t had any visitors since we settled here.”
- “Are you Hyggelik?”
- “We’re here on the hetman’s orders!”
“Yes, I am! Now, what brings you here?”
He thinks for a while.
“The hetman’s, yes, yes…”
But shortly his expression changes and in an angered voice, he barks: “I’m the hetman here! Hyggelik the Great! So, what do you want?”
When you’ve completed your tale he sits silently with a grievous expression, seemingly unaware of your presence. He finally seems to remember you’re here and in a tortured whisper, begins to speak.
“You must help us… this blasted treasure. Every single piece of gold down here is cursed… forsaken by the gods… you must sacrifice my sword to Boron and pray to him to have mercy on us…”
Then, Hyggelik gets a grip on himself, his countenance changing before your very eyes, and continues in a loud and firm voice.
“You must save Thorwal from danger! Yes… show those disgusting orcs, go boldly into the orcish lands, challenge their chief to a duel in their own territory nonetheless… and Grimring shall help you in your fight…”
He slowly reaches behind the chest and, with great care, picks up an awe-inspiring sword.
“This is Grimring, my companion and closest friend on all my travels. It is of no use to me down here. Let it strike for the benefit of Thorwal again, as it did in my days of glory and triumph.”
A man who must have once wielded an incredible power sits in a corner. Although he is but a remnant of his former self, he still seems quite vibrant in comparison to the eight zombies gathered about him.
“Welcome to our humble abode, friends. Allow me to introduce myself, Hyggelik is my name. And these tortured souls are the remainder of my otta: Trutzke’s brother, cowardly Ansgar…” he says some names and points to the zombies.
“Let’s have a party with our new recruits! Jurge — get the others!” as he gathers his eerie group, a barely noticeable glimmer catches your eye. You turn and notice a sword that fairly radiates with an awe-inspiring power. Clearly this is no average sword. Instantly you all have the same thought… “Grimring!”
Do you
- Just take the sword?
- Ask Hyggelik for it?
“Uh uh, no touching! That’s my sword, good old Grimring — my trusted companion has served me well.”
But his gaze seems to cloud over as he speaks and he makes no particular effort to stop you from reaching for the sword. As you grasp the sword in your hands, he seems to come to some sort of decision and says:
“All right, I’ll make you an offer. I will loan you my most treasured possession… for a month. But you must agree to return it. Don’t get any ideas of cheating me either because sooner or later my companions and I will find you.” and he looks tellingly at the horde of zombies standing by.
“That sword, Grimring! Haven’t you heard of my legendary companion?”
- You take the sword.
- You leave it be.
With a doomed expression on his face, you can barely hear his despairing whisper.
“You fools! If only you hadn’t taken any of the treasure. Every single gold coin down here is cursed… forsaken by the Twelve… you are useless to us now! You too are now destined to remain down here for all eternity!”