"Man, that was easy." After his dismissive comment, Voster leaned forward to pick up the helmet from the gray pedestal. "No! You fool!" the priest screamed and tackled the burly fighter. "Who's the fool?" Voster yelled as he stood up. "You and your traps and curses, wards and dancing undead monkeys! We've had nothing on our walk here! This place is abandoned." "I know the story of this place, Voster. I've lost friends here," the priest answered, brushing off the dust from his robe. "You don't even have any friends, never had! Those people you claim to know - adventurers - they probably killed each other fighting over the loot." "Perhaps. But that can be caused by the magic here, as well." "I'm taking the headpiece, and then I'm leading you outta here." "You don't even have an idea of the powers at work here, you buffoon!" "Bullshit! You are just trying to show off, relic. You're trying to proof to yourself that you're still useful. Well, you're not, and I'm taking the piece." "Just take it, then," Niora cut in. "If traps spring or spells fly, we still do have to take the helmet with us. At least we're prepared now." "That's right!" Voster puffed and grabbed the helm. A strange, cold wind blew through the hall as the fighter picked up the helm throwing the party's cloaks around. Voster gave a laugh. "Hah! Mind me old bones. Almost froze me to death, that gust. That's your horrible magic at work there, priest." "Stuff it, Voster," Obec snapped. "Something happened," Niora commented and moved near the entrance to the hall. "Yes, wind blew just conveniently as I touched the cursed cap, how sweet." "No, I heard something... Cries maybe." "The beastmen dared to enter the ruins?" Aran, who had been silent during this whole spectacle, asked with a foreboding voice. "No, these are moans. I can still hear them... Like the dead were crying," Niora said and risked a look at the priest. The priest was staring at Voster holding the helmet. "The dead?" Aran dared to ask. "Figure of speech, don't be alarmed," Gerard answered as he stepped into the light. "I saw nothing in either hallway." "Nice for you to show up," Voster spitted and walked towards the entrance, carrying the helmet with both hands. "Now, let's go, before we get as old as grandpa here." "You don't know anything, do you?!" Obec bursted out and glared at the fighter. "This is the legendary helmet of Andrius and people have fought WARS over it! Does your minuscule brain really think that the wizard who hid it would have left it without PROTECTION?!" The angry priest walked in the center of the group, gripping his staff with both hands, knuckles white. "I dare to say that we either are dead already and just don't know it, or we soon will be." "Something's coming," Niora whispered and took a step back from the door. "The dead walk," Obec answered with a shaking voice and straightened himself. Soon there were rattling sounds of bone against rock to be heard from the stairs leading to the hall. Metal screetched against the steps and hollow voices called out the souls of the transgressors of their sanctum. There were masses of them, slithering towards the hall like a huge wave of an angry ocean - dozens upon dozens of forgotten soldiers, unsuccessful artisans and knights who claim to have died a heroic death. The party knew they were outnumbered. Voster subconciously moved closer to the priest as he noticed that something was very, very wrong. "Priest. Up there," Voster said pointing up to the window holes near the ceiling where sprinting shadows were cast. "We're surrounded." "We should fight here at the entrance so that we keep them from entering the hall! Aran, stay back. Protect Father Knoth," Niora shouted and wielded her two blades. "Where's Gerard, dammit!" Voster yelled as he handed the helmet over to Obec and ran to the door. The mercenary appeared to have vanished once again. Niora and Voster stood abreast in front of the doorway, waiting for the inevitable. Niora in battle stance with her scimitar and dagger, Voster with his two-handed axe. "Try to push them down on top of others," Niora suggested suddenly. "What?" "They're dead, they're supposed to be clumsy." "Do these look CLUMSY TO YOU?" Voster yelled and nodded to the direction of the approaching skeleton warriors. With appalling agility, the undead ran up the stairs to meet the two unlucky adventurers. Their bare skulls showed no hesitation, no mercy and no remorse. First two skeletons succumbed to the impacts of the defenders' skilled strikes, but there were a lot more of them to beat. As the next wave was at close range, something flitted past Niora and Voster and struck the foremost skeletons. "What the hell was that?" Voster spurted simultaneously as he dodged left. "Improvisation!" The voice of Gerard assured behind them. He was back. Some of the skeletons were caught up in the ropes and went crashing down the stairs. Gerard apparently had knotted a fifty foot rope into an improvised net and added blocks of stone for weights. "You can't win this fight, my friends, but don't worry. I found a way out. Now, quickly, follow me!" Gerard instructed and started running toward the priest and the boy. Voster and Niora looked at each other and retreated after Gerard, who was now approaching the corner of the hall with the others. The location was next to a beautifully sculptured statue of a man bowing to someone. The brigand pointed at the statue. "There. We can climb up here and we should be able to reach that window sill over there." Voster snorted. "Marvelous! Thank the Gods we are all top-rated athletes." Gerard threw a strange look at the axeman. "Don't be silly. That's an easy climb. Or do you prefer those skeletons instead?" "I prefer the skeletons." "Speaking of which," Niora interrupted and took a step aside to give Voster the room he needed to effectively fight with the axe. "God damn this all!" Voster shrieked. "There are hundreds of them." And he was not lying.