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Muri Mortuorum is the tenth quest zone, part two of Among the Dead (Story Volume), and is unlocked by defeating Zombie Master in Where Dead Men Walk on Normal difficulty. Defeat Oswald von Malhaven in Three von Malhavens on Normal difficulty to unlock Dark Dynasty.

"These walls weren't made to bar you from the von Malhavens' territory. They were made to keep you there... forever."


EnemiesEdit

Skeleton warriorZombie bruteSkeleton mageZombie mageSkeleton summonerWraithAncient wraithMummyCursed mummyZombie torsoPutrid zombie

Mummy pharoahVampire graf

Zombie warrior

EncountersEdit

WalkthroughEdit

Z10 background
Muri Mortuorum
Muri Mortuorum
Interactive Map
Interactive Map

Normal Encounters
Boss Encounters
Optional Boss Encounters
Final Boss

Fight through Nodes 1-3. Continue North and clear Node 4. Optionally, you can clear Node 5 to unlock Mummy Pharaoh (Brawl Boss). Then go down the middle and to the right, clear Node 7, finally arriving at Node 10; finish it to clear the map and unlock Vampire Graf (Brawl Boss).

(Old map)

Notable LootEdit

CraftingEdit

Boss Card Reward

Randoms Card Reward

Equipment Reward

TranscriptEdit

Stromhamre, nearly six hundred years earlier...

"How much further, voman?" Commander Ludwig raised his faceplate, turned in the saddle, and spat – as though the very name of her sex disgusted him.

Rina ignored the slight. She'd become accustomed to such things.

"Another mile of forest," she replied.

The commander glared at her. His eyes seemed to hold the gypsy girl responsible for the substance of her pronouncement as well as its utterance. But even the gruff soldier couldn't quite muster up the gall to blame her for the land's topography, so he contented himself with slapping the metal faceplate back down. The sharp movement sent droplets of blood and slime flying from its surface. Some of them splashed against Rina's check. She wiped them aside with her sleeve.

That too no longer perturbed her. The past day's battles with the von Malhavens' zombies had left no room for squeamishness. Ludwig's plate armor was stained with blood and putrid corpse juices. Those foul substances had smeared themselves across its Ruthic adornments, and now festered in their intricate crevices. Perhaps only flame could truly cleanse it now. Rina's clothing had fared no better. The rough fabric was stained red, brown, and even green – though she couldn't image where the lattermost hue had come from. And it was rent in half a dozen places, revealing expanses of flesh that drew the soldiers' leers in spite of the blood and grime which caked them.

No women fought in Ludwig's ranks. And even the most avaricious prostitutes – who might usually be relied upon to follow campaigning soldiers in the hope of separating them from their coin – had been kept at bay by the sinister reputation which hung over the von Malhavens' territory. Thus the gypsy guide was the lone representative of her sex, hired by the begrudging commander because her clan had dwelled in those woods when she was a child. The experience had thus far proven... unpleasant. Male soldiers forced to rely on their right hands for satisfaction were no companions for a lone woman. By day there were leers. And by night... Rina had bedded down far from the others, hiding herself away. But it was still only her long daggers, placed at a throat or groin with all the quick-bladed swiftness for which gypsy folk were known and slurred, that had kept her honor intact.

She'd thought of slipping away in the darkness. But the commander was offering a fat pouch of gold for her guidance, and her people were poor...

Ludwig at least had no eyes for her. He'd looked upon her with only disdain, never lust. And now his gaze was directed at the trees around the marching column, probing their gloomy depths. Steel-clad fingers twitched on the handle of his zweihander. Their clashes with the undead had told on his nerves, veteran warrior as he was. Perhaps he regretted that his freiherr had ever coveted the land of the neighboring von Malhavens. She didn't blame the commander. It was one thing to fight men, elves, or goblins... But zombies?

The gypsy had seen them in the forest as a girl. They'd never done her any harm, for Rina's clan had dwelt there with permission of Markgrafin Gretchen herself. But she'd always feared them nonetheless.

A sharp, shrill whistle pierced her memories. It's suddenness amidst such chilling recollections made her draw a dagger halfway from its sheath and prepare to drop from her mount. But none of the soldiers were doing likewise. Instead they were slowing, as the scout must have signaled them to do.

Ludwig's horse came to a halt, and hers did the same. The scout was standing at the edge of the tree line, staring out at an expanse of grass that languished beneath creeping tentacles of mist the same color as the overcast iron sky above.

The commander knocked his faceplate up, with such force that it rebounded back into place and he was compelled to lift it a second time. Again there was an accusing glare on this beetroot features, fastened on the gypsy.

"You said there vas another mile of forest!"

"There is. Look."

He stared at her for a long moment, as though suspecting trickery, before following her pointing finger. The commander scowled and squinted. Across the mist-shrouded grass, obscured by the greyness which seemed to thicken with distance, were the shapes of more trees.

"Ve called this the Gypsy's Ribbon," Rina continued. "Ve played here as children. It cuts through the forest."

The commander's face twitched, and she suspected he was deciding whether to should lambast her for one reason or another. But a tendril of mist parted before the trees on the opposite side of the Gypsy's Ribbon, and all other things were forgotten.

"Undead!" one of the soldiers yelled.

And not just zombies this time... Grinning skulls and bandaged monstrosities were emerging from the forest.

Ludwig grunted.

"Advance! Ve'll ride them down and destroy them on open ground," he said. Then, when the men hesitated, he yelled: "Now!"

The soldiers trotted out beyond the trees.

The world shook.


***


"It's a bloody earthquake!"

"Back!" Tessa cries. "Get back!"

She turns and runs. So do the others – sprinting for the tree line you emerged from only moments before.

The ground trembles under your boots like a living thing, a massive monster thrashing and roaring – rising from slumber to wreak havoc on the world. Its undulations shiver their way up your legs, along your spine. Even your teeth seem to shake in your mouth.

You almost stumble. But your family's master assassin trained you better than that. Your next footfall lands with instinctive sureness, and your pace continues unbroken.

Something erupts from the earth behind you, throwing chunks of dirt across your back and submerging you in a grim shadow – smothering the moonlight. Part of you yearns to look around, to give form to the monstrosity that's risen to destroy you. Instead you keep running for the forest.

Your eyes find Tessa. She's already reached the trees and stopped. Now she's standing there, staring past you with wide eyes. There's an arrow on her bowstring. But the weapon's low, its deadly missile pointed at the ground. Whatever's coming, even Tessa Tullian's shafts can't save you from it...

Rakshara's a few paces ahead of you. She lows for a moment when the mage running beside her trips and staggers, long enough to snatch him up with a powerful orange arm and throw him onto her shoulder. Then she quickens her pace, as though the man weighed nothing.

The shaking stops with gut-wrenching suddenness. The ground is solid and unmoving underfoot when you reach the trees and join the others. At last you turn around, to see what they're all gawking at.

"Sodding hell!"

"Remarkable..." Brachus murmurs.

Some of your companions are muttering prayers, or tracing holy symbols across their chests.

A huge barrier stretches across the grass, its base sunk in the churned up dirt from whence it burst free. It's a wall, its face almost flat and its upper edge perfectly level – as though shaped by masons' hands. But no mason chiseled this thing into being... It isn't made of stone.

"Are those..." Rakshara begins.

"Bones," Tessa replies.

Hundreds of skeletons. Perhaps thousands... A titanic mass of things, pressed together by sinister forces into a dreadful form that's both ossuary and impediment. A barrier of bones. A wall of the dead.

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