Grace did not bless the Goblin's movements. With a hard step and clunky movement, only innate magic kept the creature surprisingly silent as he crept along the skull laden corridors. Merrick's body language spoke deeply of his 'no fucks' personality, muscles pulsing as if ready for a physical fight. If given the chance he would walk right into a room full of Templars and call them out, but he also established a sense of self-preservation.
Around the last turn, Issac's body lay in the middle of a ritual room. Where dirt covered every hall on their way, the one before them had been polished clean. Intricately patterned tiles crisscrossed over the floors and walls. A large chalk circle with a mixture of Christian and Nordic symbols encircled Issac. Blood spilt on the floor from ripped open wounds in his back. Issac shook, his body in shock, as he whimpered through the pain. Various magical artifacts displayed on podiums at the four points on the circle glowed dimly in the amber lit room.
The stern, uncaring look Merrick held on his face faded to one of sympathy. He looked at Catherine for a moment before walking up to the first artifact.