Description
General Korxun is the second boss encounter for All Roads Lead. As with all bosses, General Korxun can also be battled in a raid with 4 available levels: Normal, Hard, Legendary and Nightmare.
Loot[]
| Name | Att | Def | AV | Per | Ability | Obtained | |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
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General Korxun Essence | Used to summon General Korxun (Raid) | General Korxun quest boss | ||||
|
Brown Chronicles of the Drake War | Craft x2 Stat Points | All Roads Lead quests/Quest sharing | ||||
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Grey Chronicles of the Drake War | Craft x2 Stat Points | All Roads Lead quests/Quest sharing | ||||
|
Green Chronicles of the Drake War | Craft x2 Stat Points | All Roads Lead quests/Quest sharing | ||||
|
Blue Chronicles of the Drake War | Craft x2 Stat Points | All Roads Lead quests/Quest sharing | ||||
|
Purple Chronicles of the Drake War | Craft x2 Stat Points | All Roads Lead quests/Quest sharing | ||||
|
Orange Chronicles of the Drake War | Craft x2 Stat Points | All Roads Lead quests/Quest sharing |
Lore[]
Enter battle[]
| Lore |
|---|
| After haunting the city streets for quite some time, questioning passersby whilst declining their myriad offers of food, drink, weapons, religious conversion, carnal pleasure, and marriage, a Golden Garden monk finally tells you where he last saw Marcus. Then a helpful (albeit drunken) Nord directs you towards the nearest staircase that leads up to the top of Dracoshire's walls.
You ascend, and step out onto the battlements. The air is cool and bracing after the warmth of the crowded streets below. You savor it for a long moment, while faint music drifts by on the wind. Medea's voice is almost phantasmal. Distance robs it of volume and clarity, but not of beauty. You yearn to follow it to its source and let it embrace you. But there's something you need to do first. So you go in the opposite direction, and walk the ramparts until you find the bronze man leaning against the crenellations. The moonlight shines on unfocussed eyes, lost in introspection. You feel like an intruder. After days spent among the troops, dealing with the endless necessities of war, a quiet, solitary moment must be a precious gift. You start to turn away. "%name%." "Sorry, I..." "It's okay." You lean beside him, against the cold stone. "They finally let you go?" he says. "I think they got tired of my stories. Especially when I starting telling them I grappled a chimera to the ground and broke all four of its necks with a wrestling hold." He raises an eyebrow. "I had to make it interesting. They were getting bored of purple orcs, undead soldiers, and qwils." "Trust you to get locked in a crypt, and come out with more tales than the Blind Bard. Some of the city's artists were saying they should make a statue in your honor. Tonight, so it'd be standing before the battle." "You're the one they should be honoring. Teucer and Mina told me everything you did, all the bits you left out." He shrugs. "I did what I had to." "You kept the army, maybe the kingdom, going. You saved Jamus' life. Then I come back and..." "And give them all hope. The hero returned from the dead. It's different for us, for the people who know you. We got our friend back. But for them... For the people of Dracoshire, and the rest of the kingdom... It's like Terracles, the Red Prince, or Arete's risen from the grave to stand with them. The moment you and Solus landed, you inspired them more than I ever could. And if that makes them stay strong, if it makes them fight harder, then I'm glad." He looks upward. Scattered diamonds twinkle in the deep darkness of the night sky. "Besides," he says at last, "I got to punch Aurelius Bloodwyn in the face." "How'd that feel?" "Even better than getting knighted." The two of you smile at the stars. "Roland's at The King's Crown," you say. "Fancy a drink?" "Maybe in a bit." You nod, and head towards the music while the bronze man watches the heavens. "Die, bronze man!" The beastman's axe chopped down at his head. It fell past him, along with a pair of dismembered forearms. The hyena-man wailed. Marcus' next swing added his head to the pile. "They know your name," Mina said. The vampiress stepped beside him, grasping a lion-man's throat at the end of her outstretched arm. Furry feet kicked above the ground. Clawed hands scraped at her wrist. Her sword plunged once, twice, thrice, and she threw his corpse aside. "You're getting as famous as %him%." Mina von Richten pointed up at the sky, where %name% and Solus soared. "A century from now, you can come to my grave and let me know which of us everyone's still talking about." Marcus scanned the field. To the left, the Order of the Seven held the line against a pack of beastmen. Dozens of corpses lay around them in great mounds, but their strikes were slowing, and fatigue weighed down their limbs. On the right, Statius and Mabrunesh struggled with a pair of ogres. "Take the rainbow," Mina said. "I'll help the constructs." Marcus nodded, and the two of them ran in opposite directions. An instant later, a monstrous scream made him wince. Even ogres learned to fear the Red Baroness... Korxun grunted. He turned his head and spat. Blood spurted from his maw, glistened in the air, and joined the butchery strewn across the mud and filth. The oroc had hit him hard. Even through the fog of bloodlust and battle rage, his kidney ached. The organ felt as though it bulged and throbbed at twice its size. It was a good pain. A warrior's pain. He let its fire fuel his anger, and unleashed a roar that made even his allies tremble. He'd killed many. But the enemy fought on, battling before the eastern gates, denying the city to his forces. He couldn't rest until their heads were split and he trod gore along the streets of Dracoshire. The ogre general's eyes glared from his skull helm. His gaze fell upon a brutal melee, where armored knights bathed in blood, and a dark-skinned human fought with his mighty limbs encased in bronze. Korxun roared again, spat another scarlet stream, and lumbered towards them. |
Victory[]
| Lore |
|---|
| People told stories before they even opened their lips. The cut of their clothes, the dirt on their hands, the way they walked, their furtive glances... A guardsman could read these things like a poet read verses, and take a person's measure. But Marcus' talents weren't needed here. Four bloody blades screamed the ogre's tale. The bronze man could only wonder how many of his troops, his allies, perhaps even his friends, had died to those savage weapons.
The ogre jabbed a sword towards him. Marcus required no urging. He raised his own sword and advanced towards the four-armed brute. The ogre lunged. Marcus shuffled backwards, keeping beyond the weapons' reach, batting at any that came too near. Taking his enemy's measure. The ogre was strong, but he favored one side more than the other. The bronze man knew the signs of an injury when he saw them. The ogre rushed forward, pressing the attack. Four swords cut alternate arcs. Marcus dodged, ducked, parried, sprang backwards, and braced his legs. When the ogre's weaker side swung, when the muscular body faltered for an instant, the bronze man leapt. He soared above his enemy, sword point aimed. His blade thrust down at the subclavian artery. Whether by art, instinct, or luck, the ogre staggered back a pace. The bronze man's sword bit into flesh and tasted blood, but missed the mortal wound. The ogre's grin shone amidst the flashing of his steel. Blades cleaved at Sir Marcus' neck. Death gleamed on every edge. He darted in close and drove his pommel into the ogre's kidney. A howl told him he'd found the injury. His sword was in the ogre's heart before the monster could recover, and the blue-skinned abomination crashed to the ground. "Sir Marcus!" The bronze man looked up. A fairy hovered overhead. "The south and west are overrun!" she said. "They're storming the city!" |
Flee/Defeat[]
| Lore |
|---|
| The last battle had come, with the kingdom at stake, One final clash between proud West Kruna and drake. |
HP & Max Damage[]
- Normal - 8000 hp; 6000 max damage
- Hard -
- Legendary -
- Nightmare -