- A lonely province, far from the busting centers of West Krunan life. Nomadic tribes occasionally dwell here for a season, before moving on.
Ryndor is the fourth questing area in the game and becomes available when all sub-quests and boss encounters have been completed on at least normal difficulty in Fallows.
|Foothills | The Tomb | Forbidden Forest | Plains | Camlann Hill|
|Title||Level 1||Level 2||Level 3||Level 4||Level 5||Level 6||Level 7|
(Complete Ryndor on Nightmare difficulty.)
|Stone of Arach||Used as an ingredient to craft Power of the Demon Stones||Ryndor - The Tomb, Plains|
|Knightly Helm||28||32||36||Bazaar - Ryndor|
|Knightly Breastplate||28||32||36||Bazaar - Ryndor|
|Knightly Gauntlets||28||32||36||Bazaar - Ryndor|
|Knightly Legplates||28||32||36||Bazaar - Ryndor|
|Knightly Boots||28||32||36||Bazaar - Ryndor|
|Knight's Charger||62||58||77||Chivalry: Increases chance to land a critical hit||Bazaar - Ryndor|
|Knight||25||15||29||Bazaar - Ryndor|
|Infernal Knight's Armet||28||28||35||Infernal Machinations: Chance for bonus damage; Extra damage against Ryndor raids; Extra damage for each additional piece of Infernal Knight armor worn||Bloodmane's Beastman|
|Infernal Knight's Cuirass||28||28||35||Infernal Machinations: Chance for bonus damage; Extra damage against Ryndor raids; Extra damage for each additional piece of Infernal Knight armor worn||Demon Knight|
|Infernal Knight's Vambraces||28||28||35||Infernal Machinations: Chance for bonus damage; Extra damage against Ryndor raids; Extra damage for each additional piece of Infernal Knight armor worn||Stalking Hellhound|
|Infernal Knight's Cuisses||28||28||35||Infernal Ambusher|
|Infernal Knight's Schynbalds||28||28||35||Demon Ambusher|
|Lucian the Scholar||60||60||75||Expert Monster Hunter: Chance for bonus damage plus Lore Yell; Chance for bonus damage if A Schoolboy's Guide to Fisticuffs is owned; Chance for bonus damage if Cricket Bat is owned||Questing: Ryndor - The Tomb|
|Calla||55||70||73||Blessing of Nature: Increases Player's Health; Chance to restore Health (+70)||Questing: Ryndor - Forbidden Forest|
|Syriss Deathclaw||60||55||74||Catnip: Increases Player's maximum Energy (+15)||Bazaar: Ryndor 150k|
|Brown Scabbard||Craft x2 Stat Points||Ryndor quests, help requests and gifting.|
|Grey Scabbard||Craft x2 Stat Points||Ryndor quests, help requests and gifting.|
|Green Scabbard||Craft x2 Stat Points||Ryndor quests, help requests and gifting.|
|Blue Scabbard||Craft x2 Stat Points||Ryndor quests, help requests and gifting.|
|Purple Scabbard||Craft x2 Stat Points||Ryndor quests, help requests and gifting.|
|Orange Scabbard||Craft x2 Stat Points||Ryndor quests, help requests and gifting.|
|Last night races across your groggy mind in a series of flashing images. A dragon... you killed a dragon. Then you were in Fallows, its inhabitants pressing tankard after tankard into your hands as the whole town reveled in the streets, halls, and taverns. You rememeber Roland challenging two elves to a wrestling match, followed by Aurelius Bloodwyn's ill-consealed fury and Marcus' barley stifled laughter as the trio smashed into the mayor's table and upset the goblets of wine over his expensive robes. You recall Medea's song becoming wobbly with inebriation, and goblins singing along out of tune. where did those goblins even come from?
Then your head throbs, and you wonder why you woke up. Sleep is good. You close your eyes, but open them once more as a series of sharp knocks sound against the door to your chamber. So that's what woke you up... You sigh, yank on some clothes, and pull the door open.
"Huh?" is all that manages to fall from your parched mouth as you see a maid standing before you.
"I'm sorry," she says, her soft voice an avalanche inside your aching head, "but there's someone waiting for you in the mayor's audience chamber. He's wearing the king's crest."
Great... An official meeting, when you can barely remember your name. But you can't keep the king's agent waiting.
A few minutes later, after you've submerged your face in cold water and made yourself as presentable as possibly, you head to the mayoral building. There you find Mayor Bloodwyn waiting in the hallway, glaring at you as you step inside. He says nothing, but makes an angry gesture at one of the servants. The servant then leads you towards the audience chamber. Apparently the king's emissary wishes to meet with you alone, which doesn't sit well with a man possessed of such self-importance as Aurelius Bloodwyn.
Inside the mayor's chamber you're introduced to a slender, grey-haired man wearing courtier's robes. His lengthy name and title slip from your mind almost as soon as they enter it. The royal seal he bears is all the identification you require, proof that he stand there on behalf of the king himself.
"His Majesty has a task for you." he says.
You'd expected to hear as much. The war rages on, and after the previous night your role in it has become even more significant. But his next words take you by surprise.
"I assume you're familiar with the name of Lord Tyranthius?"
"I was a farmhand, not a village idiot," you reply. "Of course I've heard of Lord Tyranthius. Everyone has."
"Tell me what you know about him," he says, his expression blank and utterly unrevealing.
Is this some kind of jest? You feel as if you're a child once more, being questioned by your teacher at the little school in Burden's Rest. But you decide to play along.
"He was a hero. One of the greatest. He pulled the sword out of the stone, and killed the Black Knight of Dracoshire."
He defended West Kruna from men and monsters. That's what the stories say, anyway."
"Quite so. And do you remember what happened to Tyranthius in the end?"
"Sure," you reply. "That't the most famous part of all. He slew a demon that was plaguing the kingdom, but got mortally wounded in the battle. He asked that Kyddin the wizard to seal him up in a magic cave before he died, saying that he would be awakened if the kingdom was ever in dire peril. His knights chose to be sealed up with him."
"Precisely," the man says. He gives a nod of approval, again reminding you of your childhood teacher. You try not to feel too patronized. "That's why I'm here. The king has sent a group of scholars to locate Lord Tyranthius' tomb. We intend to rouse him from his slumber."
"But that's... that's just a story."
"That's what people said about Dragonsbane. Or dragons themselves, for that matter. We've come to realize that legends shouldn't be disregarded. The kingdom's finest scholars have been poring over every text in the royal library, and they believe that Tyranthius' magically sealed tomb actually exists somewhere in West Kruna. An expedition was sent out to scour the possible locations they came up with. But we've received reports of enemy activity near their latest investigation site. That's where you come in. we need to ensure the safety of the scholars, and hopefully the success of their mission."
"Why me? If their mission is so important, if you really believe they can find Tyranthius, why not send a huge army with them?"
"The king wishes to keep their quest as much of a secret as possible. For all we know their expedition might end in failure. We don't want to raise the people's hopes only to dash them. That would hardly be good for morale in the kingdom." He pauses for a moment, then continues. "Besides, if they do find Tyranthius, what could provide a better tale for the masses than to have West Kruna's greatest hero brought into the war by its newest champion?"
Ah, sweet flattery. In spite of yourself, your mind is filled with images of you and the legendary Lord Tyranthius fighting side by side, slaughtering monsters and slaying dragons. How could you possibly refuse?
Your comrades grumble a little when they learn that they're to go on the road again so soon. The people of Fallows have been treating them all like heroes, plying them with food and drink at the town's expense. But none of them wishes to be left behind. They know that every warrior in the settlement envies them, would give almost anything to travel with the dragon-slayers.
Marcus asks to accompany you. Now that Fallows is safe, he's eager to continue the fight against the dragons and their bestial legions. you accept without hesitation, glad to make use of both his sword and his skill as a commander. Medea also wishes to remain in your force, though her people now have their own legions ready to march from Fallows. When you ask her about this, she replies that yours is a worthy tale for a bard to chronicle.
You tell them all that you've been asked to protect a group of scholars in search of something important to the war effort, holding back the name of Tyranthius and the exact location you'll be traveling to. You dislike keeping secrets from people who have stood beside you in battle, were willing to die alongside you. But all it would take is one careless word, and the story would spread across the town in minutes. Fortunatley your companions ask no questions. All are ready to follow your lead, wherever it may take them.
And so you set out, in search of legends.
|The journey from Fallows passes uneventfully, a pleasant march under sunny skies. This region is far from the frontlines of the conflict. Were it not for the occasional patrol of soldiers you encounter, the war would seem a world away.
Your companions are in high spirits. Though they're all ready to fight, this peaceful interlude is as pleasing to them as it is to you. But as you draw closer to your destination, you notice that Medea seems solemn and withdrawn. Her impassive features mask her emotions, yet her fingers betray her feelings as she absentmindedly plays them across the strings of her harp, producing a troubled sound that becomes more so with each passing mile. You consider speaking to her, but her distant gaze doesn't seem to invite conversation.
Near the foothills that circle the Orklare Mountains, you make camp for what should be the last time before you reach the area the scholars are exploring. You sit around a campfire with your commanders, a little distance away from the troops, and finally point out your destination on the map. There’s no longer any need to conceal it now that you're so close. You begin to discuss the layout of the region, and possible areas of danger, when Medea’s voice and harp pierce the conversation like a rapier.
"Those scholars... They're searching for Tyranthius, aren't they?"
Silence falls around the campfire. Solus, until then curled up and half-asleep, raises his head in curiosity. For a moment your tongue seems stuck. You don't know how to respond. How could she know? Memories race across your mind, as you search in vain for some slip you might have made.
"I..." you begin, groping for something, anything to say. All eyes are on you. Even Solus gazes at you expectantly. Like when you were a child, the first thing which rises in your throat is a lie. But you choke it back down. They deserve better than that. Instead, you continue to fumble. "We... That is... The scholars..."
"Do you know what it means to be a bard amongst my people?" asks Medea, mercifully interrupting your awkward blathering. As she speaks, a grand epic score plays on her harp. "More lore has fallen from my mind than ever entered yours. I've read texts which only a handful of humans could even name, learned songs long forgotten by your kind."
"No one manages arrogance quite like an elf," remarks Roland. "But I suppose you've had centuries to get good at it..."
"I suspected when I saw where we were headed," continues Medea, ignoring him. Her tune once more sounds troubled. "I hoped I was wrong. But only one thing lies where we're going. Tyranthius’ tomb."
"How could you know where his tomb is?" asks Marcus. "No one knows that. All the stories say different things."
"Human stories, perhaps. But we elves have Kyddin's own writings, locked within the archives of the Great Library."
"Okay." You sigh. Solus presses his head up against your leg, as if to comfort you. Yes, the scholars think they can wake Tyranthius up."
"Tyranthius!" breathes Roland, so softly it seems that decades have fallen from him. "We're going to wake up Tyranthius!"
Around the campfire amazement gives way to awe and joy. Marcus and Roland look like eager children about to open their birthday presents. No doubt they were brought up on tales of Lord Tyranthius, just like you were. The very thought of him walking the land once more, battling evil, is breathtaking, exhilarating. But Medea’s expression is grim, and ominous notes rise from her harp.
"Tyranthius killed my people. Thousands of them."
Roland snorts. "The elves were invading our kingdom. They deserved what happened to them. Besides, that was centuries ago."
Medea’s harp screeches, the ugliest sound you've ever heard come from the instrument. You wince, and Solus hisses. Medea’s fingers leave the strings for a moment, as if not daring to touch them. When they play once more, the tone is calmer. But you still sense the undertone of rage within the music.
"We have long memories, human. I've pledged to follow you, and so have the other elves here. if you want us to go with you while you tear open tombs, so be it. But if Tyranthius truly manages to cheat death, don't expect us to march with him."
With that Medea gets up and walks off into the night, leaving silence in her wake.
The next day Medea says nothing. She simply breaks camp and sets out with the rest of you. The music from her harp seems as inspiring as ever to the troops, but you believe you detect a faint sense of discontent deep within it.
Your mind is troubled, as you consider the full consequences of what those scholars intend to bring to pass. The thought of elven animosity over Tyranthius had never even crossed your mind. It seems insane to you that people could harbor a grudge for so long. But as Medea said, the elves are different. What happens to the alliance if your mission is successful? And after the dragons are defeated, what then? You begin to realize the full magnitude of what you hope to do. When you resurrect legends you're resurrecting history, for good or ill.
Yet the king and his advisers are no fools. Surely they must know what’s best. Who are you, recently a mere farmhand, to second guess men educated in the arts of war and diplomacy? Even so, you can't help feeling uneasy. You begin to wish that someone else had been given this task, that you'd just stayed in bed back in Fallows.
Then the scouts appear over a nearby hill, their speed showing that they have important news to relay. You order your companions to halt as they approach. The breathless scouts tell you that they've sighted an enemy warband nearby. It appears that the dragons’ bestial forces have indeed infiltrated this part of the country.
The disquiet which had settled over you slips away as you begin to issue orders, and you welcome a chance to lose yourself in battle.
0nce your troops are ready, you ride at their head. Soon you crest a hill and see the enemy arrayed before you. As they catch sight of you they draw their weapons and begin to form their ranks. A smile crosses your lips. You're a long way from the fields outside Burden’s Rest, where a lone kobold was a deadly foe. Now you're a mighty warrior, with a powerful band of companions beside you. These monsters don't stand a chance...
Slaying The Skirmishers
|The enemies' slingers and javelineers spread out, and begin to hurl their missiles at your charging troops. You ride into their midst, getting to close quarters to neutralize their fire.|
Shattering The Spears
|Some of the beastmen lunge towards you with spears and halberds trying to impale you or at least bring you down from your mount. You strike at the shafts of their weapons, to eliminate their range advantage before moving in for the kill.|
Been There Killed That
|Two ogres rage side-by-side in the enemy battle lines, swinging their weapons in great arcs to keep you at bay. they bellow and pound their chests, as if to intimidate you. But you simply laugh. You've killed tougher ogres than this.|
The Pride Goeth For A Fall
|The warband is being led by a lion-man, who stands surrounded by his pride. You fight your way through the leonine-creatures, eager to take him on in single combat.|
|As soon as everyone's ready to move out, you begin marching once more.
In Fallows your map was marked with the various sites the scholars planned to investigate in the are, so you head towards the first of them. You were told that if they found the tomb, which seems likely from what Medea said, it might take them days to open the magic seals. Thus they should still be at one of them.
The first site is empty, as is the next. But there are clear traces of the scholars' expedition, scorch marks from their campfires and hoof-prints from their horses. They've been here. You're on the right track.
As you approach the third site, frantic yelling, bestial howls, and inhuman laughter announce that you've found what you were looking for, and more besides. You gallop towards the clamor, your troops breaking into a run behind you, and are confronted by an infernal tableau that cuases you to break your charge in horror. Your companions do the same, coming to a halt, shocked by what they see before them.
Demonic creatures, unearthly even compared with the many grotesque monsters you've already encountered, are rampaging around the mouth of a cave, slaughtering pack animals and wrecking what must be the scholar's campsite. It's like a scene from a painting of the underworld, the kind clerics use to scare children away from sin. In the midst of this chaos you see a few bodyguards. They're fighting for their lives.
"Keep moving!" yells Roland. "they're just fiends! Are you bastards going to tremble every time you see something new?"
Marcus takes up the cry, urging on those around him. Medea's music adds its voice, spurring you on. Even Solus barks impatiently, seemingly unconcerned by the horrific creatures. The momentary dread which gripped you dissipates like shadows parted by a lantern's rays, and you enter the fray.
|A scholar sprints towards you, clutching a large red tome to his chest, a frantic expression on his face. Hound-like creatures are chasing him, their bodies threaded with something that resembles lava. "The eyes!" he yells. "Hellhounds are weak in the eyes!"|
Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes? Tu.
|As you cut the hellhounds down, globules of the 'lava' splatter against you. It's hot, but not enough to burn you. Is it their blood? You have no time to ponder that. Some of the camp's guards are surrounded by more of the creatures, and in need of help.|
|Solus grabs an imp with his powerful jaws, and bites him in two as if he were a chicken bone. But before the two halves hit the ground, each one grows into a fully formed imp. From behind you the scholar shouts, "Dont sever them! Smash them!"|
The Right Tools For The Job
|You dispatch the nearest imps with blows from your gauntlets and boots. but there are too many. Your comrades cleaved through dozens before they knew what was happening. Then an enterprising World Mender begins to hand out tent pegs and mallets. Time to go clubbing.|
|The fiends have left a trail which even the most imcompetent scout could follow. Patches of blackened grass mark their passing as clearly as a series of signal fires.
"They're heading into the Forbidden Forest," says Roland.
"That doesn't sound good," you remark.
"It's just a name," Roland replies. "Back in those days everything was given doom, death, or forbidden in its name. Explorers tend to be an imaginative bunch."
As you near the forest you hear the sounds of combat which seem to provide the musical accompaniment to your life these days.
"Of course, that doesn't mean there aren't real dangers in that forest," Roland says.
You move into the trees, and are greeted by an even more insane scene than the one you witnessed outside the cave. Once again demons are attacking everyone and everything in sight. You see imps and hellhounds, along with fiends you don't recognize. And you can see another of the orange pools behind them. But this time they're battling men and women in green robes and...walking trees?
The nearest druid, an elf, turns to you as you approach.
"Are you responsible for these abominations, human?" she asks, her eyes glittering.
"Yes... No... Not exactly..." you reply.
"Very lucid," she says, with a rather unladylike snort. Then she rushes back into the fray, making strange gestures with her hands. A second later a nearby tree uproots itself, and wades into battle.
Drawing On the Earth
|Three of the druids begin chanting, and the air grows heavy with magic preparing to be born. Some of the demons notice this as well, and move to attack the trio. You step into their path, to protect the druids and buy them the time they need to work their spell.|
Wrath Of Nature
|Thick thorny vines erupt from the ground. They seize hold of several fiends, trapping them as if in a great spider's web, piercing their unnatural hides. You move in for the kill, to dispatch them before they can free themselves.|
Eyes Of The Succubus
|A female fiend stalks towards you, her horrific face open in a vicious grin. Her eyes meet yours, and suddenly she's the most beautiful creature you've ever seen. Your sword-arm falls by your side, and your senses swim... Until a harsh chord from Medea's harp breaks the spell.|
|You hurl the succubus' corpse aside. But bigger problems remain. One of the treants has touched the portal with its roots. Tendrils of orange writhe across its trunk, and its eyes blaze with the madness of corruption as it advances, attacking friend and foe alike.|
|The demons' path continues in the same direction. It seems to be a straight line, which began at the cave and cuts right through this portion of the Forbidden Forest. At first you thought they might have headed into the trees to lose themselves, and evade pursuit. But then they would have gone deeper into the forest instead. Whatever their goal is, it lies somewhere on the other side.
You come out onto the plains. Now the fiends stand little chance of escape. Those of you who are mounted have the advantage over open ground. You should be able to ride them down easily, or circle around in front of them and cut them off while the rest of your companions attack them from the other direction.
You order your comrades to ride hard, and it isn't long before you catch sight of the demons, distant specks on the horizon. You're closing in on them. But as you draw nearer to your quarry, you see that one of the demons is breaking away from the main group. He's not heading away from you anymore. He's coming straight towards you. Wherever the other fiends are going, it seems that this one wants to make sure you don't follow them.
You slow your pace, allowing those on foot to catch up. Though only one foe is in front of you, something about him gives you pause. You sense that he will be a far more dangerous adversary than the mere minions you fought earlier. There's no sense in being reckless. You should attack in full force.
The demon takes up a position and stands his ground, awaiting you. As you get closer, he towers above you. He seems as tall as the ogre you fought atop the keep back in Burden's Rest, but far more imposing. Like the other fiends he wears no clothing, only that same unholy flesh, riddled with orange channels. But his shape reminds you of a warrior wearing plate armor, broad and martial. In his hand is a huge warhammer, its head jagged and poorly shaped, perhaps all the more menacing for its savage crudity. A normal man would wield it in two hands, though he brandishes it in one. A glimmer of recognition drifts across your mind as you get a good look at the weapon, and a shift in Medea's melody shows that she understands the significance as well. But you hurl the thought aside. No distractions.
The fiend lifts its warhammer into the air, and brings it down against the ground. As it strikes the earth it makes little sound, a noise unworthy of such a mighty blow. But streams of orange emerge from either side of the hammer's head, as if the world itself is bleeding. Each stream runs diagonally towards your force, before broadening into pools a short distance in front of you. Once more the legions of hell pour forth, tainting the ground of West Kruna with their infernal tread. Hellhounds, imps, and succubi, along with other twisted and malevolent beings. But your eyes remain fixed on their summoner, and his all too familiar hammer.
Then the demons shriek, and attack. As they close, you see that the one with the warhammer doesn't join the charge. He simply stands there, looking on through burning eyes.
Succubus, Incubus, Omnibus
|Succubi are emerging from one of the portals, along with male versions. Even in the heat of battle, Lucian names them as incubi and begins a discourse on their nature. You ignore him, and signal for Medea to counter their powers with her song while you attack.|
Prevention Better Than Cure
|A screech from the nearer of the two portals draws your attention. A huge taloned hand rises from its depths, and grabs at the ground as something abominable tries to force itself through into your world. Not if you can help it...|
Not the Face!
|A howl of pain comes from the portal, and the creature yanks its ruined stump back under its receding surface. You turn to seek your next target, only to have an imp leap up and latch onto your head, gouging at your eyes. You desperately try and pry him off.|
Mad Dogs and West Krunans
|You throw the broken imp to the ground, and Solus smashes him under his foot for good measure. You look around, and see that the demonic horde has thinned now. But a pack of large hellhounds is charging from the remaining portal as it closes.|
Boss: Sir Cai
|A hill appears on the horizon. Atop it a black, shapeless figure stands outlined against the red sky. As the hill looms larger, you see that the other demons are gathered around its base. They've stopped moving. They've reached their destination.
"Camlann Hill," whispers Lucian, almost inaudibly, speaking words already dancing upon the tip of your tongue. "It must be."
Many counties across West Kruna claim to hold the hill where Lord Tyranthius had his final battle, where the great hero bled the ground red. But it appears that Ryndor's claim is valid. This mound of earth and rock should be one of the most revered sites in all the kingdom. A monument should stand at its summit, proclaiming the tale of the champion who fell defending the land one last time. Instead the place lies ignored amongst a host of other claimants.
But remembered by Tyranthius himself, it seems... As with Sir Cai, some lingering memories of the days when he walked as a man must remain within his mind. The knowledge of this only makes what you have to do that much harder.
You approach the group of fiends at the bottom of the hill, and see that each one resembles Sir Cai in form. Their infernal flesh is shaped like plate armor, as his was, and each bears man-made weapons. In some of their postures, their choice of arms, you percieve the men they once were. Others have been rendered anonymous by their transformation. None stands nearly as tall as Sir Cai did. The tales say he was by far the largest of Tyranthius' knights, and it seems that whatever corruption afflicted him made him tower even further above them. But all of them are impressive, bizarre mixtures of knightly glory and abyssal horror.
One of the demons strides forward, his sword held pointing downwards in a gesture of parley. You and your companions glance at one another in confusion. But you ride out nonetheless, gesturing for the troops to hold their ground. The demon speaks when you draw close, using that same archaic language. Once he finishes, Medea's voice and song spin his words into something you can understand.
"Let our armies stand back, and let this conflict be settled by the knightly class alone," she translates. "Tis good and proper that it be so."
"That's what happened at the Battle of Badon," says Lucian. "Tyranthius and his knights challenged an equal number of the enemy to a grand melee, to spare the commoners from bloodshed."
"Can we trust them?" asks Marcus. "If we accept, does that mean they won't open any more of those accursed portals?"
"I believe so," says Medea. "Whatever deranged thoughts are passing through their minds, this one spoke honestly. I can read the sound of a voice. It reveals truth even when the words themselves are false."
"Then I say we accept," replies Roland. "Let them die with honor. They deserve that much, whatever they've become."
You nod to Medea, and her harp plays a song of chivalry and glory as she utters long forgotten words. The demon bows in response, a gesture that seems ludicrous from such a being. Then he turns, and rejoins his fellow knights.
"I'll... I'll offer advice from a distance," says Lucian. "Yes, I believe that would be the best course of action. I'll make sure the troops don't interfere."
With that the scholar draws back, and begins to explain things to the rest of your forces. They'll probably think you're insane to be dueling with demons. But you know they'll respect your decision.
You and your companions dismount. Solus whines as you tell him to remain with the troops. Yet he obeys nonetheless.
You look to the right, then to the left. Each of your allies nods in turn as your gazes meet. Then you walk out, to kill your heroes.
The Green Blade
|Each of you seeks an opponent, so as not to let any of the demons attack someone who's engaged and vulnerable. The foe you pick out wields a sword the deep green of oak leaves. A souvenir from his greatest enemy. You hope to triumph where the sword's last owner failed.|
Many a Slip Twixt Cup and Lip
|Marcus' adversary clutches a blade in one hand, a golden chalice in the other. As he takes a wound, he leaps back and lifts the latter to his lips. Then his wounds heal. That must be... But now isn't the time to consider such things. You move to aid Marcus.|
|Nearby Medea battles a demon knight armed with sword and shield- an uneven struggle. The fingers dancing upon her harp strings are playing a precise accompaniment to the fight, ringing out with each clash. Time to add your weapon's voice to the song.|
|A fiend wielding a lance, using it alternately as a staff and a spear, is dueling against Roland and his twin blades. You step towards them, but Roland yells for you to stay back. Instead you dash to intercept the knight preparing to flank him.|