Under the Hood

I came to see the bronze man...

Under the Hood is the 18th questing area released (listed as the Under the Hood (13) on the map) in the game and becomes available after completing Far From Home

← Far From Home

Under the Hood

Fog of War →

Achievement[]

Title	Level 1	Level 2	Level 3	Level 4	Level 5	Level 6	Level 7
Hearts of Bronze (Complete Under the Hood on Nightmare difficulty.)	1 25 AP	5 50 AP	10 100 AP	25 250 AP	50 500 AP	100 1000 AP	250 2000 AP

Loot[]

Name	Att	Def	AV	Ability	Obtained
Red Hood Ranger	100	60	115	Red Hood Ranger gains 10 Attack and Defense if Aeric is in the legion	Under the Hood Questing
Brown Cape Scrap				Craft x2 Stat Points	Under the Hood questing, Ruzzik the Slayer
Grey Cape Scrap				Craft x2 Stat Points	Under the Hood questing, Ruzzik the Slayer
Green Cape Scrap				Craft x2 Stat Points	Under the Hood questing, Ruzzik the Slayer
Blue Cape Scrap				Craft x2 Stat Points	Under the Hood questing, Ruzzik the Slayer
Purple Cape Scrap				Craft x2 Stat Points	Under the Hood questing, Ruzzik the Slayer
Orange Cape Scrap				Craft x2 Stat Points	Under the Hood questing, Ruzzik the Slayer

Quest Name	Energy	Experience	Drops
The Bronze Man	110	170	5346-6534
Red Hood Ranger	110	170	5346-6534
Among Heroes	110	170	5346-6534
Hunting with Mina	110	170	5346-6534
Ruzzik the Slayer	186	372	29128-35600

Quest Name	Energy	Experience	Drops
The Bronze Man	130	203	6435-7865
Red Hood Ranger	130	203	6435-7865
Among Heroes	130	203	6435-7865
Hunting with Mina	130	203	6435-7865
Ruzzik the Slayer	225	495	35842-43808

Quest Name	Energy	Experience	Drops
The Bronze Man	160	252	8064-9856
Red Hood Ranger	160	252	8064-9856
Among Heroes	160	252	8064-9856
Hunting with Mina	160	252	8064-9856
Ruzzik the Slayer	250	600	41850-51150

Quest Name	Energy	Experience	Drops
The Bronze Man	200	315	10080-12320
Red Hood Ranger	200	315	10080-12320
Among Heroes	200	315	10080-12320
Hunting with Mina	200	315	10080-12320
Ruzzik the Slayer	300	780	54270-66330

Pre Lore[]

Lore
"Mercy! Please! Mercy!" The man cried out. The woman's shrieks were wordless and disintegrated into sobs. They embraced one another, bodies trembling, as though closeness could protect them from the looming, monstrous white visage. Kobolds emerged from the ravaged hamlet, where wisps of smoke and bestial voices snaked their way to an uncaring grey sky. Crimson daubed their blades. Their green scales were smeared and splattered with the same hue -- the war paint of murderous triumph. Those creatures caught sight of the humans, the doomed settlement's lone survivors. Wicked eyes shone in saurian faces. They ran towards the huddled pair. But the white dragon turned her head, and a single glare put the kobolds to flight. They scurried back amongst the wooden buildings. Xerkara growled. These victims were hers. The man and woman took a few tentative, shuffling steps away from the white wyrm, towards the thick woods that lay across the field -- promising concealment, perhaps escape. But they froze when her green eyes fastened on them once more. The man gasped. The woman moaned. The dragon grinned, displaying a fence of sharp spikes. Flames seethed and roared their way up Xerkara's throat. A torrent of emerald fire gushed from between her widening jaws. The humans screamed. But the hungry, lapping green tongues passed over their heads -- bathing them with heat instead of immolating them. "I could let you live," the dragon mused, "and be my messengers. Heralds to carry word of what Xerkara has done, and will do to all of your wretched kind till this kingdom kneels." The humans' faces were masks, carved by terror and rendered still save for the quivering of their lips. But tiny glimmers flickered in the depths of their eyes. Their embraces tightened as desperate hope settled on their limbs. "But I only need one of you to tell the tale..." Her monstrous alabaster body lunged. They screamed. "Run!" the man cried. He tore himself from the woman's arms. "Run!" She gazed up at the dragon, still screaming, sobbing. He pushed her. It was a hard, powerful shove. She staggered and fell sprawling on the grass, away from the gaping maw and malevolent teeth that descended on her savior. The humans' wails tingled the wyrm's brain, soft stroking fingers that both soothed and thrilled. Her mouth took the man -- but not her teeth. The broad, thick slab of her tongue snatched him and tossed him beyond those spikes. There would be no tearing of skin or rending of bones. It wasn't human flesh Xerkara hungered for, but anguish. Shrieks reverberated inside her gullet. The hissing of seared meat soon eclipsed them, cooked by the heat that lingered from her flames. The woman was sprinting across the field. Her hair and her torn peasant's dress flapped around her, a pair of dirty brown smears. The drake pondered whether to chase and kill or let her escape. It was amusing to imagine her running into another settlement and spreading fearful tales of the white wyrm. But Xerkara had enjoyed the morsel so very much... She was still weighing up the human's fate when a shadow descended on the field, casting its black pool over the grass and the fleeing victim. This time the woman didn't scream. Her lungs had nothing left. A green reptilian mass landed, and gore splashed from the body crushed beneath its bulk. "Verkiteia!" The white dragon padded across the grass. "Xerkara..." The green drake took a step towards her. But Verkiteia's left foreleg shook and buckled. Its scales were cracked and broken. Blood trickled from wounds that lacerated the limb in long, parallel streaks. Her neck was torn as well -- split open by a gash so dark it was almost black instead of red. "Another wyrm did this!" Xerkara hissed. "Andromeda. The betrayers guard the skies against us. Tiresias, Nestor... Even that worthless coward Timon." "Then..." "I failed. My force was destroyed, and Dratherax's army still plagues us." She stamped her foot, grinding the woman's splattered remains into the churned up mud. Xerkara growled. Dratherax... The very word was an abomination. It belonged to the tongue of one of the minion races, but even the wyrms themselves now uttered it in their curses. 'God-Slayer'. The name they'd given to the one the humans called 'dragon-rider'. They'd celebrated news of the hero's death, allowed the kobolds and beastmen to revel as though the war itself were won. Their spirits had risen while those of the lesser species were left broken. But Dratherax's followers remained. A mighty army that stood in the dragons' path and fought on under a new leader. Tortured captives had screamed his name before their deaths: the bronze man. "He must die!" Verkiteia glared, as though daring Xerkara to challenge her words. "The lesser races must know that no new champion can save them!" "Yes... He must die." ******* "Raven." Arabella whispered into the cool nocturnal breeze. Her cape and cowl shimmered. Blackness spread across them, drowning the rich scarlet as though night itself had seeped into the fabric and dyed its folds. She tethered her mare and continued over the moors on foot. Her wiry body slipped through the dense vegetation, swift but silent, finding sure paths even in the moonless dark. Her passing was little more than a gentle rustling amongst the leaves, which any hearer might have taken for the wind. The miles were lonely and lovely. Arabella wandered across a landscape that was hers alone, save for the little creatures which scurried hidden beneath the plants. Green bracken and deep purple heather swept its expanse. They undulated over the hills in teeming waves, their colors melding in the gloom, overseen by lone trees and scattered copses. Yes... It was her night. A hunter's night. And her prey waited somewhere in that soft, shadowy realm. Arabella's gaze scoured the world around her, drifting over the foliage near at hand before roaming across the horizon. She stopped moving. Her muscles tensed. A powerful certainty gripped her, an indescribable sense of being watched. She'd learned to trust such instincts. They'd saved her life more than once. She dropped into a crouch, hiding herself amidst the bracken. Her right hand reached for the greatest of her weapons and closed around the leather-wrapped grip. The sword slid from its sheath, noiseless. Its familiar weight and potency were comforting. Now she just had to lay eyes on her unseen observer... She peered over the breeze-stroked leaves and fronds. Her body shifted, moving through a complete circle. But Arabella saw nothing. If someone was out there, they were concealed within the vegetation. Or high above... Arabella's eyes rose. And there she saw it. The shape flitted against the black sky, almost imperceptible in the celestial darkness. Yet she recognized the pattern of its flight. A pteropine beastman. Perhaps he was keeping watch for the others, or else out hunting. She locked her gaze on the creature and held it for long, unblinking moments. The beastman's movements gave no indication of surprise. There was no sudden stalling or swooping as though he were shocked by her disappearance. He continued to flap his way across the sky, turning his body this way and that. Maybe he hadn't noticed her at all, and his mere presence had been what triggered her instincts. She kept her right hand wrapped around her sword's handle and her eyes on the beastman as she pulled the bow from her back. Arabella laid it on the ground. Her left hand reached over to the quiver behind her right shoulder and drew out an arrow. She placed this upon the bow. Only when that was done did she drop her sword and grasp the bow and missile in the same instant. The arrow flew. Her pteropine foe jerked to a stop for a fraction of a second, frozen in the air. Then he fell, his body spiraling and powerless wings fluttering. He hit the heather with a smothered crash. Arabella picked her sword up and went to where he'd landed, but there was no need for a finishing blow. Her shaft protruded from his chest. Its point had found his heart. She gazed up at the sky once more. Her information had said the band possessed only a single bat creature among their number. Yet plenty of stalkers and assassins, even a few of her own Red Hood Rangers, had perished because they allowed such knowledge to lower their guards. So Arabella scanned the heavens until she was satisfied that no more flying foes populated its vault. Only then did she stow her bow and continue onward. She kept the sword out, and drew her other blade with her left hand. The second sword was a fine enough weapon. But a thousand of them couldn't equal the value of the first. It might prove necessary, however. Arabella discovered the rest of her enemies soon enough. She crested a rise, her body low against the ground, and stared at a small wood almost completely ringed by hills and ridges. A faint glow illuminated its depths. The embers of a dying fire. They conspired with her sharp eyes to reveal the lone sentry lurking half-hidden behind a thick trunk. Arabella scrambled down the other side of the hill and jogged across the grass between her and the trees. She didn't blink. Nor did she turn her head, even when a snake hissed somewhere on her left -- disturbed by her nearness. The beastman stepped out from behind the trunk. A lupine face looked straight towards her. Once that would have startled Arabella, given her pause or forced her into a desperate attack. But she continued jogging at the same sedate pace. And he simply reached his hand under his loin covering and scratched himself. Joyous relief crossed his visage. He made a low sound that was almost a purr, and stared right through her. His furry face twisted in shock or pain when she stabbed him in the throat. He gave a half-drowned spluttering noise. Then he fell, and Arabella went into the wood. Four beastmen lay curled up around the remains of their campfire. It painted them with a gentle red glow. A fifth was awake, sitting up and gnawing on a piece of meat. That was the one she watched while she approached. And he was the next to die, from a thrust to the heart. A lion-man stirred on her right. He made a sound that was halfway between a gasp and a growl. Arabella span round and looked at him. Feline eyes, heavy with interrupted slumber, goggled in her direction. He opened his mouth to emit wordless surprise or a warning cry. The point of her blade plunged inside before either could emerge. But the beastman turned his head, and enchanted steel burst through the side of his face instead of severing his brainstem. Arabella tore the weapon free. Blood and wailing came with it. Her hand was already moving to skewer him again before her intellect suppressed years of training and took charge. "It must never taste the same foe's blood twice." The words, spoken to her on the day she was given that precious, deadly artifact, rang in her mind. She stabbed him with her left blade instead. Harsh, guttural voices babbled around Arabella. The newly awoken beastmen grabbed for their weapons. A creature with the head of a horn-beast bellowed and lunged towards her. He faltered when she faced him. Arabella slashed his throat, leaving confusion frozen on his rough features. There were two left, a grey goat-man and a hyena-man. Both came at her with their swords. Arabella's eyes flicked from one to the other, like the darting orbs of a madwoman. They each howled their amazement. Yet animal desperation or humanoid intellect didn't allow them to hesitate as their dead comrade had. They hacked and slashed at the flickering woman. But the uncertainty, the inaccuracy in their attacks gave Arabella all the advantage she needed. Her blades parried any attack that came close. The rest went wide, thwarted as she stepped and wove between her vanishings and reappearances. She killed the goat-man first. Then all her attention was on the hyena, ensuring his doom. Arabella moved aside, letting his wild cleaves split the air as they searched for her, and stabbed him in the back. A faint smile crossed the Red Hood Ranger's lips while she surveyed the carnage. Another band of raiders would never again plague the innocent. It was a small triumph, a tiny victory, in the grand scheme of things. Even when set against her own prior exploits. She'd assassinated beastman warlords and kobold champions before. It was those deeds that had earned Arabella the magnificent weapon, awarded to her above all others. And she'd slain many more dangerous foes with its aid -- even a dragon, albeit one of the smaller breeds. These latest enemies were paltry kills in comparison. Yet she was satisfied with the night's work. Arabella crouched, put down her left sword, and began to clean the blood from the other's blade. But her limbs grew still. The earlier sensation, the certainty that she was being observed, flooded her mind and muscles. She started to rise, to turn, and to reach for her second weapon. A split-second would have seen her do all three in the same fluid movement. But her unseen enemy was faster. She gazed down at a bloody steel point that had torn through her body and her leather armor. The sword fell from her hand. Arabella collapsed. She lay on her side, groping for its hilt. But black furry fingers closed around it and snatched the weapon away. She flopped onto her back. Her right arm swung over her body and landed on her other sword. The Red Hood Ranger took hold of it, brought it round in a blind, sweeping block. It met nothing but empty air. Arabella stared up at the dark treetops and the ebon sky. They were the last things she'd ever see.

The Bronze Man[]

Lore
"He's here!" The boy came through the tavern door like a battering ram. It flew wide open and cracked a bald gentleman on the back of his head. He tripped over (the boy, not the bald man -- he just swore and rubbed his skull) and fell headlong on the floor. His right hand splashed in a puddle of ale. But he got up, still grinning like the cat that got the cream, and rubbed it on his jerkin -- leaving a nice mess of beer and grime smeared there for his mother to wash. He carried on shouting. "He's here! Sir Marcus! The bronze man's here! He-" He didn't get to say anything else. Everyone stood up and ran for the door, upsetting chairs, leaving their half-eaten meals and sloshing tankards behind (except for a few who took their drinks with them, even with the barkeep swearing and saying he'd call the guards if they stole his cups). The poor lad didn't get out of the way fast enough. They knocked him spinning. I stopped to help him up. And bless him, he didn't even care about the bumps he took. He just smiled at me. "Sir Marcus!" he said. Like he'd burst if he didn't get it out. He didn't look anything like Robin or Dain. He had gold hair and bright blue eyes, and they're dark like all our kin are until we get our grey. But there was something in his little face that reminded me of them. The way they were at his age, so bright and happy playing at soldiers with their toy swords. So happy... The boy snatched a drumstick from someone's leftovers. He took a bite and ran outside, waving it around his head like a battleaxe. I wiped my face and followed him. That was when I first saw the bronze man. I'd heard the tales. Everyone had. Of how he fought with the dragon-rider at the Battle of Fallows, and traveled around the kingdom killing monsters. They said he saved King Jamus from an army of beastmen -- shouted a war cry and cut them all down. I thought he'd be a giant of a man. A mighty hero in shining armor. But he just looked... tired. He reminded me of the ploughmen when they plod home after a long day working in the fields. Or the miners slouching away with bent backs and weary faces. He smiled at the people gathered beside the road, but even his lips were tired. They might as well've been made of lead. And when he waved his gauntlet his arm was slow and heavy -- like he could hardly keep it up. Dirt, blood, and dust caked his armor. I'd seen finer looking plate lying in heaps in the corner of the blacksmith's shop, waiting to be sold on to silly young adventurers for the price of a drink. Then I looked into his eyes. Oh, they were tired too. The skin under them was a shade darker than the rest of his face. Like midnight. But they were a great man's eyes. Strong and kind. Everyone called out to Sir Marcus and the others. Some of them even crowded around their horses, so they had to stop in the middle of the road (merchants would have just carried on going, and let their hooves break people's feet and shins -- but heroes are a better sort). "Sir Marcus! Sir Marcus! My son-" "Who killed the dragon-rider?" "Have the dragons taken Rhynhart?" "Is Jossana with you? My daughter! She left home to join-" The bronze man looked around, answering each of them as best he could. Telling them what he knew. His voice quietened them all down. It was a good voice, strong and kind like his eyes. A hero's voice. "Your daughter's among our archers, further down the road." The woman's face lit up. She ran off to find her child, laughing and shouting the girl's name. Gods forgive me... Part of me hated her. "Your son... I'm so sorry. He was a brave man." Others wept. One girl even cursed Sir Marcus. She said it was his fault her husband died. The bronze man's companions started to say things, but he told them to stop, and just let the girl shout and scream at him until she was done. Then he asked her friends to look after her. Some folk had to walk away without answers. He hadn't heard of their kin. So they were left not knowing what had become of them, whether the loved ones who'd set out to join the dragon-rider's army were dead or alive. Then a man said what I'd been waiting for. The thing that'd been on the tip of my tongue, but I hadn't had the nerve to call out. "Let me join you, Sir Marcus! Let me fight at your side!" And dozens more of us said the same. It was why we'd gone to that tavern by the roadside, waiting with the children who wanted to see the heroes. With the mothers and fathers, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters who'd come for news of the war and their own. I wanted to fight. I wanted to slay dragons.

Red Hood Ranger[]

Lore
Sir Marcus held up his hand until we stopped shouting. "This is the courage of West Kruna's men and women," he said. "And I'd be honored to count any of you as my allies. But we're thrown into the heaviest of the fighting, and neither my duty nor my conscience would be upheld if I took inexperienced warriors into our battle lines." Again the hero's voice... Its gentle authority silenced tongues that might have pleaded or hurled insults. Some shed tears, but they nodded their heads and made their way down the road or back into the tavern. Of those who'd asked to join the bronze man, only a score of us were left. Sir Marcus began to dismount. But the man next to him, who wore a fine purple doublet, held his shoulder. "We'll handle this, Marcus," he said. His voice was fancy, the kind that's brought up on fine foods eaten with silver knives and forks. "Make camp with the others." It seemed like the bronze man would argue, but then he nodded. The crowd moved out of the road and let the army go by -- into the field where they were going to bed down that night. Some followed along beside them, still asking questions or passing them food and drink. The nobleman and a few of the others dismounted and stayed behind. They walked among us, asking questions about our skills and experience. A barbarian woman came towards me. She looked fierce, like a lioness. And when I met her eyes I nearly lost my nerve. It was like she could see right through me. But she went up to the man next to me instead, and I could breathe again. "You don't look like a warrior," she said. She pointed at his belly. It hung over his belt like a big sack of grain. "You're too fat." "I'm a healer," he said. "I can tend to your injured." "Show me." She pulled out her sword, and for a moment I thought she was going to hack him to pieces. But she drew the blade across the outside of her forearm instead. Blood came out from the cut in little red blobs, like rubies. The man said something. They must have been magic words, because I didn't understand any of them. Then he put his hand on her arm -- right on the wound. When he took it away, the cut was closed. "Your magic is good," the barbarian woman said. "But can you march with us?" "I can ride, and I have my own horse." "Good. Bring it with you and join the others." She pointed towards the field. He bowed and went off to the stables. I held my breath, but she went to talk to one of the others next -- a stocky halberdier. I was left to wait and watch. A beautiful woman in a blue fur cloak stood in front of a man with an axe. She held her arms out, and white magic shapes glowed above her palms. The man was scratching his head. "You want me to..." he said. "Yes. Hit me. Strike me down if you can." "But... I mean... That's murder, that is." "It isn't murder if I ask for it." "No... Still not proper though, is it? Killing a woman with an axe. How can a bloke find a wife after something like that? No girl would touch him!" She laughed. "If you slay me, my friends will find you a Nord girl who'll love you for it." "But..." "Hit me!" He leaned forward and tapped the flat of his blade on her head. Bright light flashed like a lantern, and the steel stopped less than an inch above her golden hair. "Is that the best you can do?" she asked. "Kobolds would laugh at you!" The warrior grunted. This time he hacked at her with the edge. The blade landed right between her eyes, just a hair away from splitting her skull. And she didn't even flinch. "Harder! Show me how southlanders wield the axe!" Everyone stared at the two of them. Girls were giggling, and that made him glare like a monster. He kept hitting her, sweat dripping from his muscles. But every time there was just more light and more laughter. I was laughing along with the rest (he just looked so funny, bless him). That's why I didn't hear someone come up behind me until he spoke. "That cape..." It was the nobleman's voice. I spun round to face him. "My... my cape?" His eyes were so keen, so clever, that I swore he knew. And I felt like running away. "Is that a Red Hood Ranger's mantle?" "Oh... Yes! It is." "Forgive me, but one doesn't often see a Red Hood walking openly. Would you be offended if I asked for a demonstration?" I whispered a word, and his eyes lit up. One second the cape and hood were scarlet. The next, they were green. I spoke again. This time they turned blue. He clapped. I was lucky. I didn't know the words for the other colors... And for a moment I wasn't even sure I could make them go red again. But then it came to me. "What brings a Red Hood to us? I thought you preferred to work alone?" "I want to kill dragons!" It came out fiercer than I meant, so hard and fast that I sprayed saliva on his fine doublet. He just smiled. "Then you'll have that chance. I'm Teucer Tullian." He waited for me to introduce myself, but I didn't know what to say. Stories about the people in the bronze man's army got spread all over the kingdom. What if a Red Hood heard about me? I coughed, stalling for time. And just when I was opening my mouth (still not knowing what would come out of it), there was a horrible crunch and a moan. The man with the axe had dropped it. Blood gushed from his nose like a red river. "What happened?" Teucer asked. "He hit hard," the blonde woman said, "and the axe bounced off." Teucer went to help him. I slipped away and went to the camp, thanking the gods.

Among Heroes[]

Lore
When I was a girl, a traveling faire visited the county and pitched its tents on a common not far from our village. We begged our parents until they agreed to take us. But when we got there... It was overwhelming. We'd never even seen an orc before. Or a goblin. And suddenly these crazy things were all around us. There were dancing zombies, elven acrobats, goblin jesters, and even unicorns (though maybe they were just horses with horns stuck on them). That's how I felt in Sir Marcus' camp. I wandered around in a daze. I didn't know what to do, what to say to anyone. I just kept walking, hoping I could find a quiet place where no one would notice me. "Liar! Thief!" The voice froze my blood. I swear my jaw landed on my toes. A burly dwarf with a thick, braided beard came at me. He was furious -- all bloodshot eyes and white knuckles. I thought he'd found out somehow. That he was going to tear the cape off my shoulders... Maybe worse. "Where's my ale? Give it back, you thieving bitch!" "Ale? I... I don't..." He learned forward and squinted. "Bah! You're not her! You're not even an elf, are you? You're human!" "I'm sorry!" I had to look down. His eyes scared me. They reminded me of the village drunk crossed with Murnic the Chopper -- and he went to the gallows for killing a woman with his cleaver (Murnic, not the drunk). That's when I saw something twitching in his beard. A little white face poked out from the braids. "A mouse!" I said. "There're mice in your beard!" "Of course there are! Where else would I put beard mice? Up my bloody ass?" "N... No?" "Where's my ale!" He wasn't shouting at me anymore. He stormed off, yelling at someone else. "When I find that elf..." I hurried away. Some of the warriors had put tents up, so I went and hid between two of them. One was a lovely red thing. It looked like it was made of silk. A silk tent! I decided it must've belonged to a noble, maybe even a prince. The army had all sorts in it. I was thinking about going to sleep right there, where no one could see me. But I heard a terrible groan. Someone inside the red tent was in pain. I wondered if I should call out, to see if they were okay. Maybe they'd eaten bad mushrooms or berries and needed a healer. Then the scream came. An awful, hellish scream. I ran out from between the tents and looked around for help. There were men sat on the grass nearby, at the feet of a woman with night black hair and a glowing scepter. Like pupils in a schoolroom, listening to their teacher. They wore robes with funny signs on them. Mages. I felt a bit safer, knowing I was with people who could throw fireballs or shoot lighting from their fingers. "Help!" I said. They looked over. "I think there's a... a harpy in this tent! And she's murdering someone!" "That's one way of-" a mage started to say. But the sorceress waved her hand and he shut his mouth. "Then what are you waiting for?" she asked. "Go and help him! I'll summon Marcus!" There was another scream, and I imagined the harpy tearing out some poor soul's heart. It scared the life out of me. But what could I do? They'd told me to save him! If I said no, or ran away... So I bit my lip, took out my sword, pulled the tent flap open, and went inside. It was horrible! There was a man with wings -- an angel. And this devil woman with red hair was killing him, tearing him apart with her murdering fangs! There was blood everywhere, all over their naked bodies. "Get off him, you monster!" I said. The woman stopped biting. "Why didn't you say you had a lover?" she asked. Her voice wasn't much like a monster's... "She could have joined us." It wasn't a murder. I left. The sorceress and her mages were waiting outside, laughing.

Hunting with Mina[]

Lore
It was the same dream. Like always. I'm sitting by the fireplace with the needle in my hand. I thread it through the cloth, stitching the tear closed. Someone knocks on the door. The needle slips from my fingers. Red material falls on the floor and lies there like a lake of blood. I don't want to answer. Because if I do, I know something terrible will happen. Something that will rip my heart to pieces. But I get up. I cross a room that's suddenly massive, like the village hall. I reach out for the door handle and pull it open. And he's there. The man with death on his lips. "Wake up!" I opened my eyes. A pale face stared down at me. I started to scream, but a cold, soft, strong hand pressed against my mouth. It was the woman from the red tent. She'd come to kill me for... for... Her cold touch woke me up, and I knew how stupid that was. She wouldn't kill me for walking in on her like that. She was one of Sir Marcus' people! A hero! (Even if she did bite naked men's necks open and drink their blood...) She must have seen that I wasn't going to scream anymore, because she took her hand away. "Get your gear and weapons," she said. "Wh-" "A scouting mission, they called it. I call it a hunt. And Teucer said I should take you with me." "But-" "Hurry!" I pulled my equipment on. The morning air chilled my bones. "Leave your bedroll," she said, when I started to roll it up. "No one will steal it." Everyone around us was sleeping, by the campfires or in their tents. We picked our way among them. She was like a shadow, a pale face and burning hair above black leather armor. Mina -- I'd heard her name from the laughing mages -- just stepped over everyone, without making a sound. I think she even trod on some of them, but so soft and quick that they didn't wake. I tripped over a gnome and nearly fell on my face. "Are you drunk?" Mina asked. "I-" "Just come on!" She led me to a pair of horses. Hers was a black mare. Someone had provided a brown stallion for me to ride. I could do that well enough, thank the gods. I'd been riding since I was a girl. Mina didn't talk about what happened in the tent. She didn't say anything, except to tell me that a woodsman had spotted kobold tracks in a forest not far from our camp. I think she preferred to hunt alone, but Teucer thought I'd be useful and made her take me. So she kept quiet. And that was just fine. If she didn't talk to me, she couldn't ask questions. And she wouldn't find out... It seemed like we rode for hours and hours. Time always goes slowly when your mind's spinning. This was what I'd asked for. A chance to fight. But I'd thought it'd be in big battles, where I could lose myself in the press of bodies -- and no one would know if my blade or my bow weren't as skilled as the ones around me. This was different. It was just me and Mina von Richten. I couldn't let her know the truth! The forest came up on us like a giant green monster. Then it was too late to worry. Because there were kobolds in there. Evil things, like the ones that... And if the gods were on my side, I'd kill them. We tied up our horses. I remembered to turn my cape green before we went into the trees. I prayed she wouldn't ask me to take the lead, to find the kobolds' spoor. But I needn't have been nervous. Not about that. Mina wasn't going to let some Red Hood Ranger show her up. Besides, they say vampires have the senses of cats. That they can see, hear, and smell things normal people can't. So I just followed where her eyes or her nose or her ears led us. I tried to be as quiet as I could. But when I blundered through some bushes, or snapped a twig under my boot, she glared at me and whispered. "I thought you Red Hoods were meant to be stealthy?" "I'm sorry! I-" "Silence!" She took us deeper into the forest, where the light barely fell through the leaves -- and everything was in shadow. I trailed behind her, watching the ground. I didn't want to step on another twig. Then all of a sudden she grabbed me and pulled me down. I wasn't stupid enough to cry out or ask her why. I crouched behind the bushes and looked where she was looking. The kobolds. I hadn't seen anything -- no footprints or any other marks in the dirt or on the tree trunks. But she'd found them, hunted them down. They were in a little clearing. Six of them. Mina looked at me and pointed at two of them, the ones on the right. Then she pointed at herself and nodded at the other four. She thought I could kill two kobolds on my own... Of course she did. I was supposed to be a Red Hood Ranger! I pulled my bow off my shoulder and got an arrow ready. The kobolds all turned. They were staring right at us. "Idiot!" Mina said. They'd heard my bowstring. She jumped at the kobolds on the left and... I can't even call it fighting. It was just killing. She slaughtered them. Tore them apart. And I couldn't take my eyes off it. The blood... I only looked around when the hissing came at me. The kobold was so close I could see every little fleck in his eyes. Every tiny drop of saliva on his teeth. I screamed and let go of my arrow. It skimmed over his shoulder, scratching his scales. He howled and swung his sword. I dropped my bow and stepped backwards, trying to get my sword out. But my heel caught on something and I fell. His blade cut through the air where my head had been, and he howled again. He stood over me, screeching something. Spit fell on my face. It was warm and sticky. I kept trying to grab my sword, but my fingers twitched and slipped. His weapon came down. I closed my eyes. I think I whispered their names... Robin and Dain. But maybe it was just in my head. Strong hands snatched me and lifted me up. I screamed again. I thought the kobolds were going to torture me instead of just killing me, that they'd hack me apart piece by piece or rip me open with their teeth. My back banged against something hard and rough. A knot of wood pressed on my kidney like a blunt spike. "Who are you?" I opened my eyes. Mina was in front of me. Blood dripped off her fangs and her chin. "You're no Red Hood! What are you? Another glory-seeking fool? Tell me, or I'll tear your throat out!" I didn't speak. I couldn't! Her mouth flew at my neck. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Don't! Please! Don't!" Her head moved away. She was still angry -- her eyes glinted like daggers. But I knew she wouldn't have killed me, that she'd just wanted to scare me. And that gave me my voice back. "I'm sorry..." I said. It all poured out. I told her about Robin and Dain. My sons. The boys who'd gone off to war. And about the man who knocked on the door of my cottage, to tell me what had happened... "The cape?" she asked. "It's my sister's. She left on a mission, the day before the messenger came. I was mending it for her. And I knew Sir Marcus wouldn't want a seamstress in his army." "So you dressed in her clothes." Mina laughed. "Your foolishness almost cost you your life." "Please, don't tell the others. I can learn! I'll-" "Come back to the camp and collect what's yours. Then go home, seamstress. This war isn't for the likes of you." I followed her to the horses, and we rode. The wind cut into my eyes. It blew the tears into my hood.

Boss: Ruzzik the Slayer[]

Quest Zones