Children of the Dragon-Rider is the fifteenth quest zone, the first half of The Demagogue, and is unlocked by defeating Princess Kherazade in The Battle for Krezzor on Normal difficulty. Defeat Royal Armory Commander on Normal difficulty to unlock Blood of Heroes.
He brandishes a bloody pitchfork, and speaks words that could set the kingdom aflame.
- 1. The Demagogue 1 - Royal Sentry, Royal Soldier
- 2. The Demagogue 2 - Royal Sentry, Royal Guardsman
- 3. The Assassin 1 - Royal Hound, Royal Houndmaster
- 4. The Assassin 2 - Royal Archer, Royal Crossbowman
- 5. The Wrestler 1 - Royal Battle Mage, Royal War Wizard
- 6. The Wrestler 2 - Royal Guardsman, Royal Crossbowman
- 7. The Demagogue 3 - Royal Battle Mage, Royal Soldier
- 8. The Demagogue 4 - Royal Guardsman, Royal Archer
- 9. The Demagogue 5 - Royal Soldier, Royal War Wizard, Royal Quartermaster
- 10. The Demagogue 6 - Royal Guardsman, Royal War Wizard, Royal Crossbowman, Royal Armory Commander
Optional Boss Encounters
Collect Pitchfork Tokens from the nodes.
- 4 Pitchfork Tokens to be able to fight Royal Quartermaster at The Demagogue 5
- 5 Pitchfork Tokens to fight Royal Armory Commander at The Demagogue 6
The cheapest nodes in terms of energy are 1, 2, 4, 6 and 8. If you're fighting the Quartermaster instead, omit 4 or 6. (Old map)
Boss Card Reward
"Death to Crenus!"
His voice is a rich, broad bellow that rolls out across the tumultuous battle. Other tongues take up the cry, echoing it in a great chorus.
"Death to Crenus!"
The portal closes behind you witha loud pop, like a cork leaving a wine bottle. There's a moment of confusion. You and your companions stare at the wolrd around you, as though West Kruna has become stranger and more baffling than the infernal realm you just left behind.
This isn't the road where Niknak grabbed Hugh, and you all tumbled through the portal in pursuit of the demons. You're in the middle of a grassy field. Warriors are clashing right before your eyes, struggling and bleeding. Some are dressed in rough, crude attire. Peasants in laborers' clothing adorned with a haphazard sprinkling of makeshift armor. Their adversaries wear the purple tabards of Crenus' men.
"Death to Crenus!" you both shout at the same moment.
"Yeah! Death to sodding Crenus!"
With that, you join the battle.
It soon becomes a riot. The effects of fresh warriors pouring out of the portal and assailing thm with sword and spells dosen't do wonders for the royal soldiers' morale. And whilst their foes must be no less suprised, there's nothing quite like sticking a blade into a mutual enemy to earn a person's approval.
Within a few minutes the survivors are running -- only to be chased down and butchered by your new acquaintances.
"Death to Crenus!" The bearded man stands above one of the fallen soldiers, his boot planted on the corpse's back. "Death to the tyrant king!"
With that he yanks his potchfork out of the body. Blood and gore glisten on its prongs. He strides towards you with the weapon in hand, eyes blazing. His companions fall in alongside him. And now that the chaos has subsided, you have a chance to scrutinize his aspect properly.
He wears an improvised collection of armored plates, embossed metal strapped to his shoulders, belly, forearms and shins. They look like they were scavenged from an old suit of armor. Beneath them is a padded brown jerkin with short, baggy sleeves. The arms of a mail shirt protrude form it. His face might be handsome, or at least striking -- but the disheveled hair and beard lend him a wildness, and give his visage an intense power. He's gaunt but strong. No weakling could have pushed that pitchfork through a soldier's hauberk and chest. But all those other things fade into insignificance compared with those potent, passionate eyes.
"Who are you?" he asks.
It dosen't take an cunning statesman to know what answer would serve best. So you unsling you shield from your shoulder and display the blue dragon crest.
"*player name* Kasan. And I'm here to help drag Crenus off the throne."
The cheers are almost deafening.
"The gods must have bought us together, *player name*."
The fireplace's crackling flames shine within each of his eyes,igniting their intensity in twin pyres.
Roderick, the band's pitchfork-weilding leader, and his followers said little about themselves when they lead you away from the butchered corpses. They were too busy bombarding you with questions. First and foremost, they wanted to know what you were doing stepping out of a portal into the middle of their skirmish. They laughed when you told them you'd been in hell. But once they realized you weren't joking, the laughter petered out into awestruck gawping.
They led you some mile across the countryside, while you and your friends regaled them with exploits of your adventures -- till you reached a big farmhouse with a scattering of outbuildings. The band's headquarters.
After a simple but hearty meal, Roderick pressed a wooden cup into your hands and invited you to pull a chair up to the fireplace of the house's cavernous kitchen.
"The pitchfork..." you say, tilting your head towards the implement. It rests in the corner, washed clean of the crimson carnage.
A dark cloud settles over his brow. His thick eyebrows descend towards the bridge of his nose.
"This was in my hand on the day my eyes were opened to Crenus' wickedness."
He leans forward, bringing his head closer to yours, and takes a drink from his cup. You raise you own to your lips. The waft of powerful alcohol makes your eyes water. But you take a sip out of politeness -- ans try not to grimmice as it sears its way down your gullet.
"I was a farmhand, like your ancestor. I worked the soil. earned bread to feed my wife and sons. Never sparing a thought for the opressed. Not till the day I went into the barn and heard the sobing. A young man... little more than a boy...was hiding in the hay. i could hear his heart beating! Beating like a drum, he was so afraid! I asked hi who he was hiding from -- I thought he's met kobolds or bandits in the woods. Do you know what he said ,*player name*?Why he was hiding and crying?"
"He tole me the king's man had come to his house and conscripted him. Conscripted a man who coulden't even grow a proper beard! He had magic in him. A snivelling wretch saw the boy heal his brother's arm just by touching it and saying a prayer. When soldiers tried to drag that cur into their ranks, he bought his freedom by telling them about the boy. This is what Crenus has reduced the people of West Kruna to! Turned our own neighbors into sneaks and informers!"
"What happened to the boy?"
"I told him to stay hidden in the bard, and I brought him what food and drink I could. He slept there on the straw for three days. Like an animal! But then they found him. I came with his bread and cheese, and a soldier was draggind him out of the barn. Dragging him by his hair!"
The fires in Roderick's eyes become raging infernos.
"His hair! So I took up my pitchfork and I killed Crenus' dog! I pierced his black heart! What else could I do? What when my eyes had witnessed such injustice? But the noose was tied for me after that. The axe was sharpened. I left my beloved Gema and my children with my brother, and I fled across the countryside -- a hunted man. Hunted, like they'd hunted that boy! But I wasen't a child to be bullied by the golden dragon... And the godds had showed me a sign."
He empties his cup in a single swift jerk, pouring the firey liquor down his throat, sets it aside, and gets out of his chair.
"A sign!" he repeats.
Roderick snatches up his pitchfork.
"The Dragon-Rider's weapon! The weapon of a man who fought for freedom! Who defended his downtrodden people against tyrrany! The gods had put duty into my hands! To protect our brothers and sisters like he did!"
His eyes shine down on you, two lanterns, stars, moons, suns encompassing you with their powerful, inescaple light. Then he lunges. You almost punch him in the face out of instinct, believing for a split-second that he's about to drive the weapon's prongs into your guts.
But he falls to one knee instead and lays the pitchfork on the floor instead. His rough, laborer;s hand grasp your wrist. Rotgot alcohol splashes from your glass and dampens your arm.
"And now you've come to join us! His child of blood and his child of spirit united! Together, *player name*! Together we'll put an end to the tyrant's reign!"
That meeting and Roderick's eager, passionate, manic eyes flow through your mind two weeks later as you crouch in the nocturnal gloom -- staring at the crenellated walls in the distance.
The moment you met his gaze, you knew it would lead to something crazy...