Grand Games: The Summit is an anniversary quest zone of the missions map. It can be entered at any time.
Only the greatest athletes may reach the summit of Mount Arete
- 1. The Second Gatekeeper - Satyr Gatekeeper
- 2. Flying Chariot Race - Satyr Charioteer
- Drops Flying Chariot Race Trophy
- 3. Aristeia - Orc Warrior, Felpuur Warrior, Elf Warrior
- Drops Aristeia Trophy
- 4. Courage - Angry Gnome
- Drops Courage Trophy
- 5. Destiny - Dimetrodon
- Drops Destiny Trophy
- 6. Athletes' Revenge - Vengeful Athletes, Satyr Gatekeepers
- Drops Athlete's Revenge Trophy
- 7. Arete - Arete
- Drops Arete's Pedestal
- Common Craft: Laurel Wreath
Thousands of years ago...
"Onward, warriors!" Terracles roared. "Death to the dragons!"
The demi-god swung his club. An ogre's skull exploded. The creature's splattered brains sprayed across his minions' furry bodies.
"Death to the dragons!"
Men, elves, and goblins echoed the hero's cry. A thousand bestial shrieks answered. They blended with clashing steel and the soft thunks of metal biting into meat. Across the battlefield, beleaguered soldiers let out a ragged cry of their own. New strength flowed into weary limbs. They hurled themselves at the beastmen and kobolds, yearning to survive now that the demi-god's force had brought salvation within reach. Terracles heard their voices. His next words boomed like the thunder of heaven.
"Fight!" His great weapon swept right and left, shattering bones and launching broken bodies through the air. "Our brothers need us! Fight!"
He crashed through the enemies' ranks, a host in himself. And where his club fell, not even the mightiest beastman or ogre could live. Terracles trod their corpses into the mud and battered a path through fur and flesh. Nor were his warriors content to hide behind the strength of the demi-god's thews. Each of them fought with fury and courage no less than his, and slew or died as fate decreed.
The monstrous horde broke before their waves. And the creatures' fleeing backs suffered the vengeful wounds of blade and bow.
But Terracles took no part in the pursuit and slaughter. Instead he ran across the field, over the blood and gore, to where men and women stood before a great mound of dead. These were the people the demi-god's band had saved. Yet there was no joy on their faces.
"Where is Arete?" Terracles asked.
"He fell," a woman said. She pointed at the mountain of corpses.
"He fought like the gods themselves," a man said.
Terracles tore at the pile. He hurled dead beastmen and kobolds aside, tossing even ogres as though they were sacks of grain. Bodies rained down on the field behind him. Some had been transfixed by a mighty spear, punctured in heart or throat. Others slashed open by a ferocious sword. And as the heap grew less and less beneath the demi-god's efforts, they gazed upon corpses which had been battered and slain by bare hands alone.
At last the mountain was gone. And a single body lay surrounded by the oceans of those he had vanquished. Arete, the champion of the games, whose brow had worn many hundred laurels, lay still. But his lips bore a victor's smile.
Fairies perished in droves beneath the athletes' arrows, punished for their crimes while their slayers reaped glory. Pankratiasts battled with fists and feet, and all the grappler's tricks. Boulders smashed on the ground, crushing the bodies of those whose fleetness had faltered. Riddles were spoken and answered, with lives wagered on that cunning test of wits. Monsters feasted upon the weak, and were in turn laid low by the strong.
He looked upon all this and was pleased. His events had become part of the games. They would forever more be woven into the legends of this sacred place where Terracles had once lit a funeral pyre, and named the mountain anew in honor of its finest champion.
But there was more yet to come. One of the athletes was already ascending towards the second gatekeeper, and would soon arrive. Then the greatest events of all would begin.