- Nightmares trouble your restless soul.
Cryptic Tales is the 32nd questing area in the game and becomes available when all sub-quests and boss encounters have been completed on at least normal difficulty in Spirits of the Pumpkin Patch
NM Achievement Restless Memories
- Completing this area on normal will allow you to get the Xeurim the Corruptor raid essence.
|Title||Level 1||Level 2||Level 3||Level 4||Level 5||Level 6||Level 7|
|Restless Memories |
(Complete Cryptic Tales on Nightmare difficulty.)
|Brown Nightmare Fragments||Craft x15 Stat Points||Cryptic Tales|
|Grey Nightmare Fragments||Craft x15 Stat Points||Cryptic Tales|
|Green Nightmare Fragments||Craft x15 Stat Points||Cryptic Tales|
|Blue Nightmare Fragments||Craft x15 Stat Points||Cryptic Tales|
|Purple Nightmare Fragments||Craft x15 Stat Points||Cryptic Tales|
|Orange Nightmare Fragments||Craft x15 Stat Points||Cryptic Tales|
|Xeurim the Corruptor Essence||Used to summon Xeurim the Corruptor (Raid)||Xeurim the Corruptor|
|Dream Spirit||1000||1000||1250||Gains 50 Attack and Defense for each Undead troop in the active legion||Cryptic Tales|
|Spirit of the Mountain||13000||13000||16250||Of Mice and Beards: 3% chance to deal 15% damage; Extra 1% damage for each different Dwarf troop owned; Gains 2,000 Attack and Defense for the following owned: Spirit of Harmony, Spirit of Courage, Spirit of the People; (Passive): Increases Legion Power Bonus by 50%||Cryptic Tales|
|Spirit of Courage||10000||10000||12500||Red Triumph: 10% chance to deal 13% damage; Extra 32% damage against Dragon raids; Extra 32% damage against Deadly raids; Gains 2,000 Attack and Defense for the following owned: Spirit of the Mountain, Spirit of Harmony, Spirit of the People; (Passive): Increases Legion Power Bonus by 50%||Cryptic Tales|
|Spirit of Harmony||12500||7500||14375||Law and Order: 10% chance to deal 5% damage; Increases Player's Attack, Defense and Perception by 2,500; Increases Player's Health by 10,000; Gains 1,000 Attack and Defense for the following owned: Spirit of the Mountain, Spirit of Courage, Spirit of the People; (Passive): Increases Legion Power Bonus by 25%||Cryptic Tales|
|Spirit of the People||1600||2500||2225||Barbaric Adoration: 10% chance to deal 5% damage; Increases the Attack and Defense of all Generals, Troops and Support items in the active legion by 100; Gains 1,000 Attack and Defense for the following owned: Spirit of the Mountain, Spirit of Courage, Spirit of Harmony; (Passive): Increases Legion Power Bonus by 25%||Cryptic Tales|
|Spirits of West Kruna||Kruna's Ghosts: 10% chance to deal 5% damage; Extra 10% damage for each of the following in the legion: Spirit of the Mountain, Spirit of Courage, Spirit of Harmony, Spirit of the People||Xeurim the Corruptor|
|Beard and Brawn||205||322||Nightmare Manifestation||10250|
|Visions of Red||205||322||Nightmare Manifestation||10250|
|Diplomatic Futility||205||322||Nightmare Manifestation||10250|
|Courage Never Wanes||205||322||Nightmare Manifestation||10250|
|Xeurim the Corruptor||320||832||51200|
|Your dreams are troubled as of late with sleep coming through labored efforts and intoxicated states of existence. You've seen some of this world's worst horrors and have rarely dealt with a restless night for an extended period of time.
Perhaps it is the semblance of peace that has taken hold of West Kruna as of late which allows your mind to run rampant and fixate upon the atrocities of your storied past, remembering companions long since gone with some surely conjurations of your troubled mind.
Whatever the reason for your much disturbed slumber, you've resorted to magic to ease yourself into a restful night's slumber at long last. With tired eyes and a body heavy with fatigue, you speak with Lahallia, a witch and brewer of potions in your army. As you enter her hut, your senses are assaulted by all manner of odors and sights, from sweetly smelling perfumes to eyeballs in thicky, bubbling liquid.
She sits at a table, smiling at you with an expectant look that tells you she anticipated your arrival. You pull the heavy wooden chair out and take a seat across from her. "I'm in need of something to give me respite from a series of relentless nightmares. I've tried normal brews and potions to no avail. Do you have anything that will give me dreamless sleep by chance? Perhaps something from the Fey folk?" Lahallia laughs at your request before replying, "Ahhh, yes. I believe I have something." She stares at you for an uncomfortable period of time, but before you can ask her what she has in mind she pulls out a thick, purple vial of liquid.
"Place two drops on your tongue before you rest your weary head tonight. Upon the first night you shall know some respite, with each following night better than the last. But know that for this concoction to truly work its magic, you must step into the shoes of another and conquer those things that plague you." Lahallia's smile never wavers.
You pick up the vial and examine the liquid closely. It sloshes around easily in the glass container. You know better than to press the witch for more details and simply nod your head and thank her for her time. You place a handful of coins on the table and make your way out of the hut.
|You arrive back in your room after a long and exhausting day. Your heart is filled with dread as you resign yourself to another nightmare-fueled session of troubled sleep, but you suddenly recall the witch's vial you procured earlier in the day. You examine the vial once again, turning it end over end and wondering what awaits you this night.
You recall her instructions and make ready to rest for the night. You've left careful instructions with the guards stationed outside of your room to only disturb you if there is truly an emergency at hand. They acknowledge the order and before lying down you place two drops as instructed on your tongue, cork the vial once more and lay back onto the bed.
At first you wonder if anything will happen; the liquid was tasteless and your senses still seem to be fully at your disposal, but after a few more moments you can feel a humming sensation throughout your body as your eyelids grow ever heavier.
Your mind rapidly jumps from memories deep within yourself and you see familiar figures as before, but unlike previous nights you find yourself drawn to specific memories. Unbidden, your mind rushes forward and your mind is assaulted by a bright light and your senses are assaulted by new smells and a brisk breeze. You rapidly blink to clear your vision and look around...
Beard and Brawn
|You find yourself in a darkened tunnel, but you find that your senses are adjusted to the environment with surprising ease and as you look down you can see hands that do not naturally belong to you. Heavily calloused from years of hard labor as a long, bushy beard covers your rotund midsection.
You find portions of yourself, of who you are rapidly slipping away and being replaced with the visions and thoughts of another. Your memories blur and you see fragments of dwarven holds with casks of ale, flowing like water. You see battles won and loves lost, hardships endured and victories celebrated and in an instant those memories become one and now there is only you, the true new you.
"Bernard! Behind you!" A deep voice calls out and without a second of hesitation you turn on your heel, axe in hand and bring the heavy weapon of destruction upwards, eviscerating a demonic foe. "What tha' hell was that about now? Have ya' lost your mind!?" You shake your head and give your response, "Aye, perhaps. Might be I'm sobering up, let me have a swig of that brandy again would ya'?" Your dwarven companion uncorks a skin sloshing with liquid inside and passes it to your outstretched hand. You take it gladly and tilt the skin high and gulp the entire thing down in a single attempt. Once complete, you throw the skin aside and let out a delighted belch. "Ah, now that'll cure what ails ya!" You get to your feet. "Now then, where were we?" you ask and survey the dark tunnel. Try as you might, you can't rightly recall the reason for your visit to this desolate place.
Your companion sighs, an older dwarf with darkening features. "We're ta' track and slay the demonic beasty tha' took up residence in this here crypt." You nod but inside can't quite put the pieces together entirely.
You journey deeper into the darkness and with every step you lose a piece of your other self and become this fierce dwarf you've known for so long. You slowly recall there was a demon lord that took up residence locally and plagued a dwarven town with malice. As your journey continues you see small things that strike you as out of place, as if the memory isn't exact and it gives you a feeling of unease.
You round a corner and stop dead in your tracks as a widening chasm opens before you. Your companion motions for silence and pulls forth a mighty spear from its sheath and the two of you cautiously proceed. In front of you is a hooved being with gnarled horns and cloven feet, speaking in a demonic tongue.
You can't quite place it but something feels subtly wrong about the creature before you. The voice is somehow wrong to your senses but you push that thought aside as you get nearly within striking distance. Your companion holds up their hand with three fingers raised up and slowly brings them down one at a time. You anticipate his spear being hurled and ready yourself, axe in hand.
As the final finger comes down, the spear is launched and you raise your axe and let loose a dwarven battle cry as battle is joined. The demon turns with unholy speed and catches the spear that was aimed at him and brandishes a wicked grin. You're caught off guard but close the distance between you and bring your axe down with all the strength you can muster.
The beast laughs at your attempts and dodges to the side; there is a screaming in the back of your mind as your other self once again becomes known. You take a defensive posture and examine the situation as best you can in the heat of the moment. You begin remembering all of the details that this memory contains. You remember the spear, the axe, but before it was different, the spear should strike true and you remember surprising the beast. It is as if this demon remembers as you do and is anticipating each moment.
You take a few more desperate swings but can't strike true. You remember screaming and agony, you recall your companion's brutal death as the infernal beast gored him. As panic threatens to settle over your mind, your true self pushes forward and in an instant your memories merge and you become one. You see the battle as it was and proceed accordingly. You move in directions that are unlike the memories from before.
However, just as before, the beast has your companion in his grasp. Last time you came in low and attempted to cut the legs out from underneath the creature, but this time in a moment of clarity you see an upraised stone behind the beast. You run at it as quickly as your dwarven legs will carry you and leap off, axe raised high.
With all of the fury and strength of your ancestors themselves you bring the blade down upon the demon's head, splitting the skull in half as a thick, ebon liquid bursts forth and a ghastly howl echoes throughout the caverns. Whereas before you failed to save your companion and defeat the monster, now you have utterly triumphed.
The creature's body lies convulsing on the ground. Your arms are heavy but your companion whoops and hollers in victory and embraces you. "A job well done lad! A job well done indeed." He continues to speak to you, but his voice is distant now and your vision is fading.
You begin to fall, slowly at first, quickening with every passing moment. Suddenly you shoot up in your bed, the covers fall to your side and your breath comes in quick, labored bursts. Sweat dampens your brow but as your eyes adjust you remember you're in your keep with your forces.
You let out a sigh of relief and see a faint, shimmering glow in the corner of your room. It's the specter of Bernard Bronzefist. He gives you a smile before leaving the tent. You lay there, unsure of what to make of these events but you feel lighter somehow, and for the first time in weeks rest comes easy to you for the remainder of the night and your dreams are untroubled.
Visions of Red
|You awoke feeling fairly rested, not entirely but better than you've felt in awhile. You remember the witch's instructions and resolve to carry them out precisely as she described. You fulfill your duties for the day and that night you once again pull the vial from its resting place and delicately ensure the proper quantity of drops fall upon your tongue.
You lay back once more and let the sensations wash over you. Just as before you can feel familiar yet foreign environments all around you until you are blinded by a bright flash of red. A sword is in one hand. It feels comfortable, it feels like an extension of who you are. You feel resolute and steadfast as chaos unfolds around you.
There is screaming as unarmed civilians rush to and fro and you can hear the sound of combat being joined all about you. Unbidden, you let out the call to charge forth and can feel the memory and your true self at odds once more. You fight back the panic and let the memories run their course as you slowly begin to become this new person.
You are Sar Velania the Red, a figure of hope and courage to those around you. You feel the eyes of others looking to you for guidance, and with a sureness that comes from countless battles you continue to lead the charge. You are on a hillside with a small town a short distance away and see the all too familiar visage of beastmen and kobolds rampaging through the countryside. The vile beasts spot your gleaming red armor and some falter there and then, your reputation preceding you even among the beastmen warbands themselves.
"Show them no quarter! We must ensure the people are safe!" You scream to no one in particular. A particularly muscular kobold rushes forward towards you and brings a wicked iron machete on high. You catch the crude blade with your own. The shock of the impact goes through to your shoulders but you press on and slide the blade down the poor iron machete and sever the beast's hands from its unprotected wrists. It falls to the ground and cries out in pain before you cut the howling creature's head from its shoulders.
In the distance you can see a small cave entrance where the beasts seem to be retreating to, supplies and townsfolk in tow. Again you are struck by both the similarities and the minute differences of this memory, and as you come to this realization you feel a frustrated presence at the back of your mind that was previously unknown to you. As quickly as you identify the presence, it disappears.
You shake your head and press onward, "The cave! We need to get to the cave and save as many as we can." Your soldiers acknowledge your orders and begin marching in the cave's direction, dispatching wayward beastmen along the way.
You remember the cave and a brutality that lay within. You remember the wailing of dying townsfolk as you fought to clear a path through the throng of beastmen. As with before the cave is dank and the smell of rotting corpses assaults your senses. Your forces dispatch foe after foe and your muscles burn from bringing your steel to bare so often this day.
Your true self gently comes back and once again takes stock of the situation. You remember a kobold shaman in the back, sacrificing townsfolk to appease their draconic masters. You broke off last time down a side entrance while the majority of your forces pressed onward. You remember their courage faltering as they came to an especially brutal beastman warrior and you were unable to reach the shaman.
"My lady, mayhaps you should take the side entrance and we'll press onward while you do so." The soldier is already mid stride when you stop him, "No, we will press on together." You see a flash of irritation spread across the soldier's face, and something about his visage is wrong to you, misplaced as if it doesn't belong in this memory. You ignore the oddity and begin leading your forces forward.
As before, they come before a wide tunnel with a beastman warrior covered in scars and tattoos howling in rage, but this time you simply raise your sword and shout, "Let not the wicked stand before our blades. Cast them from this cavern!" Your troops reply with eager shouts and you charge the creature.
Its massive frame is slow, but rippled muscles bring about a massive maul with a quickness one would not anticipate from such a creature. You wield your blade with expert precision and come in low, slicing the tendons and muscles keeping the creature's legs in working order.
It begins to buckle and releases a rage induced scream that is cut short when a blade pierces its throat. You leave the beast bleeding on the floor and hurriedly rush forward. You spot the shaman who is preparing the first sacrifice: a young woman who trembles and weeps, fighting fruitlessly against her bonds. You clear the distance of the room quickly, dispatching kobolds and beastmen as you go and the shaman puts down their sacrificial dagger and speaks a vile incantation.
A black bolt is hurled from the shaman's outstretched hand. You take the hit in the left shoulder and grit your teeth in pain as you feel your flesh burning beneath your armor. The only thought in your mind is saving the people before you. Your soldiers shout battle cries all around you and clear the path as you make a final stride towards the shaman.
Another incantation, but this time you are ready and successfully dodge the blow. The beast picks up the dagger and you shout in frustration as you won't make it in time. You reach down and pull a dagger from your boot and in a last act of desperation hurl it with as much precision as you can muster.
The blade goes end over end, and time slows down until the blade makes an audible thunk as it strikes true in the creature's throat. Blood pools as it topples over and begins choking on its own blood. Tears of relief stream down from your cheeks as the beastmen retreat deeper into the cavern and your soldiers begin freeing the captives.
This isn't the ending you remember, but it somehow feels right. You get the same sensation you had as Bernard Bronzefist and your world slowly fades to black. The irritated presence once again makes itself known for the briefest moment before hiding away once more. And again, you find yourself in your room, a weight lifting from your shoulders.
The vague and ethereal visage of Sar Velania the Red stands in the corner, a smile spreading from ear to ear as she disappears moments later.
You lay your head down and allow sleep to overtake you once more, and again the nightmares do not trouble you this night.
|You awake, feeling more rested than the night before despite a mild headache that was previously absent. You go through your morning stretches before embarking on another busy day. Throughout your visits in the keep you keep seeing movement from the corner of your vision but when you look it disappears. You reach deep down within the well of magical power inside yourself and try to detect magic in the area but find nothing out of the ordinary.
At the conclusion of your day you take the vial once more and prepare for the rituals of the night. Visions dance in your mind once more as familiar faces blur in and out of sight. Suddenly you feel yourself falling and blackness overtakes you.
You hear distant sounds but feel entirely unwelcome in this world. Whereas previously other items felt misplaced in memories, it now is you who feels entirely misplaced as if you are a wrong that should not be.
You look down and see hands, ethereal in nature and heavily armored and look about. There are buildings and a bright moon hangs in the night's sky and you hear hollow voices speaking to one another in terse and frustrated tones.
"It simply should not be!" hisses one voice. "That doesn't change the fact that is has come to pass," responds an angry voice. You walk some distance until you come to a central area surrounded by other spectral figures. The town is old and looks abandoned, but the town center still seems to be in good standing with brickwork well tended to. You stand with an assembly of twenty or so ghosts all discussing something you're struggling to piece together.
"Mastery of the necromantic arts such as this cannot be allowed to continue. It must be stopped!" one ghost says, passionately.
"Perhaps we could slay the host. After all, it's their dreams the creature is drawing strength from. A hero they may be, but a fiend such as this could undo much," an aged and deep voice calmly offers to the congregation. You slowly begin to realize that you may be involved in the subject at hand. As this realization dawns upon you, your spectral host speaks aloud, "But on the other hand, the hero has taken great care to undo the chains of the lich have they not?" Silence greets the questions, thus your host, or you as it feels, continues. "We are not the deciders of fate, simply those who help usher its whims, are we not? Direct intervention may be heavy handed when the hero has shown much progress."
The assembly mumbles and you can feel your true self melding once more with this unfamiliar spirit. Unlike the others, there is no resistance on your host's end, almost as if you were expected and allowed entry. You find your voice, your true voice for the first time since embarking upon this otherworldly journey.
"I don't know quite where I am or what is taking place, but I do know that I am not keen to perish. What's happening? Could someone please explain this to me." The ghosts seem unsurprised by your true voice coming through your host's mouth.
"Sir Matthew, you've brought the hero to our assembly? A bold move to be certain. I wish only that you had given us proper warning." Your host laughs as he replies, "Indeed, and mayhaps I should have. But this is a time of great peril for a great figure in history and drastic measures must be taken."
A central figure rises up and addresses you. "Indeed, Sir Matthew speaks true. To speak plainly and quickly, a powerful lich has unlocked a deep and dreaded power with the aid of your spiritual essence. They are poised to eclipse all in their mastery of undeath and transform into a mighty draco lich. A creature of immense power from myth. Long has our society known pieces of the spell, but it was your presence and mighty deeds which made it possible." The figure paces, though none dare speak as he reflects on his next words.
"You've set him back through your meddling, but he is still gaining power at an alarming rate. He set forth a ritual of binding that tethers himself to your body and allows him to extract portions of your essence to fuel his foul deeds. With the aid of certain companions and their memories, you've managed to destroy two tethers but a third remains. You will need to seek out a final memory and time is not your ally."
You try to absorb everything you're being told but struggle to piece these things together. In your mind you can feel Sir Matthew not so much speaking to you but giving you what reassurance he can. You understand that it's only through his words that you're still here now. Though you suspect if you fail to follow through these dream specters may still take action against you in some capacity.
As you're having these thoughts, you can feel that brief presence scratching at the back of your mind and Sir Matthew intervenes immediately and speaks aloud, "We must depart. Xeurim knows what's happening and time is fleeting. Best of luck, hero."
The last thing you see is the assembly of spirits all staring at you before blackness engulfs you.
Courage Never Wanes
|You awake in a cold sweat and feel worse than you did before. You see the faint shimmer of Sir Matthew departing your small room, a look of concern painted upon his face. You call for your assistant and inform them that you'll be canceling all your scheduled events for the day and that you are not to be disturbed unless it is for a matter of great importance. They acknowledge your command and depart to carry out your orders.
You break your fast and try to clear your head, but a nagging sensation in the back of your mind tells you that there is no time to waste and you drain the final drops of the witch's brew and fall quickly into the now familiar dreamlike state.
This time the darkness overtakes you quickly and when you blink to clear your eyes you are gazing upon a fierce warrior, thick of muscle standing with great confidence.
Lena towers over you and offers her hand, which you accept most gladly. As you rise you look around and see you're in a crypt, and as you examine yourself you are indeed you. Not quite in the flesh but similar enough. "The dangers are many, and time is not our ally. Though I am sure this you have heard before." Her accent it thick and she does not smile but you still get a great sense of warmth from her presence.
"How do you know my situation?" you ask, to which Lena laughs and replies, "Because I am you and you are me. My manifestation is conjured by tales you read, by songs bard sing. Never have we met yet much of me you know, or so you believe." Though you don't quite understand, you press onward with the barbarian for you know not what else you would do given the circumstances.
The crypt shimmers all around you as it changes from different places you have visited. In some areas you see the all too familiar stonework of Caracalla, in others you find nameless crypts you've visited over the years. Nothing fits but in a way the chaos feels soothing and familiar to your senses.
A deep laugh rumbles through the cavern, startling you, and Lena quickly draws her blade. "Come for me, have you, hero? It's far too late. Stop me here and you only delay that which is already in motion." You sense more than you see a presence behind you and find a blade has magically appeared in your hand. You swing with practiced aim but strike only shadows as the laughing continues.
From the center of the room a massive skeletal demon appears with eyes of coal and flaming wings. The shadows coalesce into the creature's skull creating a swirling vortex of ash all around the beast. Lena wastes no time and lets out a war cry before charging forward. You take off to catch up as quickly as possible.
The demon swings a wicked scythe at Lena who effortlessly dodges to the side. The bring your sword upward and attempt to hack into the beast's right shin. You send shards of bone flying across the room but fail to make the impact you were aiming for.
The voice laughs again and the demon bashes you across the face with a molten wing, leaving scorch marks across your cheek. Lena continues to dodge and jab with her blade, inflicting minor wounds to the monster wherever she dances.
You recover, and as you do so, notice the skull of the creature is pulsating with energy. With each pulse, the bone shards you loosened begin to reassemble themselves undoing all the damage you inflicted.
You take a deep breath and rush forward, "Distract him, Lena! I have a plan." She makes no response but the sound of steel battering bone and iron rings throughout the halls. Mid run you draw magical essence from within your breast and speak the words you practiced. Yellow energy bursts from the end of your hand and snakes down to your legs and you feel a newfound sense of strength pulsing through your core.
You take a mighty leap as the beast is engaged with Lena and land atop the creature's shoulders. It howls in rage and attempts to dislodge you, but in that moment Lena grips the beast's wrist and hauls herself upwards as it attempts to bat you away. You can feel a small portion of yourself in Lena's every movement and while you are unable to find purchase on the demon's shoulder and are shaken off, Lena brings her sword upwards as she is raised up and embeds her blade deep into the demon's skull.
There is a loud, sucking sound and you feel yourself in danger of being sucked into the vortex yourself. Lena stands over you and smiles for the first time. "Now, time to go." As she speaks these words, blackness overtakes you and you awake to a loud knocking at your door.