Sir Williams removed his yellow helmet as his ostrich landed on a floating strip of rock and sand. He dismounted and stepped to the edge of the turf. A gust of hot air knocked him backward as he eyed the precarious drop to the lava lake. He remounted his ostrich, grasped his lance with his left hand, shield in his right.

He dug his heels into the ribs of his avian steed and was airborne again, flying high above his comrades. He descended and circled the lava pit, running through his mental checklist before engaging the enemy. “Time to cook up some poultry,” he said aloud as he zoomed in on the flock.

Sir Williams raised his lance and engaged a swarm of silver hunters and red bounders. He toppled a nearby huntress from her buzzard and circled around to find another fowl enemy nearby.

As he engaged a blue shadow lord, a giant lava troll hand appeared before him. It grasped the powerful legs of his ostrich and pulled them closer. The ostrich wings beat invisibly fast as its toes touched smoking magma goop.