Legendary Reward
Amukelo landed gracefully next to Valonthar, his heart still racing from the exhilarating combat. But as he looked around the expansive dragon's lair, he found the absence of his friends jarring.
"Where are everyone?" he inquired, his voice filled with concern. He expected to see them eagerly waiting, excited to learn the results of his face-off against Valonthar.
The Draconian master, an aged figure with scales shimmering like gold under the cavern's light, stepped forward, his expression grave. "They have gone to defend the Draconian town," he stated, his deep voice echoing through the cave.
Amukelo's eyes widened in shock. "Defend? Against what?"
"A vast horde of undead," the master explained. "We are talking about hundreds of thousands – normal zombies, skeletons, Liches with the ability to resurrect any defeated undead, undead mages, Giants, and even an undead dragon. With most of our strongest warriors overseeing the trial, our village was left vulnerable."
"But why weren't we informed?" Amukelo demanded, feeling a pang of guilt that he was here when his friends were fighting for their lives.
Valonthar, his voice a soft rumble, added, "We were bound to the trial and could not leave. Your friends' decision to aid in the town's defence was both noble and brave."
Amukelo clenched his fists. "Take me there. I need to help them."
The Draconian master placed a calming hand on Amukelo's shoulder. "In due time, young warrior. First, you've earned something from your trial."
Amukelo's urgency was palpable, but the Draconian master held up a hand, signaling him to wait. Even in this pressing situation, the rites of the Legendary Equipment couldn't be overlooked.
From the deepest recesses of the cavern, a procession of Draconians emerged, chanting an ancient hymn in their harmonious tongue. Their voices filled the air, making the very walls of the cave vibrate with power. The melody was so entrancing, it momentarily distracted Amukelo from his thoughts of the ongoing battle.
The lead Draconian, a priestess draped in robes of azure and gold, stepped forward, holding a large chest. She placed it before Amukelo, then slowly opened it, revealing the armor and sword within.
The armor was a work of art, an artifact of a bygone era. Dark as the abyss with highlights of crimson, it seemed to absorb the very light around it. Each plate was intricately engraved with runes of an ancient language, detailing sagas of legendary warriors. The breastplate featured a majestic dragon, wings spread wide, painted in deep red, a symbol of the bond between the dragon race and its chosen warrior.
Its combat abilities were whispered in tales. The armor could amplify the wearer's mana, allowing them to tap into reservoirs of strength they didn't know they had. It was also said to possess a self-healing ability, repairing any damage over time, and its dark nature provided stealth, enabling the wearer to meld with the shadows, becoming nearly invisible to foes.
Beside the armor lay the sword. Darker than the blackest night and adorned with the same crimson details, it seemed to pulsate with an inner fire. A perfect counterpart to Amukelo's Elvish blade, this sword was named "Ruthar", the Draconian word for 'Eclipse'. Legends claimed that when wielded with intent, Ruthar could unleash devastating waves of darkness, disintegrating anything in its path.
The priestess spoke a blessing, her voice resonating with the very essence of magic, "May Ruthar and this ancient armor protect you in the battles that lie ahead. With these, may you cast shadows on your enemies and bring hope to your allies."
Amukelo bowed in gratitude, donning the armor and feeling its power surge through him. With Ruthar in one hand and his Elvish sword in the other, he was a beacon of both light and darkness, a fusion of two worlds.
With newfound determination, he looked at the Draconian master. "Now, let's save my friends and your village."