Mysterious Shield of the Dragonslayer
| Type | Shield |
|---|---|
| Discovered By | Lokenth |
| Discovery Date | 5/12/12 |
| Discovery Location | Sasat, Far East |
| Abilities | Prestige +10 Oratory +4% |
| Current Owner | Velax de Vere, Emperor of Arcaea |
Discovered by the adventurer Lokenth Daycryn in Arcaea, this shield appears to be wooden with large lizard-like scales sewn over it. Unlike the previous two unique items found by Lokenth, this was recovered from the grips of the undead.
The Shield is now part of the Imperial Regalia of the Arcaean Empire, held by Emperor Velax de Vere.
The Finding
Lokenth stirred. His body hurt from the beating he'd received. The memory of the small army of undead, surrounding him, terrifying him, still terrified him. Waking up like this, he could almost be uncertain that whether what he'd experienced had been a disturbing dream or a disturbing reality... almost.
The sky was still dark and the air was still cold as he armored up and ventured out into the wilderness where it had happened. He had a good feeling about this. He knew where the enemy was. It had been such a short time since he'd fought them that perhaps they wouldn't be expecting it. He made sure to be quiet and cautious as he picked his way through thorny, dead brush. He could only hope that he wasn't being foolish... well, more foolish than usual, anyway.
Then all of a sudden, there they were! They'd moved a bit since the other night. Well, that was what the undead did. They moved about on their own. It was pretty much their defining characteristic, he mused to himself as he hefted his sword and charged to meet the walking abominations.
As before, he found himself quickly surrounded. He hacked the head off one dead man in one mighty blow. Then they were on him, scratching and clawing at his armor, trying to get at his tasty flesh, but he wasn't having it. He moved quicker than they did.
The champion was a gaunt, skeletal figure with glowing red eyes, bearing a rusty sword and a shield that looked to be made of shiny, giant scales. He parried the first blow, then counterattacked, tearing off a chunk of dry dead flesh. His opponent didn't seem to care too much, but stared him down with those evil glowing eyes. He slashed again, his sword rebounding off the leather-like shield. And again, and again.
"Bugger off already!" he growled in frustration. More enemies tried to sweep him off his legs, so he danced around and hacked their legs off, freeing him for a few more seconds. The undead champion moved in for the kill, his skeletal grin seeming to suggest it would be easy. Bugger that! he thought, and danced backward from a brutal downward slash from that rusty sword, and then leapt in to slash again. Again, the shield lifted, lazily, casually, and his sword bounced back ridiculously. He shouted, and the undead minions grabbed and pawed at him. Losing his temper, he bulled against one, knocking it down, and then brutally hacked apart two more.
The champion seemed content to let him be torn apart by the zombies, so he concentrated his efforts on them. They fell before him like so much dead flesh. Hands and arms and legs and heads fell to the ground beneath him, dead black blood spraying with each cut of his blade. Finally he had some space.
"Alright, you," he told the red-eyed thing. No response, of course. The undead were such bores.
The sun peeked through the treeline, its bright morning light piercing through the gray darkness like a burning spear.
He danced to the right as the rusty sword came down, and instead of parrying the blade or attacking the protected undead swordsman itself, he brought his sword down in a furious motion and off came the hand, sword still clutched in its dead claws. He gave a shout of triumph, swinging his blade twice at the champion, both times coming up against that weird shield. Then he quickly left his sword in his left hand and with his right grabbed the shield and, after a brief struggle, wrenched it from the bearer's grip and flung it to the ground.
He liked to imagine that in that faceless red glare he saw some sort of surprise or dismay, but of course you could never be sure. He swung his sword twice and hacked the head off his enemy. The glowing eyes stopped glowing and just became black sockets of the dead. To be sure, he hacked the remaining limbs off and kicked the torso.
He wheeled around, looking for more, but the undead were all now dead.
Then he picked up the shield.
Nobility, he thought slowly. It looks like a shield, but this is nobility I hold in my hand.
The Mysterious Power
Orado, the Man-at-Arms of Lendin Bendix, Imperial Magistrate of Arcaea, was tasked once again with finding Sages capable of repairing the legendary Mysterious Shield of the Dragonslayer. He had once again caught wind of a Sage named Syor, this time in Nocaneb. He'd been arrested in the region when it joined Ohnar West and somewhat feared to return... But what would be more fitting than to restore part of the Imperial Regalia right under the noses of her enemies?
He found the Sage in a small shop, mumbling to himself in a corner. This wasn't unusual to Orado, not anymore. He'd met a sage with no vowels in his name that may have given him a glimpse of a tentacle underneath... Mumbling in a corner was nothing. As Orado approached, the Sage turned and yelled: "NOT HERE! THE GARDENS!"
Yet, as he tottered off, Orado noticed he wasn't heading to Nocaneb's fine gardens at all. He chose to follow instead. They soon came to the entrance of the sewers. Perhaps this Sage made his own garden here? Stranger things had happened, but he didn't like where this was going at all.
The pair made their way into the first pump room, where Orado noticed a tent had been set up. Orado opened his mouth to speak, but Syor again cut him off: "I knew you were coming, yes. I also know what you carry. That shield is older than you can know, boy. Dragons no longer walk this land, but monsters still plague us. They were once connected, you see. A claw may have some power to awaken the Legend that sleeps within. I will need one, as well as some other ingredients..." Syor handed Orado a short list.
"I have..." Orado said slowly, with a light wave of surprise, "all of these."
Syor smiled. "I did say I knew you were coming, boy. Now hand them here." Syor took the ingredients and the claw and vanished into his tent. Orado, still dumbfounded, could only occasionally wince when he heard a strange noise. Who knew what this crazy old man was doing with the Imperial Regalia? Soon, though, he returned. The Shield looked the same, but there was a small dragon head at the top of the shield, with its mouth wide open. Orado took it and instantly knew why: He felt a small surge of skill in speaking. He would have bet that he could speak as well as some of the lower nobles holding this shield!
It had to leave his hands as soon as possible. Nobles were not fond of loud commoners. He turned back to the Sage, hoping he'd know where Orado could finish the repairs... but Syor was gone.
