Liam looked down at the shield that had just flown from his hand, confused. He was tempted to think that it had a mind of its own, but he had clearly felt something in him reject it and repulse it from his hand.
Curious, he reached down and grabbed the [Hearthsteel Longsword]. The feeling, again, welled up within him and sent the blade clattering along the stone floor to join the shield. Then, he picked up the helmet and attempted to put it on his head. He found he could not even do that as an equal and opposite force pushed up against him no matter how hard he strained against it. It looked like he couldn't use any one of the Hearthsteel items.
He wondered what was stopping him. At first he thought that it was because he lacked the Skill for them, but he had both held and used bladed weapons before and this hadn't happened. Instead, he looked for what was common between the sword, shield and helmet. The material. All three items were made of the same material and something that hadn't been in him before this whole situation rejected it. It was a shame really, as he had fallen in love with the shield in his mind already, but now he wouldn't even be able to pick it up and throw it at his enemies. He would need to test further if it was just Hearthsteel he couldn't use, or if it was a broader category like elemental items or metals in general.
Disappointed but not disheartened, Liam turned to the slumped armour burning a hole in the passage wall and floor. He may not be able to take the equipment, but there was another set of bones to absorb. He chuckled to himself at the thought. To an outsider, what he and Ander Phyris did may not be too different. Both of them used the bodies of the fallen as materials for war, though he doubted that the lich ever fed so many bones to any of its soldiers' [Bone Armaments] since he would be able to create an entirely new minions out of them instead.
He approached the defeated foe, wary that he didn't have long. The lich had surely sensed that its sentries had been slain so he had to get out of here before the bear turned back towards him or, worse, something smarter was sent to track him down this time. He tentatively stretched his arm as far forwards as it could go, attempting to hook his axe beneath the helmet. After a few attempts he succeeded and managed to fling the armour piece down the hallway. It sizzled through the air before it landed on the cold stone and began melting its way below it. Sweating despite his distance, he gingerly holding his weapon against the skull and willing it to become part of his strength.
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
He had felt a growing connection with the axe ever since it had upgraded to Tier II, a connection that only became stronger the more that he used and fed it. Through this bond he could feel its new Passive becoming more powerful, even if no changes showed on its information when he [Analyzed] it. He repeated his manoeuvre against its gauntlets and boots, leaving pieces of the armour scattered about the bottom of the crevice, and managed to absorb about half of the skeleton through these newly exposed parts and the armour's joints. The rest would take far too much time and effort for little reward, especially when there was such a large supply of material waiting for him.
He made his way back to his makeshift camp, finding it easier than ever to scale the wall and reach his hidden perch. He waited a while and, sure enough, the roars of the hulking undead bear could be heard once again. He rested, a necessary break that he justified by telling himself that he would be caught by the beast should he not take it and eventually watched as it furiously barreled passed his hiding place. He had lost much of his fear towards it when he realised that it could not get to him, though he was sure it would resurface if he had to face the thing's charge once again. Soon, he thought, he would bring the thing low and tower above it as it had done him. He couldn't wait.
About an hour later, a time which he kept track of by watching his Health Points steadily tick up, he discovered something. With his 25 in his Vitality Attribute, he regenerated just less than 1 point every 2 minutes. With that bit of maths, he could keep an estimate of the time. He had been playing around with the System, managing to bring up a history of how he had spent his stats, which wasn't too useful, and more useful, he managed to bring up the quest he had been presented with when he had fallen down here.
[You have entered the Limited Dungeon - Phyris’ Sealed Catacombs
Long ago, a young scion of the Phyris Clan was betrayed by his own family. They had grown weary of his ascent and ambushed him at the moment of his breakthrough. Unbeknownst to them, he had already turned to the dark art of Necromancy to further his power and was able to preserve his existence through Undeath. Now as a Lich he commands the hordes of his ancestors to seek a way to escape and take revenge upon those that wronged him.
This is a Limited Dungeon and as such you are unable to leave until one of the following criteria are met:
Ander Phyris slain: 0/1
Dark ritual complete: 43 hours 23 minutes remain]
More time had passed than he had thought. Either something had effected his regeneration rate, or he had spent more time idling then he thought.
He pushed the the wondering from his mind when the beast stomped through the passageway below him once again. It was time to go hunting, chipping away at the lich's army one battle at a time.