Shelly's Bolt had dropped, along with it a myriad of other useful and powerful items.
The items glowed and sparkled with a radiance that can only be earned by risking ones life against the realms most dangerous challenges.
And lives had been lost, I thought pensively as I helped the distribution of our rewards.
Some prices are too high, I thought as I remembered the words of that mysterious woman in that run of the mill town.
When would I know when the prices were too much, if we must pay to move forward?
Another question for another time, I decided as the passing out of gear begun
Our tanks equipped themselves in gear several item levels above their current tunics.
Daggers and blades of edge so sharp that the very wind is sliced by them were given to the highest Damage dealers of the entire raid.
An incentive that was fair and acted like an award ceremony.
Shelly herself handed out the blades, calling out the members name and the amount of damage dealt, applauses would then erupt and cheers and chants for the worthy individual.
A joyous mood filled the air.
That of triumph.
That of Gear and Glory.
Every healer was granted some piece of gear, seeing as we only had seven healers and more than that had dropped.
Many more were granted something, but that wasn't on my mind.
Then, it was time for the grand reveal.
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A blade had dropped shrouded in darkness, cloaked in evil, claimed by death itself.
A young man covered from head to toe in religious garments, silver tackles and bronze bells rang with each step, talismans of silent omens covered his sleeves.
We had found him at the start of the raid, a quest giver her was.
Wishing to dispell the evil of the raid, this was his chance.
Silence followed his walk.
Reverence in each step.
Giving him the space needed, he began dispelling the curse and mystery that shrouded the final drop.
A roaring tempest surrounded the man, a fire that burned with a God's fury, and darkness fought back. As if the dark energy coveted the blade, a greedy demon did not wish to let go.
They did not want us to own the blade.
Good and Evil battled.
A young man willed himself past the edge of possibilities and came out victorious.
Collapsing, the young man had completed his task.
After he was carried away, I was motioned to do my part.
Each step towards the blade that rested at the end encompassed months of preparation and a hard fought battle between the evil that consumes the realm.
Each breath represented the countless thoughts of turning back, of returning to the simple life of bandits.
Finally, I rested my hands on the blade, and inspected it.
Masterwork 13: Graveyards Grievous Greatsword.
Straining with both hands, I lumbered up the strength and swung the blade up for the raid to see.
It curved in ways that mimicked death, in every direction it held a point that could easily pierce and kill. Bone white the sword was on the larger end for greatswords, as if made from the bone of a large creature. Of something powerful.
Its hilt appeared at first to be a gem of some sort but on further inspection, it was the gruesomely crafted eye of whoever this blade once was.
In my hand it felt its power.
Its innate force propelled throughout my body, surging through my system.
[All Bone Skills +4]
[All Death skills +4]
Title acquired: Lich King.
The raid erupted with wails at our sheer luck.
What are the fucking odds....I whispered, when in reality I knew. Enrich had told of the chance, of the miniscule 1 in one thousand odds of the masterwork dropping.
Then, before the festivities could commence.
A voice broke the room, stilling it instantly.
"Captain, I'm so sorry"
It was Rodger, a young scout that ran with the men who watched the surrounding areas whenever we attempted a raid.
At his throat rested a knife that drew blood.
The man who held the blade whispered into the boy's ear.
"You are wanted outside."
The blade tightened and blood dripped.
"Mercy awaits."