When you return, ash and blood still clinging to you, Bryn does not greet you with his usual stoic calm. Instead, his eyes blaze with something long dormant—excitement, perhaps even hope. He takes the Hydra’s bones from your weary arms with a reverence that belies his rough hands.
“These…” he mutters, turning them in the forge light, “these are worthy of legend. With such marrow, I can forge armor to stand even against the fury of the Drake Omega itself.”
For nights the smithy burns, hammer ringing long into the dark as Bryn works without rest. You remain by his side, sometimes assisting, sometimes simply watching the sparks fly as the old Dragonslayer bends bone and steel together. At last, on the dawn of the third day, he presents you with the result of his craft: Dragonbone Armor, masterworked and gleaming with an otherworldly resilience.
Bryn steps back, pride softening the hard lines of his face. “With this, you no longer walk as prey. You walk as hunter.”
Then his voice lowers, the weight of the next words pressing the air between you.
“But before the final storm, there is one more trial you must face. The firstborn spawn of the Drake Omega… the Dracolith.”
His tone darkens, almost reverent.
“A monster born in the shadow of its sire. Imagine the length of a centipede, the armored bulk of a dragon, and venom that turns flesh to stone with but a scratch. They call it the Father of Basilisks, a nightmare that spawns nightmares.”
Bryn grips his hammer tight, eyes locked with yours. “It lairs in a cavern beneath the northern mountains. Find it. Slay it. Only then will you be ready to face the firestorm to come.”
[Head North to the nearest mountain, find a cavern to [Slay the Dracolith]]
[Upon victory, return to Bryn to continue]