Goldlaced Greatsword

Miscreants, brutes, and evil doers of the past would often wield similar blades. Perhaps this weapon was forged in the shadows of a back alley and changed hands on the black market.

A weapon born from the amalgamation of bones, earth, and liquid fire. As your eyes travel across it, the mess of cartilage and moss at the hilt gives way to a light-swallowing obsidian blade.

The great Fell Thunderbrute Greatsword - shrunken for your convenience.

XXX

A voice reverberates through your bone marrow each time you grip the greatsword's handle. <i>"King of fools, hear your fate foretold: Your skull shall shatter, and from within the hollow dome, you will gaze up through eyes rolled inwards at your soul; an incandescent fountain, spouting from the cracks."</i>

You hear a faint whisper in the back of your head; unified in word, but spoken from a dozen tongues. A ghostly choir pleads with you. <i>"Descending these dungeons is a fool's errand, can't you see? Turn back while you still can."</i>

Ace your enemy, one on one, and prove your domination once and for all.

Before the fall, many guards and knights of Embervale would brandish swords such as these. Perhaps their spirit lives on through your fighteous strikes.

Lord Vorgoth's once-trusted blade was discarded before the war and replaced by a weapon more befitting of vile acts. It still clings to a semblance of sanity and light, shining brightly in the dark like the North Star.

Sharp extensions jut out from the blade's periphery: an assortment of stingers, sharpened flint, and horns. A strike from this jagged edge will rip and tear almost anything.

An iron core lies hidden inside the blade's casing, peeking out from the silver curtains on the blade's flat.

You see it before your inner eyes: A giant, submerged in the deep ocean blue, controlling the tides with each laboring, drawn-out exhale. The depths are calling. Will you answer?