"I parried the blow, relief short-lived. The acrid hiss, the creeping corrosion—my armor's destroyed by a mere scratch."
The first time I laid eyes on the bones of a Black Dragon, a wild idea took root. What if, against every instinct screaming that it was madness, I could forge its deadly essence into a blade? The acid threatened to corrode the material before I could even shape it, a race against nature.
And so, in my hands, the Devourer Blade was born—more than a weapon, a challenge to every other blacksmith out there. It wasn't just about crafting, but about mastering a force that sought to destroy the very thing I was creating. Every swing of the hammer, every moment at the anvil, was a battle.
To wield this sword is to hold a piece of my my resolve, and the audacity to defy the natural order. But a word of caution—while I may have tamed its form, its appetite remains wild.