Dragonwilds:Zamorak Robe Legs: Difference between revisions
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===Recipe tree=== | ===Recipe tree=== | ||
{{Crafting Tree|Zamorak Robes Legs}} | {{DW/Crafting Tree|Zamorak Robes Legs}} | ||
==Journal== | ==Journal== | ||
{{ | {{DW/Journal entry| | ||
It's hard to look at what the Zamorakian Mages have become. They were once a noble order, committed to chaos, demonology and destruction. You would fear to be in their presence, particularly that of their leader, Alric. Now, you fear them for wholly different reasons. The Reach has twisted them into something bestial. | It's hard to look at what the Zamorakian Mages have become. They were once a noble order, committed to chaos, demonology and destruction. You would fear to be in their presence, particularly that of their leader, Alric. Now, you fear them for wholly different reasons. The Reach has twisted them into something bestial. | ||
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{{Armour}} | {{DW/Armour}} | ||
Latest revision as of 18:59, 9 April 2026
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Template:Infobox Item Zamorak Robe Legs are a Dragonwilds:Power level 6 Dragonwilds:Magic armour that can be crafted at a Dragonwilds:Smithing Anvil.
Stats
Recipe
Recipe: {{{1}}}
Recipe tree
Script error: No such module "Crafting Tree".
Journal
It's hard to look at what the Zamorakian Mages have become. They were once a noble order, committed to chaos, demonology and destruction. You would fear to be in their presence, particularly that of their leader, Alric. Now, you fear them for wholly different reasons. The Reach has twisted them into something bestial.
Before the re-routing of the Dreaming Stone's energy-flows, people weren't exposed to the energy tethers for long. But now that Dowdun Reach was a lattice of Dreaming Stone energy, that changed. The flows ran through people's rooms as they slept. It pulsed and hummed and bled.
People began to change. Dreams became rarities; nightmares the commonplace. People heard whispers in quiet moments. Through lack of both sleep and solace, the magi were frayed at the edges. They would be quick to anger.
Then the infestation came. People fell sick; a great wave moved from the magi wing outwards. The lucky were feverish or comatose, left to die on stretchers. The unlucky carried battles in their heads. Voices warred within them, and they would buckle over in pain as screaming headaches took them.
The epidemic was so terrible, so consuming, that Lord Rasmodel's actions might be considered understandable. He was desperate, and likely ill himself.
Lord Rasmodel shattered the Dreaming Stone with his warhammer. It smashed - its shards tossed to the winds. For one glorious moment, the voices stopped. Lord Rasmodel felt peace in that moment. But something worse was unleashed, and the horrors doubled.