Hill picked up the mithril leather glove again and studied it carefully for a while. The leather was probably some kind of dragonhide... somewhat like that of a Primordial Dragon.
But he could not quite figure out what it did. After thinking it over, Hill simply put on the glove and directly sensed the equipment's effects.
His face immediately darkened. This was a highly prized Dwarven wonder, an enhanced version of the Gauntlets of Striking. It had clearly come from the hand of some Dwarf God, and was a grade higher than the masterwork version popular on Toril, which was worth fifty thousand gold coins.
Besides the strength granted by the wonder itself, this mithril gauntlet could double its wearer's strength.
Corellon's meaning was obvious: Wasn't pounding dragons exhausting? Why do it with your own hands?
Even if he had enough strength, there was no need to make things so hard on himself, let alone risk being burned by corrosive dragon blood.
He was telling Hill to drink a cup of water that detoxified and cleared the mind, so he could wake up!
Although Hill could sense Corellon's good intentions, he did not feel happy about them at all.
His skin... was not necessarily thinner than dragonhide!
Let those dragons take a lap through an elemental storm and see how many came out intact!
With a twitch of his lips, Hill angrily rapped the gauntlet against the table. "I'm a Mage! I'm a Sorcerer! I will never go around wearing a warrior's gauntlet!
"What the hell is Corellon thinking?
"Liszt, put this thing in the warehouse!"
"Sir." Liszt fell silent for a moment before speaking. "In the eyes of the Elves, you have always been trying to conceal your strength. After all, you avoided outsiders whenever you killed those dragons.