I waited for Kushim to finish his walk to my room, but as he approached, a commotion echoed through the halls behind him. It sounded like a cacophony of shuffled footsteps mixed with the clatter of armored guards. I wasn't sure what it was about, but it wasn't normal—especially not lately, with how the war had thinned the city's personnel.
Kushim's tanned frame rounded the corner of my cell, his usual wide grin stretching across his face.
"Are you ready for your gift, young man?" he asked, practically glowing with excitement.
"Of course. And judging by the look on your face, it must've lived up to your imagination."
"More than lived up to it," he beamed. "Honestly, I think that trader had the hots for me with what he gave me."
I stared at him for a beat, then shook my head with a sigh. "That's nasty. You know I didn't need that mental image."
"So, what did you get? Let's see it!" I couldn't help the excitement creeping into my voice—part curiosity, part eagerness to change the subject.
"Being impatient isn't very cool, Edric..." Kushim teased, shifting the large cloth bag slung over his shoulder. "But yeah—I'm hoping you'll like this."
I heard the metallic rattle inside as he lowered it in front of me with a grunt and a grin. The bag thudded against the stone floor with surprising weight.
I opened the cloth bag and was met with the gleam of slightly polished, greyish steel—not overly bright like silver, but darker, tempered, almost storm-cloud colored. It wasn't flashy, but it was mesmerizing in its own way.
I reached in and began pulling the pieces out one at a time, setting them carefully on my bed. I handled each with slow, deliberate movements—almost reverently—until Kushim let out a short laugh behind me.
"Why are you being so gentle? It's meant for war, not lovemaking," he teased.
I rolled my eyes, but I got his meaning. I stopped fussing and laid out the rest of the armor with a bit more confidence—less like I was touching something sacred, and more like I was preparing to wear it.
I looked over each piece, studying them carefully. The weight, the shape, the subtle details etched into the metal—it all felt foreign and familiar at the same time, like something only meant for others and not me. After a moment, I decided to stop overthinking it and just follow my instincts.
I started at the bottom, just like Kushim always taught me.
First came the linen hose—thin, breathable, and easy to overlook, but essential. They kept my skin from chafing against the padding and mail, and helped guard against the chill that came with wearing metal in the first place. I pulled them up to my thighs and tied them off at the under belt Kushim had included with the kit.
Then the leather boots. New, but already broken in by the cobbler—nearly molded to the shape of my foot already. Probably from Kushim giving him my measurements. The inner lining was soft, and the solid wooden soles gave each step weight without feeling clunky. These were built for endurance, not fashion—and I loved that.
Next were the padded chausses, thick quilted leggings stiff enough to hold their shape. I stepped into them and worked the laces up my thighs and calves. The pressure was even and oddly comforting.
Over that came the mail chausses, heavier than they looked. The rings were smooth and cool, pre-oiled to prevent rust and snagging. A thin leather strip along the waistband kept the weight from digging into my hips. I braced against the wall as I eased them into place, one leg at a time, then fastened the straps until everything sat just right.
Satisfied with the lower half, I moved on to the gambeson. It was dyed a deep charcoal and reinforced with thick rows of stitching. I slipped my arms into it and tightened the sides until it fit like a second skin. The scent of leather, linen, and dry earth clung to the fabric. It was clean and new, but probably sat in a storehouse for a while.
Then I reached for the mail hauberk. The full shirt of chain slid over my head with effort, settling heavy across my chest, shoulders, and arms. It hung to my thighs, overlapping the chausses below. I gave it a few testing shifts, letting it fall into place. I was especially glad for the added protection around my hips—I'd taken a mace hit there once, directly to the bone. It was the worst pain I'd felt in years.
I cinched the belt around my waist, letting it carry the hauberk's burden. It helped distribute the weight and brought everything together, turning what had been separate pieces into something tighter, more unified.
"Now you look like a real fighter!" Kushim said, clapping his hands. "And my sense of style? Impeccable as always. But how's it feel so far?"
"It's lighter than the bronze armor I'm used to, and it fits well. Did you give them my measurements when you commissioned this?" I asked, tugging slightly at the mail across my shoulders.
"I did. Figured for the extra coin, it was worth getting gear that actually fits—and lasts." He gave a small shrug, like it was no big deal.
"Well, that was a smart idea," I said with a grin, glancing at what was left.
The plate armor still waited nearby, gleaming faintly in the torchlight. I stepped toward the plate pieces.
I reached for the greaves first—solid steel, shaped to cradle the shin from knee to ankle. The inside was smooth, padded with thin strips of leather, and the outer surface had a slight ridge to deflect strikes. I strapped them over the boots and mail, pulling the buckles tight. They hugged my legs without pinching.
Next were the poleyns. I was used to bronze ones that bit every time I crouched. But these? These were articulated. They moved with me. I slid them into place, fitting them snugly over the joint and securing the straps above and below my knee. A few test bends confirmed that they fit and moved well.
Then came the cuisses. They wrapped around the front and sides of my upper legs, just overlapping the edge of the poleyns. I secured them carefully, pulling the straps into place over the mail. It took a few adjustments to get them just right.
Each new piece added a quiet weight to my body, but it was never clumsy or lopsided. It was centered, balanced, and didn't feel awkward.
With the legs done, I turned my attention to the arms.
I started with the vambraces. Each one was shaped to wrap cleanly around the mail without shifting or biting into the joints. I slid my arm through and buckled them tight, testing the rotation of my wrist and elbow.
Next were the counters, my elbow guards. These had been carefully riveted to allow for some flex, but they still felt solid. I fitted them into place and adjusted the straps until they sat right against the joint.
Then came the rerebraces—the upper arm guards. Rounded steel plates that protected from shoulder to elbow, they tied securely over the gambeson and buckled neatly to the counters.
Finally, Kushim stepped forward with the chestpiece in hand.
"Alright, arms up," he said, his voice a bit softer now. "These clasp's are always a bastard."
I lifted my arms, and he slid the backplate into place first, followed by the front. He guided the steel into alignment and locked the clasps down with a solid click.
"Armor's easy to wear when you've got someone at your back," he murmured as he adjusted the fit. "Just remember that when you're out there."
I looked down at the last piece of armor, the helmet.
It was a bascinet with a visored face covering. The surface bore the same storm-gray steel as the rest, but the curve of the skullcap was smoother, shaped to deflect strikes rather than absorb them. Its pointed tail swept slightly toward the back, mimicking the subtle silhouette of a flame caught mid-rise.
The narrow visor slit cut across the front like a quiet threat—just wide enough to see through, but narrow enough to hide expression. It wasn't decorative. There were no wings, no crest, no plume—just a low-ridged brow that gave the whole thing the solemn dignity of a tool of war.
A mail aventail hung from the bottom rim, blackened and well-oiled, ready to protect the throat and neck. It swayed gently as I reached for it, like it was already waiting for me.
I lifted it slowly, holding it in both hands. This wasn't just the final piece of armor—it was the last thing anyone would see before facing me. And maybe, if things went bad, the last thing I'd ever wear. i slid it over my head and felt my world view narrow to just the slit of the visor.
Kushim have me my mitten gauntlets and with that i felt fully armored.