“Yeah. You get cooked real good in the summer, but at least the rich bastards in full plate’ll have it worse.” His retort starts off a little haughty, but slowly mellows down to: “You get used to it.”
He’s adapted well to the miserable cadence of a fighting life. Sometimes it was glorious, but for the most part it was putrid. He preferred the quiet of the forest and the gentle open meadows when he wasn’t on a job. Midland and its neighbors had quite a picturesque countryside.
Even with a few corrections for Vena, she does a good job affixing the armor to him. The pauldrons were simple enough, tied with chords and secured in place by leather straps over his upper arms. The joints fit snugly over his shoulders. The gap in the shoulder plate was tiny - it was unfortunate for him that an arrow had managed to wedge itself in there. Had the metal not made the angle so awkward for the Sister’s spear, the tip might have gone in much deeper.
That left the final parts: he snaps the gauntlet over his left arm, flexing the hand to test the elaborate plates over his fingers, shingled like a roof. He then wraps the right even if he isn’t expecting a sword. Thick straps of fabric are better than nothing.
Occupied with his hands, that just leaves the helmet sitting by itself.
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“Yeah. You get cooked real good in the summer, but at least the rich bastards in full plate’ll have it worse.” His retort starts off a little haughty, but slowly mellows down to: “You get used to it.”
He’s adapted well to the miserable cadence of a fighting life. Sometimes it was glorious, but for the most part it was putrid. He preferred the quiet of the forest and the gentle open meadows when he wasn’t on a job. Midland and its neighbors had quite a picturesque countryside.
Even with a few corrections for Vena, she does a good job affixing the armor to him. The pauldrons were simple enough, tied with chords and secured in place by leather straps over his upper arms. The joints fit snugly over his shoulders. The gap in the shoulder plate was tiny - it was unfortunate for him that an arrow had managed to wedge itself in there. Had the metal not made the angle so awkward for the Sister’s spear, the tip might have gone in much deeper.
That left the final parts: he snaps the gauntlet over his left arm, flexing the hand to test the elaborate plates over his fingers, shingled like a roof. He then wraps the right even if he isn’t expecting a sword. Thick straps of fabric are better than nothing.
Occupied with his hands, that just leaves the helmet sitting by itself.