Chosen, Chapter 9: Rock that Look

AidanThe RealmsUnknown date (day 2)Early afternoonStarchaser tribe village, somewhere in the Mistvale Highlands

Brighid led him to a small house with a large attached open-air section, within which lay an anvil, a furnace, and other assorted tools of smithcraft. Unlike the other buildings he had seen in the village, this one was made of stone, which only made sense. Obviously, putting a forge in a wooden structure was a terrible idea. Brighid took several swords from a rack at the back of the forge, sorting them and looking back and forth between Aidan and them before finally putting all but one of them back. She handed him the blade she chose and told him to wait and not to touch anything before vanishing into the house. He took the opportunity to Analyze his new weapon.

While waiting for Brighid to return, Aidan decided to open his status screen and allocate his level up points. Given that it sounded like he was heading out on a dangerous quest, and taking the old man’s advice to heart, he allocated three points to Toughness for extra Health and, well, toughness. The rest he spent evenly between Logic, Intuition, and Willpower; his Charisma already got a big boost from learning Divine Speech, so he figured it was alright to leave it alone this time. He decided to hold off on spending the Skill bonus for the moment, thinking that maybe he could convince his companion to teach him how to actually use the sword she just gave him.

After about ten minutes, Brighid emerged from her home, and his breath caught in his throat. Where before, Brighid had been wearing a shirt which was more of a tight leather crop-top and little else, now she was armored head to shanks in brightly gleaming steel.

A tall helmet adorned her head, leaving just her eyes, part of her mouth, and her ears uncovered. Her hair was nowhere to be seen, presumably braided and looped atop her head under the helmet. Her neck was protected by a chainmail gorget, slim pauldrons graced her shoulders, a burnished breastplate -- properly shaped with no ridiculous boob-holders -- protected her chest, and chainmail covered the rest of her humanoid torso and arms. Her hands were protected only by a single circular plate on their backs, leaving her fingers free.

Brighid’s equine body was more heavily-armored, with curved steel plates lining her flanks like rows of shields and shining steel greaves wrapped around her legs. He could see a thick blanket-like cloth under the plates of her barding, which would help absorb impacts and prevent chafing; presumably, she was wearing some padding under her upper armor as well. A pair of saddlebags were slung across her back, though no saddle was in evidence, nor would there be anywhere to put one. In her right hand, she carried a long polearm topped with a wicked blade; Aidan’s extensive gaming experience allowed him to identify it as a glaive.

Just looking at her made Aidan suddenly feel much, much better at the prospect of surviving his new quest.

Wordlessly, she passed by him and waved for him to follow her, so Aidan fell into step beside and a little behind her. While they walked, he examined her armor in more detail. It was finely made and surprisingly quiet. He doubted she could sneak up on anyone now as she had to him earlier; still, where movies and games had led him to expect heavy armor to be loud and inflexible, Brighid’s armor had no noticeable effect on her range of motion and only rustled and jingled lightly with each step. Now that he had the chance to examine her armor more closely, he saw that it wasn’t actually steel; this metal had a faint red tint and an almost golden sheen when the light hit it just right.

“Sunsteel,” Brighid said. Aidan looked up from examining her armor to see her looking over her shoulder at him. She continued, “I saw you admiring my armor. It is made from Sunsteel, an alloy of steel, Essence of Fire, and Essence of Light. In addition to being stronger and more flexible than steel, it provides protection from heat and cold. Also, like most other magical metals, it is immune to rust, a fact that I am quite grateful for given where I live.” The last was said with a rueful gesture towards the mist still clinging to the ground around their legs. “Anyway, we are almost to the granary. I will get us supplies for three weeks; it would only take me two or three days to get to Ceallach Macht on my own, but at your pace, it will take us closer to a week.” She continued on in silence for a few moments, and just as he opened his mouth to ask, she said, “And no, you cannot ride me. Never ask that of a centaur, it is a grave insult.” The pause before she spoke and something in the tone of her voice almost made Aidan think she was teasing him; he resolved to take her advice to heart anyway.

Shortly thereafter, she stopped in front of a large warehouse-style building. Again she asked him to wait outside, then stepped into the granary. She returned just a couple of minutes later, her saddlebags bulging noticeably, and handed him several bundled packages. “I know you are just a weak human mage, but by Brigantia, I will be damned if I carry all your food for you.” Aidan kept his mouth shut and filled his backpack with the wrapped food. “Alright, now to get you some protection. Armor and magic generally do not mix well, but I refuse to let you go into that place with no armor whatsoever. Light armor should not affect your spellcasting much, especially if we leave off the gauntlets. We will see what Roark has in your size.”

So saying, she guided Aidan out of the village proper, down a long trail, and into a rather foul-smelling tannery. Roark turned out to be a genial old centaur who, after a brief discussion with Brighid, took out a knotted string and measured Aidan quite thoroughly from every angle, “Hmmmm” ing along the way. After another few words with the lady warrior, he went into one of the buildings and came out a few minutes later with a padded leather shirt, several strips of cured leather of various sizes, as well as a partial set of leather armor: a breastplate, pauldrons, and vambraces.

Roark helped Aidan into the shirt and armor pieces, then brought him over to a barrel of water and asked Brighid to heat it up for him. She held one hand out, said something untranslatable, and made a series of gestures as her hand began to glow red. A second later, the glow flowed from her into the barrel, and immediately steam began to rise from it. Aidan recognized it as Fire Magic and added another note to his mental list on the redhead.

The old tanner thanked Brighid, then dipped the leather strips into the barrel with the help of a pair of long tongs. After a short time in the steaming water, the cured leather softened, and Roark pulled them back out one at a time. The first one he wrapped diagonally around Aidan’s head, from just above his eyebrows to under the back of his skull, then told Aidan to hold it in place. He did as ordered, although the leather was uncomfortably hot to the touch. The leatherworker took another strip of the softened leather, slipped one end under the piece Aidan was holding onto, then ran it over the top of his and along the back, pulling it tight and tucking it under the back of the first strip. Brighid cast her spell again, and the heat was removed from the leather, leaving it wet, but hardened once again. The process was repeated similarly for Aidan’s thighs and shins, then Roark helped him out of the proto-helmet and proto-greaves and vanished into his workshop.

While the older centaur was busy finishing the rest of his armor, Aidan examined the pieces he was wearing more closely. He had no idea what sort of animal the leather was from, but it was a reddish-brown in color. He rapped his knuckles against the breastplate, and it certainly felt hard and sturdy enough to serve as protection. It restricted him more than he thought it would -- gaming “knowledge” getting in the way again because he expected leather armor to be soft -- but he figured part of that was just his lack of Skill with armor. After a few minutes, Roark emerged with the finished greaves and helmet in his arms. He had attached curved plates of leather to each piece and poked holes through the straps on the greaves through which a rawhide lace was strung. He handed each piece of armor to Aidan and instructed him on how to put them on, then fished out a small bottle of oil and gave him instructions on caring for the leather.

Roark looked at Aidan gravely once he was finished with his instructions. “Brighid has told me of your quest. Even were it not the Will of the Council, I would gift you this armor, for never let it be said that old Roark Tanglebriar would deny aid to one seeking to cleanse the land of evil. I hope that your quest is successful, young Aidan; you would be helping us more than you know if you manage to clear out Ceallach Macht. But know that if you come back without Brighid, I will never make anything else for you again, Council or no. I have known her since she was a filly, and while she is unquestionably brave, the fire within her sometimes blinds her to caution.” He turned to Brighid, who was leveling her patented emerald laser death glare at someone else for once, and said to her, “I know you mean well, lass, and I know that you burn to purify that filth with Brigantia’s sacred flames, but do be cautious. The Council did not keep you from Ceallach Macht without reason. I question their judgment sending you with Aidan even now. No, no, I understand that you demanded that they allow you to go -- but consider this. When was the last time you ever outmaneuvered your mother in a duel of wits? Just be safe, little spark.” He clapped the redhead on the shoulder and returned to his work.

Brighid’s eyes opened wide with shock at the old man’s words, but after a moment she shook herself out of it and said to Aidan with a gruff voice, “Come on, Birgitte’s light is wasting.” Again, Aidan fell into step beside her as she led the way into the mists away from the village.