#soasw

[boomsheikas-art-blog]

This all started as Pathfinder: The Hangover Edition and ended in Abe being sad and everyone being upset with each other

WRITING ACCOMPANIMENT TO MAKE THIS MAKE A LITTLE MORE SENSE by the wonderful @thatsoneginger

Based on a Pathfinder campaign with @castmachine, @thatsoneginger, @asugarplumfairy, @knitcapgames, and @mariahellex

[glyllena]

Armored

((Make-up Prompt #2 – June 1st, 2014: Armor is important to many of our characters. Write about a particular piece or a whole set of armor your character favors.))

Lena stood before the mirror, smoothing the new robes and frowning.  It was all too red.  All of it.  Accents of black and white and tiny bits of purple softened it a bit, but still she worried.  She also scowled at the weapons - ones she hardly ever had to use:  a small skeletal hand holding a magical orb, increasing her power when it was on her person, and an intricately detailed dagger from the Throne of Thunder, both with their own tinge of red.  The orb seemed to glow within the grasp of the skeleton hand.  Every now and then, Lena wondered to what poor soul the hand had once belonged. "Krastos, red armor?"  She asked him again as he polished his shields somewhere in the room behind her.  Her voice was concerned as she pinched at the thick fabric, enchanted so that she would neither set herself on fire accidentally or get frostbite as she worked with her magic.  Even the electric feeling arcane magic would penetrate normal cloth, singing arms, peeling skin from fingers - if she wasn't careful. "You look marvelous, my little Lena," Krastos rumbled, obviously distracted by caring for his weaponry.  "Perfect for the leader of an order."  Lena looked down at the scarlet gloves, "But we're a covert operation, Krastos.  Shouldn't we wish to be a little more..."  She quirked an eyebrow at herself in the mirror, "Subtle?"  Her goggles flashed in the light of the room and she scowled at herself. Krastos put down his shield and sighed: always worried, this one.  He hefted himself from the bench and his heavy hoof-steps moved toward her, behind her, and he wrapped her tightly, kissing the top of her head, "My little Lena is fearless," he said, smoothing the mantle over her shoulders.  "Skilled," his fingers brushed against hers.  "Regal,"  his hands encircling her waist, leaning his cheek next to hers as she stood a little taller.  "You're just worried about leading, but you're doing fine."  "You chose the color, didn't you?"  She smirked and glanced up at him in the mirror, "You and Gyllandre plotted this."  She waggled an accusatory finger at him.  He laughed, once, and gave her another squeeze, "Perhaps." Standing straight again, he rested his hands gently on her shoulders, "I don't know how much truth there is to it, but there is a story that some humans tell down at the docks.  The captains of various ships would wear red when they saw the enemy approaching, in order to hide any bloodstains from wounds in battle, so as not to startle their own men, to give them courage."  Lena whirled around and thwapped Krastos on the chest, "That is a terrible story!"  She started tugging at her gloves and shrugging out of the mantle, partially laughing at his awful joke, but mostly suddenly worried about the implications of what he was saying.  Krastos paused her, took her hands in his, leaning down to meet her eyes as he touched her cheek, "It may seem to make you a target on the battlefield, but I know I will always be able to see you and find you and protect you.  I will fight by your side until the end - you know that." She did.