“No,” Ember says, “Everything is fine, but your induction ceremony is approaching, and I need to get you fitted for some new kit for the big day. Besides, I thought you might like to have it before you leave for the break, and if we do it now, that might be possible. Benger seems to think that you’ll have definite preferences about it. We can have it made a bit on the big side, and they can adjust it with padding until your size stabilizes. I can tell just from looking at you that you’re still putting muscle back on.”
“You’re both correct,” Emlyn nods, “Do you have an armory here? I’m not sure what names you use for things or how to describe what I’d like. A lot of what I’ve seen people wear here is more about showing off than fighting. If you've the right pieces, I think I can show you what I’d prefer. Otherwise, I can try to sketch it.”
“If you’re up for a bit of a walk, we can go take a look,” Ember says agreeably, “I’m interested to see what you pick out.”
She gestures to the chair next to the door, “Grab that, if you don’t mind. I’ll walk as far as I can. When I get wobbly, just put it behind me so if I fall, I land on the chair.” Nodding, Ember grabs the chair and follows behind her, telling her where to turn. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in this part of the Temple before,” she says.
“Probably not,” Ember chuckles, “There hasn’t been much need for you to see the smiths, and the storage area is past the smithy.”
As they walk, Ember takes the chance to speak with her. “When did you start developing preferences in your kit?”
“I got my first set at six. I think I was nine or ten,” she shrugs, “I got stuck with one of my older brother’s hand-me-down sets to train in, and it was horrible. Everything was off about it, at least for me. I begged my parents to get me something, anything else, because I wanted to place well in the annual trials.”
“So, you’ve been wearing armor for that long,” Ember nods, “I’ve heard you and Gethin talk about the annual trials, but what are they exactly?” “I’ll try to explain it. I’m told you have tournaments,” Emlyn replies, “Imagine a tournament where everyone in Tassatung competes. Your family’s status and income for the next year depend on everyone in your family doing well in the tournament. If a family member slacks off and consistently does poorly, they can bring the House’s ranking down.”
“Everyone competes? Even children?” Ember asks.
“Oh yes. Even children. If you’re with child, too old, too young, or hurt badly enough, you’re exempted. Enslaved people and some criminals aren’t permitted. The first age groups start at around eight winters, generally split by gender, but sometimes an especially large girl or small boy might get swapped at that age. It’s up to the judges, and sometimes their rulings are controversial, but they’re still permitted to stand.”
“How do you have time for everyone to fight each other?” Ember asks.
Laughing, Emlyn replies, “No one has that much time, but the initial matches are set based on your House’s ranking. Later, it’s based on a combination of your House’s ranking and your results from the previous year. We call that process seeding the tournament. Some Houses, like mine, always ranked well. Those were the Great Houses. Others just never quite clicked. Those were the Lesser Houses. The Lesser Houses would occasionally produce an outstanding fighter, but because their House was so lowly ranked, they had a hard time rising. It meant taking on extra bouts and winning them consistently, year after year.”
“Why were the Great Houses always so successful? Was it rigged?" Ember asks.
“The Lesser Houses would have said yes. I would have to disagree with that. There were a couple of times that I’ve thrown bouts on purpose to deliver a beating to a rival and then made up the losses again in the same year. I don’t think any of them could have done it. They were always shocked when I was able to do it and then reclaim my position. The Lesser Houses weren’t on par with us. All of the Great Houses had their secrets, which were passed down through the family line. Things like my swords. Things you can do to confuse or distract an opponent. The Lesser Houses, as far as I was able to tell, never had any of that. It never seemed to occur to them even to keep records. We'd often run into them at tournaments and make a passing comment about someone using the same maneuver they'd used the previous year, and they’d look shocked. I’m convinced that a good bit of it was simply because we worked harder and were more diligent in studying our opponents.”
As they make their way through the smithy, still chatting, Ember signals for one of the smiths to join them when he’s able. Hot metal doesn’t wait for anyone, and not everything can be left to an apprentice.
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“If these tournaments were so critical,” Ember asks, “then why would you throw bouts? Why would your family let you do that?”
“Dueling was forbidden,” Emlyn grins wickedly, “but meeting someone you have a grudge against on the proving grounds… Well now…that was just an open invitation to settle your differences.”
At Ember’s confused look, Emlyn explains.
“One of them was a girl I knew,” Emlyn smirks, “from a Lesser House that falsely accused a friend of mine of trying to force himself on her as part of an attempt to get him to marry her. Even when her little scheme was exposed by the other girls who were supposed to lie along with her, she and her family tried to do the same thing with his younger brother the next year. Since they were boys and slightly older, they’d never meet her in the tournament. Unfortunately for her, she was in my age group. Rather than let that business get out of hand and start a feud, I threw some matches so that I could meet her in the tournament.”
Curious now, Ember asks, “What happened?”
“I trounced her badly,” Emlyn chuckles wickedly, “and before the healers could get to her, I made sure that she knew that if she kept on, I’d keep on and next year I wouldn’t be so nice. Then I had to win four extra fights later that day to regain my spot. That was the last time she ever troubled any of my friends again. And another thing… The extra fights combined with my normal ones, put me back into the top five for my age group that year. They were harder bouts than many of the Lesser Houses would have had to fight to increase their status, until they started to rank well. When I tell you that it wasn’t rigged, it wasn’t, or I wouldn’t have been able to win my place back. You just had to be very good and work very hard. The Lesser Houses didn’t do that, at least not to the degree that we did.”
Finally, they reach a storage area on the far side of the smithy. Ember pulls out a key ring and shoves a big iron key into the door. He turns the key, and the lock clicks open. He grunts a bit as he yanks open a massive door. Inside is an ample space packed with armor. Entire suits and various pieces are parked on stands and shelves. “Let me start teaching you how we name things and describe them.” Emlyn drags up her chair as he starts tapping pieces and naming them, and she repeats them after him.
Then he starts pointing out the different features of the various pieces, and Emlyn begins telling him which ones she likes, which ones she doesn’t care for, and which ones she’d change. “Armor is heavy enough, when it’s done well,” Emlyn says, tapping a set of heavily ridged pauldrons, “but ridges like this make it weigh more. It’s not any stronger, and because of the way these are curved, they’ll deflect sword blows right at your head.”
Moving to another set, she flicks it dismissively, “This one is good for horseback against an opponent who’s also on horseback, but unless that’s all you’re fighting, it leaves you at a serious disadvantage since you’re mostly blind and your mobility is limited. Battles rarely happen that way.” Moving to a third set, she eyes the rosettes and shakes her head, “If you have to put decorative bits to cover the holes someone can skewer you through, your armor isn’t doing its job properly.”
Continuing to a fourth set, she eyes the small, articulating plates that cover the joints, “This allows mobility, but at the cost of compromising durability. Armor is meant to be hit. If you were to meet me in this on the proving grounds, I’d change my weapon to a warhammer and render you immobile in short order.” She works her way through the room, critiquing all the sets. Finally, toward the back of the storeroom, she stops in front of a set, eyeing it critically.
It’s dusty and unappreciated. The lines are plain and simple. It lacks the adornments of the previous sets, but to her eye, it’s the most practical thing she’s seen so far. She steps forward and taps on the metal, listening to the tone. It rings in a good, clear tone, and she nods appreciatively. “I like most of the upper part of this one, but I’m not fond of the gorget or the helm. I find that these lift-up visors don’t always stay up when you need them the most. The ones that do usually latch into place, which makes it hard to get them out of the way if you need them down quickly. I don’t like the tasset. This was made for someone who spent a lot of time riding a horse; that’s why it has a large split in the back. The legs are also made for someone on horseback.”
Rummaging around, Ember comes up with a different style of gorget, but Emlyn sets it aside. “See how that latches shut. It’s too fragile.” Sorting through pieces from other sets of armor, she slowly cobbles together a set that she’s satisfied with. “I still can’t find a helm, though. I suppose I’ll have to sketch something out. If the steel from these newer sets is what you’ve been working with, you should change suppliers. No wonder Benger prefers brigantine.”
Master Lokrag stands near the door, lounging and listening. Chuckling, he wanders over and elbows Ember, “I told you that they were sending us crap.”
Master Lokrag has a small hammer tucked into an apron pocket, and Emlyn gestures to it, “May I?” Grinning, Master Lokrag hands it to her. Emlyn strikes the pauldron of the suit she likes with the hammer, and it rings like a bell, but it's otherwise unharmed. She walks back to the front of the storeroom and strikes a very similar blow to the heavily ridged pauldron that Ember had pointed out to her earlier.
The tone coming from it isn’t clear, and there’s now a small dent in it. “That’s the difference that using superior materials makes,” Emlyn says, fingering the new dent, “Now imagine that it had been a war hammer, instead of this tiny thing.”
Emlyn hands the tiny detail hammer back to Master Lokrag. He smiles at Emlyn and takes it, and she notes the small tusks in his upper and lower jaw, which denote his orcish grandfather. “We haven’t met,” Emlyn says, “I’m Nia.”
“I’m Master Lokrag,” he replies, “I’m the Master Smith at the Temple. I wanted to ask you some questions about your blades.”
“If I know the answer,” Emlyn says with a hand wave.
“Do you know how they were made?” Lokrag asks.
- Emlyn wants plate armor ASAP, insisting that everything be done “properly” so no one can accuse her of impropriety or manipulation.
- Benger navigates Ulwin’s gossiping and Ember’s growing wrath.
- Ulwin gets banished via paperwork to the frozen storytelling outpost of Topis.
- Ember plans to commission custom armor for Emlyn—because cast?offs simply won’t do for a girl blessed by the Goddess.
- Benger explains “sword killers,” Emlyn’s dream?gear proficiency, and how she bent his brigantine like a tin cup.
- Gethin gives Ember the full explanation of Cymry military ranks.
- We learn that “Second Awst” = third?highest general in the entire Cymry nation.
- Emlyn was already grooming her younger siblings to become unstoppable tournament champions.
- Emlyn’s mother trained her daughters to kill kidnappers with ordinary household items.
- Gethin casually explains Emlyn could’ve been married off in political conquests, toppled kingdoms from within, or become queen regent if left unsupervised long enough.
- Ember has a full crisis. Boltir sympathizes.
Boltir’s Tip Jar
Coins:
Previous total: 357 coppers
- 10 coppers for terrifying lore, military hierarchy, and Ulwin finally getting what he deserves.
New Total: 367 coppers
Random Object:
A small carved wooden toy soldier—representing a Cura—which Snips keeps knocking over to reenact Gethin’s military lecture.
Snips the Crab:
Snips arrives today wearing:
- A tiny general’s cape
- Three painted stripes for “Awst Rank”
- A miniature helmet decorated with a single feather stolen from someone’s quill
He is marching around proudly, barking unintelligible crab orders.
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