View source for For Want of Armor

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== Log Info ==
*Title: For Want of Armor
*Emitter: Skielstregar
*Characters: Skielstregar, Aelwyn, Lyme
*Place: The Colosseum
*Time: August 18th, 2022
*Summary: It's way too hot today, and training in the Colosseum is so much worse due to it. At least, for the silver scale Skielstregar. Aelwyn is taking this in stride. The two talk weapons and armour. Mostly the latter, Skiel hoping to impose the importance of suiting up while Aelwyn just wants to move around easier. Lyme shows up to get his training in, and Skiel introduces the two before everyone gets to their respective regimens.
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== ==

:: ''The Colosseum, Midday''

The sun's bright today, illuminating the Colosseum and bathing it in its glow. And its heat. Fighters and brawlers from all walks of life gather during this time between matches to learn a thing or two from one another.

One such figure that wasn't taking the heat well was that of a massive, and incredibly shiny silver sith-makar. He's got most of his weapons set aside, and he's dumping a waterskin onto his face. Some of it freezes upon contact, the rest falls to the ground as he steadies himself on his halberd. The weapon is decidedly less creepy today: it instead having a silver sheen to it that glints just as bright as him.

"Thiss one missess the snow...." he idly complains, looking like he is ready to get back to training.

"Should this one roll the barrel for Silver?" A familiar asks from behind Skielstregar - claws quietly sinking into the sand. Whilst the one was suffering in the heat, the ruddy scaled sith-makar seemed to be radiating in it. Radiating heat off those scales, at the least. Sharp teeth exposed, Aelwyn steps over the larger sith-makar's side, adjusting his shoulder strap. "The waterskin does not seem to be doing enough justice for his shiny scales." He rumbles. As was his custom, he was wearing his ribbons and loincloth with straps of armor stuck on his body - but quite a few javelins were strapped across his back as well, some of them jutting at odd angles. 

Skiel peers over before he chuffs once and shakes his head. "Pleassse, shove thisss one into a barrel of water, that would do nicely," he rumbles. "Peassse on your nessst, Dancer Aelwyn."

He looks down to the smaller makari, the silverscale rubbing hsi neck. "Ah. Thisss one thankss you. You sssseem to be doing well. Found new spearsss to use?" he inquires, glancing towards the javelins on the ruddy scale's back.

Aelwyn rolls his shoulders and bows his head. "Nest in peace, Silver." The Dragoon greets in return. "These javelins? Hmmh, not so much new, but one has to practise one's aim. Just like one has to practise one's step, less they trip." He rumbles and moves to tap Skielstregar's calf with his tail. His orange eyes find the larger sith-makari's halberd - it seemed to continue being his fascination. "The blade looks different in the sun."

Skiel looks them over. "Thisss one understandsss. It isss important to keep that skill sharp. Though, thisss one recommends a quiver for them," he suggests, reaching behind him to pat the leather pouch that holds his on his back. "You twirl around much. Thiss helpsss keep them secure."

The tap is met with a tap of his own, thought its more or less his large tail thudding against Aelwyn's leg. The observation makes him look over the halberd. "... it hasss been... acting strange," he admits, twisting the polearm about. "Ssssometimesss, it actsss like thisss one'sss magic. Ominious and dripping. Othertimesss, it seeems radiant."

The halberd drips black ichor.

"... why...?" he rumbles, incredulous.

It stops.

Aelwyn rumbles with a sharp toothed grin, moving to touch Skielstregar on the side. "Perhaps it is happy to see this one." The ruddy scaled sith-makar asks and huffs out his chest, tongue wriggling from between his sharp teeth. His own glaive was simply radiant because it has had excessive amount polish done on it - not to mention he keeps adding ribbons to it. Nice, silken ones. Probably explains where his actual budget for armor goes.

"Hmmh, a quiver? This one considered, but he felt it was problematic." The Dragoon takes a few steps forward - and slowly leans forward, until he is touching the ground by his feet. Simultaneously, his leg stretches out behind him and up in the air, demonstrating his flexibility to Skielstregar; the motion continues and he balances himself upon his hands only, halberd on the ground.

Casually, he stretches his legs to the side, loincloth flopping over his abdomen, before he twists around and smoothly slides back up on his feet. "The javelins might fall, Silver." He rumbles, sliding his straps and loincloth back in place.

Skielstregar snorts, him shaking his head as elbows Aelwyn in the side. "Yesss, yesss, perhapsss that isss so," he rumbles in a chuckle, sticking his blackened tongue out at the Dragoon.

He watches Aelwyn for a moment overlong, head tilting to the side slowly before- ah! It clicks. "That isss an impressive feat," he admits, still watching as the other complicates their hand stand.

Once the dancer rights themselves, he shrugs lightly. "There can be quiversss that are taut and hold them through tension, then can be pulled free when needed. But, if that worksss for you, then it worksss."

He takes a step around Aelwyn, looking him over before poking a section missing some armor. "Thisss one doesssn't mean to poke holesss in your methodssss, but you are exposssed. They understand your need for moving freely, but there exisssts thingsss that let you remain light yet sssafe."

"Hmmh, impressive?" Aelwyn asks, with a rumble and a roll of his shoulder, teeth shining with his grin. "This one can do things that leave a far longer lasting impression, Silver." Still, he kept adjusting the straps and javelins back in place. "Hmmhh, those quivers would demand handful of coin, would they not?" He looks at the contraption he has strapped onto himself, "... thus far, this one has not needed more complicated than this. A fallen spear is not a gentle thought."

The Dragoon was quite surprised though, when the larger silver-scaled sith makes his way over and starts poking at him. Rumbling, he raises his arm and inhales, exposing his exposed midsection. "Things? What would Silver recommend?" Then those orange eyes flit back up towards Skielstregar's. "Planning to hide this one's scales, is he?" A wide grin.

Skielstregar shrugs lightly. "In comparissson to fancy glaivessss and ribbonsss, perhapsss less than that," he offers, before shaking his head once more. "Mhmm, sssure. Lassst time you left an 'impression', thisss one could not walk straight for a few daysss, and it was painful."

Is he pouting? He's pouting.

The tall makari chuckles, this time poking Aelwyn's side to tickle. "You would show scale regardlesss," he chuffs. "Mithral, the metal. Isss light. Very very light. Thiss here isss made of it." He taps his breastplate. "Chain ssshirtsss made of it can protect your torssso but keep you swift. Or, if you want to be more protected, chainmail over more of you can ssstill keep you light on your feet. Thisss here weighsss no more than maybe your glaive."

Aelwyn's chest tightens and he lets out a quiet rumbling hiss, as he tries to restrict the urge to flinch away from that large claw. "Hmmh, if one cannot be seen - where would be the thrill of it?" Tail taps at the other's ankles. "Though this one suspects Silver does not have that conundrum."

Lowering his arm, he instead puts his hand on his hip. "Hmmh, this one felt he could feel his insides for days after Silver's concept of a dance." He retorts with a slow whip of his tail. "Though savagery has its own charm." He grins.

When Skielstregar pats at his own armor, Aelwyn grips his halberd and takes a step closer, eyeing the metal. Then his hand reaches out and begins to poke at the edges of it, trying to see how fell it fit. Or get his claws in; either way. "Hmmh. It is not only about weight or being restricted, but it is the feel. It would take time to feel the flow of it."

Lyme comes out onto the sand, a long, straight sword and similarly-sized training blunt held over one shoulder. He pauses, seeing two sith on the sands.

Skiel snorts at the reaction and raises a hand in a shrug. "Thisss one isss just sssuggesting ssafety. If you want to be ssseen badly, perhapsss paint the metal loud colorsss?" he suggests.

The silverscale rolls his eyes. "You need more training ssso it only lasstsss a day, he fires back. The breastplate is just as dense as any other steel, but a cursory lift at the bottom reveals that it is, indeed, quite light. Skiel just lets himself be inspected. "Yess, but it would be time well ssspent. Again, sssafety. How can you dance if you are dead from dancing?"

His attention shifts a bit as another large figure enters the sands. A scaled brow perks up, and he lifts a hand. "Warrior Lyme," Skielstregar greets.

Aelwyn keeps prodding at the edges and seams of the mithril armor piece - then he was trying to lift it and slide it along Skielstregar's chest. To see how much it slipped or gave away. "Hmmh, but the dead can dance." The Dragoon points out, "Or so this one has been told. Remains to be seen." His tail wiggles behind him as he shows off his sharp teeth. "Hmmh, but it is light, this one agrees."

The announcing of the newcomer makes him turn his head, and he leans more towards the halberd. His hand though, continues idly inspecting the armor, even if he wasn't paying much attention to it, it seemed. "Stranger." The smaller ruddy scaled sith-makar greets with a bow of his head.

Lyme lifts his free hand in reply, "Skielstregar. Peace be on your nest." At least, that's what he remembers the greeting to be. He looks to Aelwyn, and smiles broadly as he returns: "Stranger." Swinging the two swords off his shoulder, he grounds both, then sets one down while taking up the trainer.

The breastplate doesn't budge, it's strapped in tight. Skiel huffs. "The dead can dance by the whimsss that desecrate. Or, ancestors turning in their gravesss from foolish mistakes." 

He gives the smaller makari a shrug. "Thiss one isss just relaying experience isss all."

The shiny makari swoops his gaze between the two, even as Aelwyn is fussing with his armor idly. "Peassse on your nessst. Warrior Lyme, thisss here isss Dragoon Aelwyn. He dances with a glaive."

"Dancer Aelwyn." His free hand idly smacks the ruddy scale's inspecting hand off his armor as its been wandering about aimlessly. "Thisss isss Warrior Lyme. They have helped thisss one in ssseveral ventures. Particularly the one mossst recent with learning about the large wormsss on the way to the city."

Not aimlessly. Testing! "Hmmh? Then this one supposes the two of them make for a fighting duo." The way smaller sith-makar grins, but he does bow his head. "Aelwyn, a Dragoon. Peace on their nests." He picks up his glaive and then looks back towards Skielstregar. "May the practise be swift and filled with insight." Then back towards Lyme, "Do not try to hurt him too much." Sharp teeth showing, he bows once more and turns on his step, heading into the blazing hot training fields of the Colosseum.

Lyme nods towards Aelwyn, then turns back towards Skielstregar. "How're you doing, Skiel? Staying out of trouble -- no weird timeskips/" He slowly starts warming up with his training sword, big, slow cuts from the shoulder to loosen everything.

Skiel waves goodbye to Aelwyn before he turns his attention to one of the few people that actually come up to the same height as him. "Thisss one isss well! They think. Um... no, no timeskips, whatever that isss," he scratches his head. "Yourssself? Well after that busssiness underground?"

Lyme nods. "Well enough." He gestures to the sword on the ground. "I live, and I have something new to learn -- this is profoundly magical, but balanced different than my old sword."

Skiel eyes the new sword. "Oooh, that isss certainly something grand to figure out. It looks strong, and can hold up to much. They look forward to you learning it's insss and outsss. And perhapsss they can ssee what it can do one day."

The shiny silver scale cranes his head up to peer at the sky before dropping it to look back to Lyme. "Anywho, thisss one came here to train before the day isss done. Peassse on your nesst, Warrior Lyme." With a bow of his head, Skiel hefts his halberd onto a shoulder and saunters deeper into the sands of the arena.

 -End Scene-

[[Category:Logs]]