Steel plates clinked along his arms and legs and body as Lokenth walked the roads of a foreign land.
He took stock of his situation: adequate, definitely adequate. He'd received fifty gold coins from the King of Arcaea himself, for the relatively easy task of delivering a gift to the High Lord of Kindara, many days walk to the south, nearly on the opposite ends of the Far Eastern continent from the frozen northern island where he'd not too long ago been a hapless prisoner.
The task of acquiring the gift - a warhammer of renown - had been a bit more of a challenge. The beasts had nearly overwhelmed him, but, owing to fortune alone, he'd found a narrow passage in a wooded ravine where he'd been able to lure the monsters to him and slay them as they came at him in pairs or singles. His sword had been nearly ruined in the bloody endeavor, coated with ichor and gore and turned all but kitchen-knife dull against the thick hides and heavy bones of the things.
Yet it had profited him, and instead of ale to celebrate, he'd acquired with his money some real gear. Armored greaves, gauntlets, breast plate, helm, pauldrons, heavy boots, a new two-handed sword, and a pole-axe. He'd had a taste of opportunity to try out this equipment in battle, with the undead and monsters alike in Masahakon, and he was astonished at what a difference it had made. Other adventurers on the roads in his life had always warned him about heavy armor, praising the simple leathers and mail of a rugged adventurer. It was true he wasn't able to run as quickly nor as silently now. But what did those bands of near ruffians know? Likely they'd been no more able than he to afford real armor anyway. He found that the undead could not bite their way through steel, nor monsters claw and bash through it to much effect either. His pole-axe could lop the heads off the walking dead abominations and his heavy sword chopped through thick hides of monsters as well.
Clink, clink, clink.
He wasn't as quiet, and while he could save the armor for when battle arrived, he found he rather liked the noise. It served as a warning, and conveyed a strong message to would-be assailants: I don't care if you know I'm coming. You can't hurt me. I can kill you. Plus, walking in armor was a true physical challenge, and he knew he was getting stronger by the day by it. That couldn't hurt, when the time came.
Freeman Lokenth was practically giddy at the thought of returning to his homeland of Arcaea, of revisiting those caves and crypts where he'd been bested and beaten bloody, or forced to flee for his life. He knew, as any level-headed warrior should, that he wasn't invincible by any means. But he was more formidable than at any time prior.
Best of all, coated in such armor as only gold could purchase, he was looking more and more the part of a true knight. It was only a matter of time before he could reclaim his rights to his name, fly the Daycryn banner... and drive out the fools and weaklings who even now stood between him and his inheritance.
