The full-body armor is simple as diamond. No horns or decorative swirls distract from its function. It exists to protect, not to entertain.
Colgrevance wipes gore out of a groove in his greaves. A bandmate splattered zombie on him the day before, and it’s taken the paladin all night to clean the cursed ichor from his gear.
He yawns, mouth staying open as his head bobs. “Wish I had a proper squire.”
A guardswoman pops her head into the tavern’s common room. “Sir, there’s three black ships sailing in to dock.”
“How long until dawn?” Colgrevance slips a heavy shield onto his left arm and picks up a longsword with his right. “How close are the ships?”
Shouts echo outside.
“Minutes until light.” She fingers her spear. “And the ships are here.”
