Murmillo Memories

None of the magical treasure had captured Fortu's interest beyond the apparently magical full-plate armour.

Inky dark and covered with octopus tentacle designs, it reminds him strongly of the Murmillo costumes some of his fellow Gladiators were forced to wear during arena battles. This though, offered far more actual protection. Gladiator 'armour' was designed to prolong battles but, perversely, also encourage gory injury and bloodshed.

Taking this quiet time to try it on, Fortu beckons Rifkin to help him remove the trusty Half-plate he'd worn since winning it in an illegal street fight, just days after earning his freedom. Even as he tries not to though, his mind flits unbidden back to the deaths he'd been forced to inflict. He'd affectively killed three men of the same bloodline to gain the armour he'd been wearing these last few months. Two sons; Koil and Roth and then Dion their age ravaged father.

As he Strips down to his linen undergarments, his elven companion Arowe can't help marvelling at the multitude of scars criss-crossing the stoic Fortu's entire body and sympathetically rubs his own. A recently acquired reminder from the near fatal Centaur arrow shot through his shoulder. His first scar but hopefully, also his last.

The Halfling Liga Bur however, merely shrugs. He sports similar wounds himself and has seen far, far worse.

Even as Rifkin helps him on with it, piece by piece, the quiet Fortu can't help but doubt that such intricately designed ironmongery will even remotely fit but it seems to magically flow and mould itself around every contour of his body.

As Rifkin finally lowers the matching ornate helmet over his head, Fortu experiences a moment of breathless dread, as if he were drowning but it passes almost immediately.

"Wow!" murmurs the foppish Rifkin. "You look really dark... I mean great!"


Fortu gets the Full-plate armour +1