Sunday Excerpt, "Crucible"

Servants climbed the stairs carrying his armaments. Mandrean displayed great excitement at seeing his old gear. He eagerly awaited its application. They began by pulling a suit of chain mail over his head and body. It clung tightly at his chest and stomach. As a result, the chains stopped at his waist and provided no protection for his lower half. It was suggested another suit be fetched from the armory in a larger size. Mandrean would not hear of it. After his conversation with Fendri, Mandrean was determined to fit into his old armor at all cost.

Next the plate armor laid over the mail. The bracers and leg supports still fit fine. The breastplate, however, was a different issue. While Mandrean’s stomach had grown, his armor had not. Still insisting on wearing the masterfully crafted armor meant for a young, fit man, Mandrean ordered the tailors to make alterations to accommodate his growth. The bindings connecting the front and back plates were lengthened with leather straps. One thing they could not change was the height of the metal. The front plate stopped midway across Mandrean’s abdomen. His enhanced chest and stomach made adjustment impossible. Shoulder armor was tied to the front and back plates. Then a massive fur cloak was fitted to the armor. The lining of the fur was purple silk. After a long look in the mirror, Mandrean was satisfied and awaited his final accessory.

A servant knelt before him and raised a long sword toward his master. Mandrean’s eyes came to life as he took the scabbard and tied it to his belt. Once it was secure, he drew the blade. Though it was the length of any long sword, similarities ended there. It was a fine, hardened steel which was black in color from the elements used in its forging. Though pointed at the end, it was not the only area for opponents to avoid. The sides had been painstakingly filed to create massive teeth with sharpened edges pointed at the hilt. Such teeth could catch an opponent’s shield or armor and strip it away with a bold stroke. If the blade were to slash against flesh, it would tear through like a woodsman’s saw, only pausing upon striking bone. A stabbing blow would be little better for the victim. Upon withdrawing the blade its teeth would rip through vital organs and make their survivability impossible. The weapon was more a tool for a butcher than a sword for an Emperor. Replacing the sword in its scabbard, Mandrean confidently strode down the stairs and headed for the door.