(121-05-06) Fit for a Warrior
Fit for a Warrior
Summary: Kevyn goes armor shopping. Ilona sizes him up.
Date: 05/06/2014
Related: The various 'Kevyn's a real knight now' logs and Blackmont stuff that led up to it.

Smithy — Champion's Way

The smithy shop has been built carefully to allow for the heat of the forge, and the actions of a large bellows, without danger of catching the place on fire. The walls are a thick stone, and the roof as high up as can be. There is a bit of a show area by the door, where a weapons rack has been set up, with the latest wares on display. The center of the room is the forge, reaching back to the chimney, and fronted by several different sized anvils and matching bellows. To one side, shelves line the wall, with hammers and other smithing tools each in their place. To the other side, a door leads to the Smith's living quarters.

It's early in the day as newly-minted Ser Kevyn Cockshaw makes his way into the markets of Oldtown, and more specifically the direction of the smithy. He's afoot and wearing his new fine swordbelt and also fine castle-forged broadsword, though otherwise he's just dressed in unremarkable tunic and trousers. He slows as he approaches the smithy itself, neck craning up to examine what wares might be on display.

The weather is warm, sunny, and a bit — cloying in the vicinity of the smithy, only amplified by the heat of the forge. The sound of hammer on metal, craftsmen at work, and various other sounds carry through it. Above it all is the sound behind the counter in the back room. A clipped delivery of these words is delivered by a man whose origins are clearly Braavosi. "Are you telling me they can't do this? Why do I pay them? I SHOULD TELL THEM ALL TO LEAVE MY SHOP AT ONCE! YOU! GET OUT OF MY SHOP! AND YOU!"

A fairly high-pitched voice now, that of a woman with the twang of something more obviously Westerosi cuts in. It's louder than the other man, and loud enough to be clearly heard even over the hammer. "/SPIROS./ Please! You worry too much! Just let Jamis alone, I'll take care of it. It'll be like it never happened, I swear!"

After several moments the sound of a sigh is delivered as the Braavosi man apparently gives up. And apparently detects a potential customer as a hirsute, balding middle-aged man comes bounding out in front of the wares. This is a smithy, allright. A number of servicable weapons can seen hanging on the wall. Swords, spears, hammers, as well as tools. Also are a few armor pieces. If one really bothers to look, the armor looks the best. "Ah! Welcome!" He grins. He's a bit short. "Welcome to the forge of Spiros of Braavos!"

Kevyn stops browsing to listen to the yelling, so he's a little startled when the Braavosi man actually comes to the front to attend him. "Oh. Err. Hullo, Goodman." He squints in the direction the yelled conversation was coming from once more, before directing his eyes back to the wares on display. The armor, in particular. "My name's Lord Kevyn Cockshaw. Ser Kevyn Cockshaw." He sounds both proud and unsure of the title. And he's young for it, so it's easy enough to guess it's recently acquired. He's clearly still at that stage where he cares more about it than anyone else likely does. "Err…anyhow. I'm in the market for some armor. I'm told your shop does good work. So I hear. Around the city." He tries to sound very knowledgeable of the local smithing market, so as not to be taken advantage of. It's not very believable, though.

The Braavosi is no fool. "My — Ser, SER Kevyn Cockshaw." If Kevyn were a cynical sort he would detect the gleam of gold and silver in the Spiros' eyes. But he is gracious, almost to a fault, and bows his head. "Indeed, we are blessed by your attention." Must be a Braavosi thing. "Ah! Armor! Well, we have just the thing, whatever it is a knight of your quality seeks." Suddenly there's some commotion in back and the man spouts an oath in his native tongue, stopping suddenly. "Please, Excuse me. Bartrand!" He bellows towards the back. "Ilona! We have a customer. One of /yours!/" He turns back towards Kevyn, "Please, one moment, ser."

And one moment is all it takes, as the Braavosi man departs, and the — massive blonde woman in an apron over her dress, smudges and soot marring her features comes striding out with a massive smile. "Please, please, I apologize for the wait. You are — Oh, greetings, Ser." Her smile widens, and her loud, high voice carries in an almost immediate chatter. "What are you looking for?"

"My quality?" It's Kevyn's turn to be dubious when the Braavosi gives him that particular compliment. Not that he has much time to think on that, when Ilona is called out. The sight of the woman makes him blink. Up, a little. She's an inch or so taller than him. Not much, but it seems to matter more given that she's a massive girl. "Umm…good day, Mistress." It takes him a moment to summon up a reply of, "Err, armor." Eventually he might get more specific.

"Mistress. Feh! My name's Ilona and I don't need anything fancier than that." The girl breaks into a broad grin, chuckling. "I'm not one of /those/ girls." Indeed she isn't. "I — we have something that will probably do nicely. And if we don't, that can be seen to." She's all smiles now as she moves around the counter. "Tell me please, Ser, what you're thinkin' of. Something ceremonial, perhaps? Or something you actually need? Or something in between? I've found that these two aren't — mmm, ex—" she clutches for the word. "Exclusive?"

"Mistress. Feh! My name's Ilona and I don't need anything fancier than that." The girl breaks into a broad grin, chuckling. "I'm not one of /those/ girls." Indeed she isn't. "I — we have something that will probably do nicely. And if we don't, that can be seen to." She's all smiles now as she moves around the counter. "Tell me please, Ser, what you're thinkin' of. Something ceremonial, perhaps? Or something you actually need? Or something in between? I've found that these two aren't — mmm, ex—" she clutches for the word. "Exclusive?"

"Uh, my name's Ser Kevny Cockshaw." He looks briefly confused about precisely what to call her, after that. So, he just opts to mutter "Umm" and not call her anything at all, for the moment, until he gets the propriety straight in his brain. He shakes his head, at the word 'ceremonial.' "No. That is, I've been dubbed not long ago, and I'm gearing myself. I've my sword already…" He points to it on his belt. In case she missed. "…but you can find better armor in the city forges than in the Cockleswhent castle armory. Our smith is better for blades than plates, my father says. I'm in need of a full suit, and a shield as well."

"So in other words, you want armor fit for a warrior." Ilona nods along, jutting her broad chin outward proudly. "That is understandable. I don't want to seem a braggart, but we serve many storied fighters here. Including Ser Pros—" She cuts herself off, a little flush showing in her cheeks. "Plate, you say? First, let's get an idea of design." She trails off, actually talking to herself here as she beckons to Kevyn and leads him with a beckon to a rack of sample pieces. Plate, Brigadine, Maile — a few combinations thereof.

"First of all, Ser, please tell me which of these catches your eye? We're not limited to these either."

"Fit for a warrior. Aye." Kevyn squares his shoulders and tries to look more warrior-ly. And closer to as tall or taller than Ilona. He doesn't really succeed on either count in any impressive way, though he's fit enough. "And aye. I heard the Oncoming Storm had used this smithy. 'Twas why I wanted to look in here, come to it. Anyhow, what're your costs? I've funds for a suit of brigadine err…I think." He doesn't sound entirely sure. "I don't want anything too showy. I mean, I don't know how often I'll use it in a tourney or the like. But something that'll function well, and give me some movement when I'm ahorse or afoot in it."

"That Knight." Ilona has some lines that crinkle around her eyes, way too early in her life to have these, but it looks like she's definitely had a journey of sorts. "Well, the thing about a tourney is, — you have a lot of Dornish types coming here thinking they can pry their way with Dornish steel into your armor. Those smiths in Dorne know how to make some vicious hooks. I'd recommend something that at least protects the joints and has few easily findable gaps." Her broad hands brush across one of the complete sets with a gorget. "See here?"

This girl knows way too much about armor to simply be a shopgirl.

Kevyn strides over to take a look at the armor Ilona is showing off, bending down to peer at one of the folds in the plating where the joint would bend it. He nods a little to himself. "Aye, Miss…err…Ilona. Umm. Aye. This is cunningly done. The Dornish are treacherous combatants, and I've no wish to give them an easy place to put a hook. Is this…err…does the little foreign man make all this?" He likely means the Braavosi, though he doesn't sound like he actually believes that one does much smithing.

"Please, Ser. Just Ilona. Anything else is unnecessary." Ilona rattles off in a chipper tone.

"No, LAMBERT, THAT IS NOT HOW YOU DO IT!" The little foreign man in the back shouts at one of his employees in a fury.

Ilona seems to remember to pretend-flinch at this while stifling a smile. "Nor does any Seven-fearing citizen of the Reach, Ser." She begins, shrugging off the nonsense going on in the forge. "Spiros? No. His smiths do." She rattles on, easily enough. "But thank you for the compliment on the work, Ser. W—We thank you. So what do you think? Full coverage? We can do the measurements later if you want this made. From scratch, it will be a little more but I guarantee it will make a difference."

"I think I can manage enough for a suit from scratch," Kevyn says. "My father's managed to save well enough from what our family's given him, and I'm the only son of his who'll be…well, a warrior." This is clearly still a concept he's in the process of wrapping his head around. "Err, yes. A suit of brigadine like this will do me well, I think. Nothing too flashy. I don't need anything inlaid or patterns or the like. I've not even thought much on my own heraldry yet. I mean, I can wear the Cockshaw sigil without embellishment but…well…if I'm to do this, I figure I should give some thought to a personal one."

"Sounds like you already /are/ a warrior, if you're talking like that, Ser." Ilona's voice is businesslike. "Now, a little bend is normal here. Most fighters I talk to tell me they're most afraid of a blade between the gaps in the shoulders like this." She just up and /hefts/ a chestpiece off the wall and sets it down on the counter with a grunt. Woman's made of some stuff.

"Well, heraldry doesn't make the suit useless. But I understand if you want to decide later."

"Later. Aye," Kevyn says, about the heraldry. Decisive on that point, at least. He half reaches out a hand to help her with the chestpiece, but lowers it again when she just grunts it around. He blinks. Still unclear of what to make of the girl, plainly, though he seems pretty set on an armor purchase. "Aye, the knight I squired for, my cousin Ser Viggo, says a blade there can be as deadly as a blow anywhere, if the angle's right and it gets in deep enough. Rather avoid that if I can help it."

"Exactly. We won't sell you something and forget about it. That's for Dornish Petyr down the street. Man's a slime." Ilona's face breaks into a toothy grimace. "But never mind /him/. You can always bring something back. I think a good plate-and-maile is a balanced choice. Allows you to move but doesn't give them." She starts making a ridiculous dance behindd the counter. "Too much of an opening, yah?" There's a sudden lingering there. "Ser Viggo Cockshaw? The Swordsman?" It dawns on her who this person is. "Smith bless me."

Kevyn grins broad when Ilona recognizes his cousin's name. "Aye, Mi…err…" He just gies up on using a name entirely. "Aye, the very same. I'm…well, I was his squire. Until he knighted me. But aye. The same Ser Viggo who defeated Lord Blackmont in the Trial of the Seven, and won the swordplay melee in the Dolphin Festival tourney before that."

Ilona too has given up. She may not be court educated but she is not a complete simpleton. The big woman has a job to do and she's doing it — and apparently Kevyn's enough of a sucke, er, willing customer that she won't press the issue. "He beat that funny-looking foreigner, yes." She makes a face, twitching her nose as it all comes back to her. "I know who your family are. And I know those Dornish filth are just /waiting/ to try something. Here, if I may?" She produces some marked-up, banded tape for measurement purposes.

"The Riverlander, aye," Kevyn says. He can't quite hold back a chuckle when Ilona calls said Riverlander 'funny looking.' "He seems a fine swordsman, though his customs are odd, and I'm not sure why he paints his eyes so." He shakes his head. Guyliner is a foreign and slightly frightening custom. "Oh. Err. Of course." Kevyn sort of awkwardly extends his arms and stands a little apart, in a stiff 'measuring' sort of pose.

"Well, he's no Ser Viggo Cockshaw, that's for sure." Ilona states, dismissively. "Probably no Ser Kevyn either. Let's make these supp-poso-so." She stumbles /helplessly/ over the word. "Suppositions? Real things, Ser." She stretches out the tape and breaks out a quill and ink to mark it.

"Supposings?" Kevyn's not really helpful with the word she's probably searching for. "And, aye. He's no me, that's for cert. The Riverlander, that is. I mean, I'm the only me…" He stops himself from babbling on in that particular vein, and keeps holding his arms kind-of-up while Ilona preps her tape. "So…err…what do you do here, if I may ask?" He's at least figured out she's not just a shop girl. "I mean…err…apart from measuring."

"No, you are a lot cleaner for one thing, Ser." Ilona says without overt flattery. "Which is a relief." The tape is strung around with minimal contact as the big woman does her work with careful concentration. "What do I do? I work here, Ser." She seems nonplussed. "I understand what warriors need and do my best to give them that. As my father did before me."

"Cleaner?" Kevyn's not sure quite how to take that, though he seems to land on figuring it as a compliment. "Err…thank you. I bathe regularly." He's inside one of the smithy shops, standing in a corner with his arms sort of held out at his sides and his feet a little ways apart, getting measured by Ilona. For armor. It's about mid-morning, and the weather's warm and sunny, though that heat turns somewhat cloying inside the smithy. Still, they're out front with the wares for sale, not back for the forges, so it's not too bad.

"It's an important thing, Ser." Ilona declares, cheerily as she wraps the tape loosely around a shoulder. "Mmm. Here. And here." It's marked with ink before the gossip fades entirely "What you need to watch, though, is the back shoulder. That's where those /things/ get you." She hums a little before finishing her measurements. "There."

Kevyn's shoulders tighten at mention of the 'things,' like he's picturing them puncturing his back. He's probably not getting stabbed here, though. He tries not to twitch so much that he interrupts her measuring, then allows his arms to fall back to his side in a more natural posture when she's done. "Thank you. How long do you think it'll take? The suit, that is."

"Mmm. A week?" Ilona's appraisal comes quickly enough as she investigates the distance between pauldron and maile with broad fingertips. It's over the model armor though. "No things will get you!" She exclaims suddenly, in a loud whisper. Probably a lot louder than she planned.

Kevyn blinks at the loudness of the whisper, but the comment makes him chuckle. Also louder than he might've meant to. He clears his throat. "That's…err…reassuring. A week sounds right fine. I'm not going anywhere, after all, I don't think. Not for a week, at least. Anyhow, I'll be back then with payment…err…so long as the armor is ready on time and in as good a shape as these other wares on display." He makes a vague attempt to sound authoritative on that last bit. It's not very convincing, but he tries.

"A deposit is asked for but not the full amount." Ilona indicates, cheerily as she steps back, tallying the measurements. "Thank you for the compliment. I — They were worked on tirelessly." Right there, unless Kevyn is a simpleton, he might have a good idea of who makes this armor. There's a pink flush in the girl's cheeks.

Kevyn isn't a simpleton, and he does give Ilona a somewhat narrow look like some idea is dawning on him. But he doesn't press her on that subject. Maybe he doesn't want to have it confirmed. "Deposit. Aye. Err, quite." He digs into his coin purse, which should contain enough silver and gold to cover the preliminary bill.

"Seven days, and here." Ilona fumbles behind the counter and produces a round, bronze token after accepting the coin and handing it over. "Just bring this back and we'll continue with the fitting, Ser." The girl smiles wide. It's apparent that she takes great pride in /someone's/ work.

Kevyn gives Ilona a short nod, though he doesn't incline his head too far. He remains a bit boggled by her tallness, and seems reluctant to duck much at all. The bronze token is taken, and tucked in the purse his money recently left. "Seven days, then. I hope you…err…I hope it turns out well." And, off he goes.

<FS3> Ilona rolls Blacksmithing: Great Success.

<FS3> Ilona rolls Blacksmithing: Amazing Success.

<FS3> Ilona rolls Blacksmithing: Good Success.

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