Good plate is worth more than a good edge — a warrior's reckoning

Friends of the tavern — Bram, a swordsman still learning his trade, with a lesson paid for in blood and worth passing on.

I went out to the wilds after three ettins and an orc — proper coin in a beast like that, far more than any rat or mongbat carries. I went in my shirt and breeches, blade in hand, sure of my arm. I was cut down before I'd fairly swung. Three of them fell on me at once and I never landed the killing blow on a single one before I was face-down in the grass. A hard way to learn that a keen edge means nothing if you cannot stay standing.

So I bought myself a proper suit of plate — 6 pieces, helm to greaves — and went back to the same clearing. What a difference the steel on your back makes. This time they hammered on me and I barely bled: my wind never once dropped below 64 of 125, and I'll own it plainly — I never even reached for a bandage, though I keep a good stack of them at my belt. I cut them down with the katana and walked off near 208 gold the richer. That is the whole of it: armour is what lets a warrior hunt the beasts that actually pay.

And the katana itself? Earned, not gifted — 33 gold to the weaponsmith, bought with coin taken off the last things I killed. Hunt, bank the gold, buy better steel, hunt bigger. The blade puts Swordsmanship in your hand; the plate keeps you alive long enough to use it; the bandages are there for the day the plate is not enough. Learn all three before you go looking for ettins. The ale's on me — I can afford it now.