Why Armor?: The Tale of Chapman

Another day, another potch… I lazily polished the breastplate, bored stiff and very much restless. This plate of armor in my hand cannot possibly get any shinier, but everything else is sparkling clean, and this is my last piece of armor that I have. I let out a gust of air as I cleaned the suit, wishing that it wasn't lunchtime. Halfway into the day and I'm already finished with everything! I sigh again, hoping against hope for a customer.

"Yo, Chapman!" I eagerly look up from the breastplate in hopes of a consumer, but all I see is that good-for-nothing bum, Rikimaru. I grunt to myself and continue to clean the shining suit. Rikimaru walked up to the counter, and to my surprise, he laid down a bag full of coins. I eyed the sack hungrily as he spoke.

"You know what I want," he said with a smile. I nodded my head and put the suit of armor back on the rack. I then left the front desk to rummage through my inventory, and came across an expensive gauntlet that he had had his eyes on for some time. I returned, gauntlet in hand (no pun intended), and told him the price.

"Eight-thousand potch," I said. "Or if you're using Scarlet Moon currency, that'd be about 7550 bits you owe me." Rikimaru kept his grin as he fished for coins, and pulled out a right nice handful of thousand-potch coins. I wordlessly handed him the Diamond Gauntlet he had wanted, and the bum walked out of my shop whistling and tossing his bag of coins in the air.

Twelve oh-five and nothing to do for the rest of the day. My armory doesn't close until ten at night, so I decided to search around for the lunch sack I had packed that morning. As always, when I am searching for lunch, I was interrupted by another customer. I grunted and wished that they would interrupt me more when I wasn't trying to get things done, and put on my best smile. I don't smile a whole lot.

"Sir," said my customer--holy cow, she was hot! "Sir," she said, leaning over slightly. I tried not to "look" and kept my gaze on her nose. Crap, even that was beautiful.

"What's up, Mina?" I asked. She smiled and gave me a wink. Mina, please don't do that. I'm trying to work here!

"I need a new ribbon," she said, digging into her dress for her purse. I sighed inwardly and was glad for a distraction, but unfortunately my supply of ribbons were very close at hand, and I soon found myself looking at the gorgeous dancer again. Steady, old chum. There are hundreds of other men out there that want her just as badly. Just stick to your job.

"Forty-four hundred bits," I said, knowing full well that that would be the currency that Mina would use. She handed me the correct change and put the ribbon in her hair. "It suits you," I noted. She smiled and thanked me, and left as quickly as she came in. Sighing, I returned to my lunch, only to be interrupted by another customer…

Grunting with relief, I locked the door and made sure that all windows were boarded up. Armor has gotten more expensive in these past few days, and I couldn't afford to be plagued by burglars. To make sure my stock wouldn't be disturbed, I hung the "Closed" sign on the door, and feeling confident that I had done a fine day's work, I left for home. People should come to Antei more often. It's beautiful at night. Too bad I'm single and in my late forties. I could really use the company of a female (that Kimberly's not my type).

I made my way to the tavern first. As usual, Mina was there and the crowd was large. Mina worked the same number of hours that I did, although not quite the same times. I ignored the cheering drunks and her shapely body… erm, I mean, her smile. I ignored it all and asked for a beer, and after I finished it I left for home.

I awoke with the sun the next day, and went through all of my morning rituals. They had evolved into a monotonous procedure over the years: bathroom, shower, hair, teeth, paper, breakfast, teeth again, work. Every day for the past forty years, that was my routine: bathroom, shower, hair, teeth, paper, breakfast, teeth again, work. Don't ask me why I never changed my routine. I'm usually not a good person to interview. I just know about armor. Ask me anything about armor.

Well, somebody did ask me something about armor today. It was somebody I had not seen in years, an antisocial hunter/mercenary named Larkenwol. Old Larkenwol--well, he was really about ten years my junior, but he didn't look it--old Larkenwol came in one day, to my surprise, and asked for a new cloak. I hadn't seen him in five years and he strolls in asking for armor. Same old Larkenwol.

"Thirty-six hundred potch, or thirty-five hundred bits," I said. "Take your pick." Larkenwol wordlessly laid a handful of potch on my counter, and the cloak was soon in his possession.

"Chapman," he said suddenly. I looked up from counting the potch. Larkenwol rarely spoke, and when he did, he was always concise and to the point.

"Yeah?"

"A question." I frowned and counted out the rest of the money. Thirty-six, on the dot.

"Go ahead."

"Why armor?" I paused for a moment, trying to decipher what he meant.

"What do you mean?"

"Why armor?" he asked again. I swallowed and rubbed my smooth chin.

"You wanna know why I went into this business?" I asked. He nodded his head, and I let out a gusty sigh. "Why?"

"Curious," came the reply. I shrugged, and seeing as there would not be any more customers for awhile, I decided to tell him my story.

One day, when I was wearing a younger man's clothes, I lived the life of a renowned and venerable actor. I was known as one of the best performers in all of the Empire--maybe even in all the world. When I took the stage, I held nothing back: from riotous humor to heart-wrenching drama, I chewed through the script and gave the audience their money's worth and so much more.

Now you might ask yourself why I gave it all up for such an occupation as this. I'll tell you one thing: it wasn't easy. I'm a proud man, and a stubborn one too, but you gotta admit that most of these qualities come from overacting too much. I'll tell you why I chose this business, and as you might expect, it has something to do with losing a loved one.

After the Succession War ended, Barbarossa sent out a call for all able-bodied men to join the new army. Out of all the countries involved, Gregmister had been hit hardest, and their supply of soldiers was almost nonexistent. Armories around the globe were put to work, and countless orders flooded their gates. Soldiers needed armor, and soon being in the protection business was very profitable.

I was still in the theater when I got word that my kid brother would be joining the army. Yeah, you already know where this is going, right? Wrong. Well, he did end up joining, and I still remained in the theater--I mean, what little I knew about armor had been learned on the stage. Anyway, Barbarossa had his army, and his army had their armor, so everything was peachy keen, right?

Well, I learned that there was a drastic shortage of armor in the Antei region. None of my business, right? Well, my kid brother had been posted in Lorimar, which is right around that area. Lorimar got attacked by a group of outlaws, and although the soldiers were well-trained and very efficient, they were massacred. I blamed the rogues at first, but my blame soon turned to the Scarlet Moon Empire: one, for putting that regiment there in the first place, and two, for putting them there without proper equipment.

I left the theater after hearing about my brother's death, and knowing that they needed someone experienced in business in Antei, I traveled there (I used to apprentice under a trader in my youth). Needless to say, I got the job as resident armory salesman, and I've been in this same stinking job ever since. Well, at least that old fool Barbarossa won't run out of armor again, and maybe someone else's life will be saved because of my meager contributions.

"That's why."

"Oh." Larkenwol stared back at me emptily, and just like that, he left my business. I never saw him again, and even to this day, I wondered why he asked me such a question. Oh, well, no need to brood on things gone by. Shrugging, I turned around searching for some clean rags to polish a few dirty shields, when I should be interrupted by yet another customer. He was a strapping young lad, strong in body and in heart, and his eyes looked so trustworthy and kind and, well, none of my business, I wonder what he wants? I groaned inwardly as he approached, wishing that there was some way I could get out of this hole--or better yet, wishing that there was some way I could get back at Barbarossa.

By the Creator, how I miss the theater.

The End