The Royal Armory was a playground for murderers.
Walls were lined with broadswords, maces, morning stars, and things that looked like giant metal toothpicks. Cassian stood in the center, being fitted into light leather armor that allowed for movement but offered protection against claws.
Elian stood by a rack of daggers, weighing his options.
"Too heavy," Elian muttered, dropping a short sword. "Too pointy. Too... murder-y."
He picked up a small, round buckler shield. "This. I can use this."
"Put it down," Cassian ordered, adjusting his leather bracers. "You are not fighting."
"I am the Second!" Elian protested. "That implies I do something other than scream!"
"You are the Support," Cassian corrected. He walked over, looming over Elian. He looked magnificent in the black leather armor, the silver wolf crest gleaming on his chest. "Your job is to carry the supplies. Watch my back. And stay inside the safe zone."
He handed Elian a heavy canvas rucksack.
