25~JAMES-Armor

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It's that time again

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It's that time again. It seems like only yesterday I was pulling on that red and black costume to fight Victor Von Doom. Today is just another battle. And with threat comes responsibility. I must lead them...I must protect them... No. They don't need me to protect them. They need me to stand beside them and hold the line. A team...

I stand still in the chamber as various Asgardians work to fit the leather armor around me. They pull and tug, striving to tie the cords that keep the armor together. Metal guards and shields are added to give my attire a more protective element. The servants finally step away and look over me to make sure everything is fastened and taunt. After they are satisfied, one of them tells me that I am free to choose a weapon. Glistening blades of every shape and style are splayed on a table before me. I am sure that each of them has a story, a legacy that will continue with each use. I wish I had my father's shield or something of its likeness, but it does not appear that the concept of throwing shields is popular in Asgard. It is unique....I've never seen anyone use it except my father.... Instead I have large heavy shields available to me. I would prefer to travel lightly....

I hover over the table and finger different weapons, trying to choose one or two that will serve me best. My image is refracted in the blades and I stare at the unkept hair and beard that is starting to form. Blue eyes, one of the only real physical remnant of my father (besides my super-human abilities) meet mine and I look away. My fingers curl around the ornate hilt of a long dagger and I pull it from its sheath to inspect it. I turn it in my hands and study the design. Sleek...sharp....simple....This will be perfect.... I attach the sheath to my armor and search for a larger blade. I'm not as familiar with a sword, but I can make it work...

"Which of these swords would you recommend?" I ask armor bearer standing off to the side who looks to be the same age as me.

He looks slightly startled, almost wondering if I my question was directed at him, before moving to stand beside me.

"That one," He replies with his fingers resting on a long blade with a slight curve.

"It is no stranger to combat and is made my the finest craftsman in Nidavellir. I have often dreamt of bearing it myself.... I have no doubt it will serve you well."

I take it off the table and loop the loop of the sheath around my waist. I slowly pull the sword out and lift it into the air so I can see the blade itself. It is light, yet has enough weight to keep it grounded. The blade is about as thick as my smallest finger, but so sharp that it looks like it could slice through anything. The metal glints in the light and I savor this moment of holding a weapon of this magnificence.

"What's your name?" I ask the brown-haired guy who is just as awestruck with the sword as I am.

"Kearne," he replies softly.

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