The Paladin in the Abyss

"That problem can wait until later." Lancelot spoke, "When do we leave?"

"We set out tomorrow morning if everyone is ready," the Elf Prince scanned the group, "It will take us a full day to get to Pascaler, and we'll cross the Hoffenstan River under the cover of darkness. Then we'll rest in caves during the day and travel by night, aiming to reach Gaomendikolia within five days. There, I will contact local spies and decide then on a plan to infiltrate the fortress."

"Alright." Lancelot nodded, "Everyone get a good night's rest, we're going back to sleeping on our bedrolls after this."

The response was a round of good-natured laughter. To Acheron's surprise, the group he was looking at, about to embark on a very dangerous mission, still maintained such an optimistic attitude. Clearly, these people were either fools, or they were true adventurers, and the latter seemed more likely now.

"Cough cough, there's one small issue," the Elf Prince cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention once more, "I need to do some ... modifications to your armor."

"What do you mean?" Alamir clutched his chest, "My armor is in very good condition ..."

"I have no doubt about that, but I want to make them more suited to the environment up north." Acheron beckoned the Dwarf bartender, "Dag, take these friends of ours down to visit your cellar, I need you to add a bit of 'decoration' to their armor."

"Really? That's great!" The Dwarf bartender drew back a panel on the bar, "Let them in. You don't mind tending the bar for me for a bit, do you, Prince?"
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"These hands that have slain countless monsters should be able to hold a glass steady," the Elf waved dismissively, "Put their tab on me for tonight."

"Oh wow!" Bruto, who had been sleepy-eyed a moment ago, suddenly widened his eyes, "That's really generous! I think I'm starting to like you, Elf!"

"Haha, I hope you'll like the things you're about to see even more." A smile spread across Acheron's face.

Lancelot raised an eyebrow, curious as he followed through the bar, leading everyone down an unusually wide staircase into the cellar of the Dwarf tavern.

The air brought the fragrance of coal and metal, which made it easy for him to guess what kind of place lay below. As expected, the spacious cellar was a typical Dwarf workshop, with a small furnace semi-attached to the wall, inside of which dark red coal burned; iron anvils, grindstones, workbenches, and leather racks were scattered around, alongside neat stacks of various tools and materials.

But what truly caught Lancelot's eye wasn't these, but a set of armor hanging on the wall. One could vaguely make out the style of Dwarf Heavy Armor, but it was covered in sharp blades and long, spike-like protrusions – the kind of things that shouldn't be on armor. They were so densely packed that the armor itself had become a weapon, with rushing and grappling in this armor likely to cause terrible injuries, while opponents would hardly escape hurting themselves in an attack.

"I was once a member of the 'Ripper' legion in Mithril Hall, famed for making Orcs' legs wobble at our war cries, and Dark Elves rolled in their own filth under our assault," the Dwarf bartender puffed out his chest proudly, gazing at the wall-mounted 'weapon' with the eyes of a lover.

"What's this visit about?" Bruto asked impatiently, "If I have to listen to your boastings of past glories, I'd rather be holding a mug of beer ..."

"No, that's not why Acheron Mingyan sent you here," the brown-bearded Dwarf named Dag shook his head, "He wants your armor modified to resemble our Ripper legion's. For some reason, Demons seem used to this style, and in the streets of Gaomendikolia, the vile residents won't give you a second glance if you're wearing this type of armor."

"Erm..." Bruto swallowed hard, "That looks like it's very easy to hurt oneself."

"Since other Dwarves can do it, you can too," Lancelot encouraged his Dwarf companion, "I can't wait to see you charging into a group of Demons in that kind of armor."

"You'll need it too, Sir Lancelot," Dag said seriously, looking at them, "Apart from that Succubus Paladin, all of you will need it,"

Lancelot was suddenly choked up, and the rest wore looks of horror on their faces.

"How are you going to do it?" Kalalin, who had no psychological burden, asked Koula. He was a Spellcaster in a long robe and didn't quite understand the fighters' enthusiasm for armor.

"Just some temporary contraptions, easy to install and remove," the Dwarf pulled out a spiky, belt-like metal strip from beneath the workbench, "Since they're temporary, they'll probably fall off after five or six hits, but you are going to infiltrate, right? So these things are just for show..."

"I don't want to add such things to my beautiful armor," Alamir said, his face full of despair, "but we don't have a choice, do we?"

"Not only that, you also need to make your hair white, like a Zoel Elf," Dag replied with a chuckle.

"Occasionally I don't mind trying a different style," Lancelot shrugged, starting to remove his shoulder armor, and Bruto and Alamir followed suit, "It's all for the success of the mission, isn't it?"

"It makes you look like one of those bandits who rub elbows with Ogres or Orcs," Kalalin said gleefully from the sidelines, "Known by intimidating names like 'Ripper' or something."

"What are you waiting for?" Dag looked seriously at Kalalin, "You take it off too."

"Me too?" Scholar jumped back, startled, clutching his chest, "I can't cast spells with all that heavy stuff hanging on me..."

"Ah, you don't need that," the Dwarf bartender dove under the workbench and pulled out another box, "I'm going to dress you like a Warlock, now look at what I've got... which style do you prefer, Goblin or Orc?"

"Is there a difference?"

"Goblin style highlights include a shawl made of Goblin fingers, a cloak made from a whole Goblin hide, and a necklace of dried Goblin heads," the bartender held up a necklace to show the Scholar, the small Goblin heads about the size of apples, "While Orc style features a necklace of Wolf Fangs, lots of bird feather decorations, and a cloak with a bear head hood..."

"Give me the Orc one," Kalalin said quickly, "I happen to know a Goblin..."

"As you wish," the Dwarf shrugged, "Leave your armor here and go back up for a drink, and by tomorrow morning, they will all look brand new."

"Disfigured might be a more fitting description," Kalalin sighed, resignedly taking off his coat and then being the first to walk out towards the steps they had come in on.