In his youth, Elmar Fenossi was part of a shabbily-outfitted bandit troupe operating across the continent (such is their poorness that they could not even afford a name for their gang). Things were going quite poorly for the wandering, listless Elmar and hadn't been for quite some time. A burglary gone wrong on the east Essharan coast had gotten the local authorities on their tail. Elmar loved crimes, even when they failed, which they did pretty regularly. He liked feeling like he had power.

The gang hid away in an old cave deep in the woods. While the others debated what to do next, Elmar explored the cave alone, bored.

There, he made a discovery which would quite altogether change the course of his life in dramatic fashion.

It was buried in a fair amount of rubble, but as he dug it out, the more an avaricious gleam appeared in Elmar's eye. What he thought was a slab of dark metal was in fact a part of some kind of suit of armor; and not just the usual variety. Even Elmar, ignorant as he was, could see this was something quite special.

When the gang was asleep, Elmar made his escape, not at all wanting to share the spoils of his prize with his loathsome comrades. He escaped with the ruined, dented pile of metal plates and rubbery cylion in a wagon caravan bound for the south. His eventual landing site? The idyllic fishing town of Southbend.

In this tranquil town Elmar set to work, intently learning the arts of artificing when it became clear that his meager blacksmithing talents would be useless on this-- whatever it was. The more he studied it, the more his obsessesion grew. Where did this thing come from? Could it be repaired?

And most of all, how could he profit off this thing?

It took young Elmar three long years simply to get the outer layer of the armor disassembled, making careful notes and schematics along the way. He never told anyone of his prize- instead occasionally selling a gleaming piece of dark, curved metal to local sailors on their way out of port, and using the money to purchase first a cottage, then a workshop, then a forge of his own.

And then, finally, materials.

The ruined interior of the armor revealed an astounding array of intricate machinery, thin orchilacum wires, faded runes, and an intriguing array of magical crystals, now long-dulled to the ravages of time. Though no part of the armor hadn't been similarly disrespected, Elmar painstakingly studied and recorded every part he removed, poring over the missing parts and filling in what he could.

The entire process of reverse-engineering the suit took roughly twenty years. During this time, Elmar gradually became the town of Southbend's eccentric, hermit-like inventor; fixing pots and pans, sending out pamphlets about his various discoveries, and occasionally blowing up his workshop.

He never made any real amount of money; as the years rolled on, it became an obsession, a Divinely-inspired focus, to take apart and then rebuild this thing. One of his own!

Somehow, over the years, he even managed an illicit affair with a local farmer's wife - the result being a sullen, ignored young daughter, Angharad.

After 35 years, Elmar had only one thing to focus on -- hitting paydirt with the armor. And as he aged, he found the extra set of hands, much smaller than his and capable of spooling a great deal of wire, were quite useful in advancing his progress.

Elmar did not even trust her with the origin or fabrication of the armor (his absolute paranoia was that someone would patent it before it was done). The Fenossi Interlocking Plate, as he bragged constantly, was invented entirely in his own head.

And then, finally, on a warm spring afternoon Elmar at last activated his own, fully reconstructed and repaired suit of knockoff Astyan Heavy Battle Armor.

Nobody wore it at the time, of course; one naggling issue he could never figure out was how to actually -unlock- it from around a wearer once they stepped inside. After roughly a decade of trying to figure out his own orchilacum wiring, he gave up and decided it was supposed to do that.

The Interlock Plate was therefore rebranded as a "permanent mobile fortification" that was impossible to remove without the death of the occupant. No more would bandits or warlords have to worry about thievery! They could live in it forever, and then the armor could be resold on their death..!

Although Elmar's reverse-engineered suit was far more advanced than most modern plate, it was still only a fraction as capable as the original Battle Armor: his original template was missing many pieces (and the original mythril-nyeshk plates sold off long ago), not to mention several internal mechanisms were damaged beyond repair in some ancient battle, forcing him to improvise.

So, on that afternoon, Elmar and Angharad (now a very sullen teenager), activated the Plate, and as it hummed to life and clanked open to await the first occupant's mana, the elderly Elmar went off to the pub in jubilation to acquire more celebratory alcohol. His daughter's presence was largely ignored thanks to the pre-activation alcohol he'd already drank.

Angharad did not particularly feel like celebrating. She hated the old man, she hated his plans for the beautiful armor - how had such a beast created such a thing of wonder?! And there it was, the suit she had spent most of her life helping to build bits and pieces of. Just sitting there on the table, all the plates (tempered steel rather than mythril-nyeshk, which was far beyond Elmar's talents to make) unfolded like an elegant, padded steel flower.

With only a brief moment's hesitation - the thought of 'wait, maybe this is a bad idea' squelched by sheer willpower.

It wasn't enough to simply take the prototype. She wanted to -ruin- him. She wanted no more of these suits to exist. So, shortly after her father left, she carefully waited five minutes.

She looked outside the window. He was long gone, but he'd be back soon.

Did she really want to do this?

Reluctantly, she took the first steps, and started climbing into the suit. Nothing happened at first; maybe this was a mis-

It locked and folded around her, nervousness making her shake as the suit shifted and adjusted itself. The last internal plates moving into place felt and sounded like the shutting of a coffin lid.

It was actually.. more comfortable than she'd expected. Warm, like a glove. Not very good ventilation, though. And it supported her weight perfectly; no need to carry the weight of the armor, as it carried hers instead.

It was a surprisingly easy and simple matter to collect all the blueprints, pile them in the center of the room, and then knock over a candle.

Houses in Southbend were always so remarkably flammable.

And then?

Pick a direction, and move.

Some say old Fenossi's cursing and screaming was heard all the way over in Westport that day...