Armor

Dawn crept through the narrow window of the guild room, stirring Steven and Melissa from their tangled slumber. Her three-foot cascade of silver hair draped over them, a shimmering testament to his Fleshsculpting Lvl 5, her fuller curves still pressed warm against him. She stretched, yawning with a sleepy grin. “Mornin’, Stevey,” she purred, her soulbound flirtation sparking even half-awake. “Gotta grab my new clothes today—can’t keep squeezin’ into these.” She tugged at her strained tunic, giggling. Steven nodded, sitting up. “Perfect—I’ll hit Trish’s for my armor. Let’s eat quick and go.”

They rolled out of bed, dressing in their mismatched gear—his tattered, hers comically tight—and shuffled to the dining hall. Steven slapped 2 copper on the counter, covering their breakfast: warm sea-oat porridge, thick with honey and studded with dried mistberries, paired with a slab of crusty bread slathered in salted butter. They scarfed it down, Melissa licking her spoon with a playful wink, and headed out, his pouch now at 3 gold, 6 silver, 53 copper after the meal and last night’s room.

Steven and Melissa stepped out of the guild hall into the Mistveil’s morning fog, her hand slipping into his as they veered toward the tailor’s shop first. His new armor at Trish’s could wait—Melissa’s excitement over her clothes, funded by her mage tower filing gig, bubbled over, and he wasn’t about to miss the show. “Gotta see how these fit my new self,” she teased, her three-foot silver hair swaying, her soulbound flirt dialed high. They ducked into the tailor’s—a cozy nook of wood and fabric, bolts of cloth stacked high, a wiry gnome seamstress bustling behind a counter.

Melissa handed over her payment—earned copper from dusty papers—and the seamstress ushered her to a curtained nook, tossing Steven a stool. “Sit, loverboy—she’s got a lineup to strut,” the gnome quipped, smirking. Steven grinned, settling in as Melissa vanished behind the curtain, promising a montage of her new fits. Four outfits emerged, each a showcase of her enhanced curves and leggy grace, sculpted by his Fleshsculpting Lvl 5.

1. The Daytime Dress

First came a flowing dress, a vision in seafoam green—light linen that hugged her fuller bust and flared at her hips, the hem brushing just above her knees to flaunt her three-inch height boost. Delicate embroidery of silver waves danced along the neckline, dipping low to frame her cleavage, while the sleeves tapered short, leaving her arms free. She twirled, the skirt billowing, her hair cascading like a silver waterfall. “For market strolls or just lookin’ cute,” she chirped, winking at Steven. “What d’ye think—pretty enough for ye?” He nodded, smirking—simple, elegant, a gnome goddess in daylight.

1. The Comfy Set

Next, she sauntered out in a cozy two-piece—ash-gray wool trousers, loose but tailored to hug her rounder ass, cinched with a soft leather belt dyed blue. The top was a matching tunic, long-sleeved and relaxed, draping over her chest with a subtle V-neck that teased her curves without screaming for attention. Thick-knit socks peeked from the trouser cuffs, perfect for lounging. She flopped onto a stool, hair spilling, and stretched like a cat. “This is for lazy days—comfy but still cute, right, Stevey?” she purred, kicking a leg up. Steven chuckled—casual, snug, a fit for quiet nights or lazy mornings.

1. The Combat Robes

Third came the combat robes, a practical yet striking set in deep indigo—a short-sleeved tunic that clung to her bust and flared at the waist, layered over fitted leggings that showcased her longer legs and juicier backside. Reinforced mistvine leather patches guarded her shoulders and knees, dyed to match, while a wide belt of woven cords cinched it all, pouches dangling for mage trinkets. The fabric shimmered faintly, imbued with minor arcane threading—tough, flexible, built for spell-slinging. She struck a mock battle pose, hair whipping as she grinned. “Ready to blast some fools—how’s it look, babe?” Steven whistled—functional, fierce, a mage’s armor with flair.

1. The Nighttime Seductress

Finally, she emerged in something downright sinful—crimson silk lingerie, a skimpy two-piece that left little to the imagination. The top was a halter, sheer and plunging, cupping her fuller breasts with delicate lace that barely veiled her stiff nipples, tied with thin straps around her neck and back. The bottom—a high-cut thong—clung to her hips, accentuating her rounder ass, the fabric shimmering as it caught the light, her silver hair a cascading crown to the scandal. She sauntered close, hips swaying, and leaned in, whispering, “For your eyes only, Stevey—gonna keep me up all night in this?” Her soulbound boldness burned, and Steven’s grin turned wolfish—sexy, daring, a bedroom promise.

The seamstress clapped, cackling. “Fits like a glove, eh? Ye’ve got a keeper, lad.” Melissa twirled one last time, all four outfits hers—dress, comfy set, combat robes, and that red-hot tease—each a match for her sculpted form. She gathered them in a bundle, beaming. “Armor time now, yeah?” Steven nodded.

Melissa, still buzzing from her dress-up spree, clutched her new outfits—dress, comfy set, combat robes, and that crimson tease—in a bundle as they left the tailor’s shop. With a flick of her tiny wrist, she summoned a spark of gnome magic, a faint shimmer rippling the air. The clothes vanished into a dimensional pocket, stored in some unseen fold, leaving her clad in the ash-gray comfy set—loose wool trousers hugging her rounder ass, the matching tunic draping her fuller bust, cozy socks peeking out. Her three-foot silver hair swayed as she looped an arm through Steven’s, grinning. “All tucked away—let’s grab your armor, Stevey.” He smirked, her casual fit a soft contrast to the battle-ready edge he was about to claim, and they set off for Trish’s leatherworking shop.

The bell chimed as they entered, the warm scent of tanned hides and oil greeting them. Trish’s gruff voice boomed from the back, “Hold yer horses—comin’!” She emerged, her muscular frame dusted with leather scraps, and spotted Steven. “Right on time, lad—yer armor’s ready. Step up.” She hauled a bundle from behind the counter, unfurling it with a craftsman’s pride—a battle-ready masterpiece forged from every scrap he’d given her: 2 Rabbit Fury Fur, 20 King Crab Chitin, 5 Wyrmling Scales, and 10 Small Dragon Scales.

Steven’s New Battle Armor

The shirt was a sleeveless marvel, built for his fists to fly free. The base was layered King Crab Chitin, polished to a glossy black-blue sheen—light yet unyielding, covering his chest and back in segmented plates that flexed with each breath. Over the shoulders and collar, Wyrmling Scales gleamed in overlapping rows, their green-black hue catching the light with a subtle menace, tough as steel but feather-light. The edges were trimmed with Rabbit Fury Fur, a crimson-streaked fringe that softened the look while adding a whisper of agility, stitched tight with arcane thread to bind the magic of the materials. It hugged his torso, broad shoulders bare, a brawler’s dream—protection without shackles.

The pants matched, a blend of form and fury. The bulk was rugged leather dyed midnight blue, reinforced at the thighs and shins with more King Crab Chitin plates—sleek, curved, deflecting blows while keeping his legs nimble. Small Dragon Scales studded the hips and knees, their iridescent shimmer flashing with each step, a touch of regal bite woven into the design. The Rabbit Fury Fur lined the waistband and seams, crimson threads weaving through, granting a subtle spring to his stride. Pockets—practical, deep—lined the sides, stitched with wyrmling hide for durability. The fit was snug but free, built to dodge, kick, and charge—his Saiyan Fury unchained.

Trish stepped back, arms crossed, grinning. “Chitin for the shell, scales for the edge, fur for the flex—ye’re a walkin’ storm now, lad. Try it on.” Steven shed his tattered rags, slipping into the armor—its weight settled like a second skin, light yet solid, every piece locking into place. The shirt bared his arms, fists primed; the pants hugged his legs, scales glinting as he shifted.

Melissa’s jaw dropped, her comfy-clad form freezing mid-step. “Oh, gods, Stevey,” she breathed, eyes raking him from head to toe. “You look… fuck, handsome doesn’t cut it—dangerous, sexy, like some warrior king!” She circled him, her tiny hands brushing the chitin plates, tracing the dragon scales with a giggle. “This is you—all fury and fire. I’m gonna jump you right here if Trish weren’t watchin’!” Her soulbound flirt flared, her voice dripping with awe and heat, silver hair swaying as she fanned herself. “How’m I supposed to keep my hands off ye now?”

Trish barked a laugh, slapping the counter. “Told ye it’d sing, lad—yer lass approves. Wear it proud.” Steven flexed, feeling the armor move with him—tough, sleek, a D-rank brawler’s crown forged from cave-won spoils.

https://imgur.com/a/Q76eP7Q