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~ The phoenix strode through the bustling tent city, occasionally consulting his paper orders to verify the location of the armory he'd been assigned. He was interrupted by a soldier who recognized his working robes as those of a priest of the Sacred Foundry, offering his rifle out to the priest.

~ "Sir, please bless my rifle. I'll best trusting my life to it, today.", requested the badger in halfway donned leather armor. The priest coughed nervously; the rifle was within the scope of his domain, but he really didn't want to draw the attention of the gods to where he was or what he was doing today. Stammering something of a noncommital reply about being in a rush and consulting his directions, the firebird broke off and moved with more vigor towards the armory while confusion stalled the badger.

~ With the assistance of his papers of orders, Priest Garmeny was successfully directed to the tailor who would fit him with armor. She greeted him with a wide smile and the charm that mustelids known for. If she recognized the working robes, she didn't comment on them. The priest was thankful the question wasn't raised, lacking any good answer to even himself.

~ "You're the firebug they found for the task, eh? You'll need to wear these as the innermost layer; let me get some measurements before you become properly naked. I'll get the pieces while you change." She tossed what looked to be a set of white pajamas onto the nearby bench. The otter didn't give him any opening for questions, continuing her directions while her paws became a flurry of movement and measurements. "Don't smell them, don't lick them, don't eat them, and take a cold shower as soon as possible after getting out of them. The fabric's no good for your lungs, but it'll be better than the risk of setting your armor on fire from the inside." The bird shuddered at the thought.

~ Before Priest Garmeny could inquire further about the risks and benefits of asbestos underwear, the hurried tailor had vanished off towards a stockroom leaving him alone in the small room excepting for the image of a priest reflecting in the mirror. It wasn't long after he'd figured out the buttons and straps of the undergarment that the otter returned with bundles of armor pieces. The bird noticed the prominent ears on the helm, with a bit of confusion.

~ "It's gryphons' armor. Ya'll both have beaks and wings, and you should fit one of the lankier sizes. Just ignore the ear spots, and it should hang about you pretty well. Most folks've got armor to their race, but we don't have many...", she cut herself off, realizing what she was about to say.

~ Before the invasion there hadn't been many phoenixes who weren't sworn to pacifism with the Sacred Foundry, and those that weren't had their numbers decimated in the early weeks of the bloodied retreat against the invaders' advance. Once the invaders figured out how to reckognize them in the field, pyromancers and basilisks had both gained the dubious honor of being targets of priority. The basilisks answered to this challenge by with a defiant scream, copious rage, and increasingly durable armor. The phoenixes were built of frailer frames than could shoulder such armor, and the utility of passion alone was swiftly reflected in the casualty reports.

~ The priest failed to catch on her gaff, his attention focused on the tailor's paws strapping armor up about his legs and waist. He finally had the opportunity to question, the otter having shamed herself to a moment of silence. He gave into a curiosity, "These plates look familiar. Isn't this the stuff we copied from the invaders? I worked for months on unraveling it.." He trailed off as she nodded, calling up to him, "Yeah. Amazing stuff, they've got. I'm glad we're getting a handle on their toys, and making enough to return bring the party back to them."

~ They both nervously chuckled, as the phoenix regarded himself in the mirror. His legs were entirely shrouded in strange fabric and polymer panels, his torso being fitted with the frame that the rest of the armor would attach to. Between himself, the tailor, and the reflection, there seemed to be fewer priests in the small room at this point. He wondered how many would be left by the time he donned the helm.