[ WP ] - Something has been tailor made just for you , bring us through the moment and emotions experienced when you receive your completely custom item .

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 `` Kovnik Surov!'' 
 
 Alexsandr Surov, recently reassigned from the Khador's Navy to its land forces walked briskly towards the source of the shouted greeting. The city of Korsk was the capital of the newly proclaimed Khadoran Empire, a testament to the fortitude and ingenuity of its people. The city of over eight hundred thousand men and women thrummed with life, from the noisy train platforms where massive locomotives hissed great clouds of steam to the packed market squares where a dizzying amount of goods were available for sale or barter. The tall spires of the Menite temples and Morrowan cathedrals seemed to punch through the very sky, as did the various palaces and government buildings scattered throughout the city. Steamjacks lumbered about their duties, overseen by their jack marshals who shouted commands to their charge's primitive mechanikal minds. 
 
 `` Kovnik Surov, good day!'' The voice belonged to a man in his early thirties, maybe five or six years old than the Khadoran officer. He wore a mechanik's uniform, the beige coveralls stained with grease and lubricant. A number of tools were shoved into various pockets, pair of welding goggles slung round his neck. 
 
 Alexsandr Surov inclined his head in greeting. 
 
 `` Senior Foreman Ivan Vostovich I presume?'' He held out his hand and the other man took it, liberally coating it with grease. Surov did n't mind; he had filthier hands working the tar soaked ropes of the warships in the Khadoran Navy. 
 
 `` Yes, that's me.'' The other man said smiling. `` I imagine you want to see what we cooked up for you.'' 
 
 Surov returned the smile. `` Please, lead the way Komrade.'' 
 
 The pair of men walked through the busy marshaling yards of the Rigevnya Complex. The largest of its kind, it was the headquarters of the Khadoran Mechaniks Assembly and the center for almost all modern marvels of the nation. It was said that a warjack came off its assembly lines every six hours, a number unmatched except in the southern nation of Cygnar's finest factories. Massive overhead cranes moved plates of armor or bundles of heavy pistons about the facility on great lengths of chain, guided by the expert hands of the workers. The din of welding and machine presses was extraordinary, rivaling the thunderous roar of a ship of the line's broadside. From the walkway that overlooked the sprawling assembly lines Senior Foreman Vostovich grinned. 
 
 `` Impressive is n't it?'' 
 
 Surov nodded. 
 
 `` Very. In Port Vladovar they're working on new iron hulls. But this? This is... something else.'' 
 
 Some twenty minutes later, how far this complex went! They came to a quieter portion of the facility, where the roar of the massive furnaces and presses were a distant noise. Men and women sat hunched over drafting tables, fine pencils in hand along with various slide rules and templates. The large potbelly stove set in the middle of the space kept things a comfortable temperature. 
 
 The foreman motioned Surov into a large room with a door to an outside yard, a dark green curtain blocking off view to a corner of the space. Surov inclined his head towards the hidden area. 
 
 `` I assume that is it?'' 
 
 `` Yes it is, Kovnik Surov.'' The mechanik walked over to the curtain, grease stained fingers wrapping around one of the edges. `` I present to you, your warcaster armor!'' 
 
 He yanked back the curtains to reveal a set of armor that was perfectly tailored to fit Alexsandr Surov. He had the measurements taken whilst learning to harness his innate magical gifts with the Greylords Covenant. The plates were painted a deep Khadoran red, trimmed with naval black. The shoulders were embossed with the symbol of Khador as well as his rank, a series of plates covered the vulnerable groin. Surov smiled at the sight, running callused hand across it smooth surface, taking in the single brass and steel smoke stack that projected from his back mounted steampack. 
 
 `` It's a wonder of modern mechanika. Using designs taken from Ordic warcaster armor we managed to make it able to be submersed in water for up to five minutes; the coal feed boiler using pressurized air which is resupplied automatically through the arcane turbine. It also allows you to breath underwater for that same amount of time, forming a small pocket of air around you. It's a first for Khador, built specifically for the kinds of operations High Kommand is likely to assign to you.'' Vostovich said. 
 
 Surov nodded absently, noticing how the collar of the armor dipped further than usual for armor. As if reading his mind the mechanik answered for him. 
 
 `` I understand you naval infantry are proud of your *telnyashkas. *'' He pointed at the thin horizontal black and white striped shirt the kovnik wore beneath his black peacoat. `` What better way to show your foe who you truly are?'' 
 
 Surov turned and seized a hold of the mechanik, hugging him like a fearsome cave bear. 
 
 `` It's perfect, Komrade Vostovich! Thank you, a thousand thank you's! May I try it out right now?'' 
 
 `` Of course, sir. Trust me, the enemy will learn to fear this armor and the man wearing it even more.''
