Wolfram looked at his mother... and other mothers, they had always been... understanding, accepting even. It seemed their nurturing had lead up to this day. Wolfram's armor quite fit his preferred tactic. It was quite simply enormous. Segmented plate over chainmail, and padding on the inside for the sake of comfort. It was a perfect fit. Not that he was expecting otherwise. There really wasn't much else to say about the armor other than its sheer bulk. Wolfram had never really cared about looking fashionable on the battlefield. As long as equipment fulfilled its function, he couldn't care less if it looked like Giblet designed it after smoking a loaf of elven tobacco.

The accompanying weapon was where he couldn't hide his enthusiasm anymore. "Adequate", he simply said as he compared the new weapon to his old one. Though it had sentimental value, there was no denying the old hunk of metal he had forged on a whim one day was of rather inferior quality. He had always held on to it however, as to not concede his inferior smithing skills to his siblings. He now threw the hammer to some nearby minions. "Return to room!" He said curtly. The new hammer was a work of art. Its head was made of pure tungsten. A metal that the dwarves had recently confirmed to in fact really exist. The handle was ergonomically sized for maximium efficiency in maiming. Again, the aesthetic design looked utilitarian and standardized, but he wouldn't have it any other way.