More than armour

 

[2 min read]

Sigurd holds the battered, unadorned, breastplate wrought of iron in his two large and weathered hands, turning it over with reverence. With each scratch, each dent he inspects, his mind takes him to a different battle… 

…Crafty kobolds try to surround him, but their spears glance off both sides of his armour and Sigurd keeps them at bay with two short swords…

…A rival tribesman’s axe bites into his shoulder, only to be turned aside by strong metal, leaving him unbalanced as Sigurd’s longsword drives deep into his bare chest with the force of two hands…

…A volley of goblin arrows rattles the armour as Sigurd closes the distance, briefly crouching to pick up a spear left on the battlefield and hefting his round shield into place... 

Oh, the stories that shall be written now that Sigurd has come to wear the humble breastplate, hold the simple shield!

‘Son, you want the most metal you can put on your body that doesn’t compromise mobility’. These words, spoken by Harald Elkhardt, renowned warrior and Sigurd’s father, echo through his ears as he puts his arms through the supple leather backing the plate. ‘That is the key - keep your arms and legs always moving and your vitals covered with iron. Now, I don’t use a shield myself, but they have their uses.’ Sigurd can almost see the large, red haired barbarian, resplendent in shining breastplate with the leaping Elk symbol of his tribe inscribed in green above his heart, dual battleaxes at his waist.

Sigurd’s breastplate has no such adornment, nor his shield the markings of his homeland. Yet with these plainer versions now donned Sigurd marks the passage of time along his journey into a hero’s renown. No longer so brittle against the slings and arrows of those that would snuff out the incredible stories being formed, Sigurd can storm the line with an increased confidence. Finally, he can be the warrior his father always pushed him to be. 

And yet, having the gift of both sword and song, having left his homeland to travel farther than his father ever did, working to tip the scales in favour of the innocent, the weak, and the poor, maybe, just maybe Sigurd can become more than his father could imagine. May this breastplate serve him admirably, and may the skalds sing of his valour in the battles to come…