Pencil drawing of a faceless hooded figure in layered armour with a chevron chest plate and a flowing cape, shaded in black and grey.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Hooded armoured figure in pencil

Black and grey · Flash

A pencil drawing of a hooded, armoured figure whose face is hidden in the shadow of the hood. The figure wears layered plate armour with chevron-patterned chest and belt pieces, a pendant at the collar and a draped cape. Shading is soft and graded in graphite, with strong contrast in the hood and the armour edges.

Hooded figure Armour Cape Warrior Pendant

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit closer, the fire is small and I am not shouting over it. You want the one about the smith's nephew who went up on the walls of Carrow wearing the wrong armour? Then listen, because the good part is at the end and old men lose their place.

Keep reading

The city had a fault in its north gate, and every winter the wind came through the chevron cuts of the sentry plates like a bad tongue through rotten teeth. Nobody could make a plate that would hold the cold and the blade both. So the Guildmaster sent for a hooded smith from the eastern hills, a man no one had seen lift his face, and he came up the road with a cart of iron and a black stone pendant at his throat that he would not take off, not to eat, not to sleep.

He worked forty nights in the cellar under the armoury. The coal boy swore he heard the hammer stop only to let the hood breathe. On the last night the smith laid out a breastplate layered like scales, every ridge a little arrowhead pointing down, and said, 'Wear this on the wall when the cold comes. Let no one else wear it, and do not let anyone take the stone from the collar.'

The nephew, whose name was Tobin and who never listened to anything he was told, put it on in the snow. When the raiders came over the ridge the plates sang against the arrows and turned them aside, every one. He was the only man on the wall still standing at dawn, and he felt a warm hand flat on his chest, the weight of the pendant pressing in like a question. When he went down to return the armour, the anvil was cold and the hood lay folded on the stool, empty as a dropped glove. The cuirass was still on him, and the stone had settled into the hollow of his own throat, and it was warm, and it was waiting for the next winter.