Realistic grey plate armour tattoo with rivets and a fleur-de-lis emblem covering a man's shoulder and upper arm, shown from three angles.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Plate armour shoulder and arm sleeve

Realism · Shoulder · Black and grey · Photo

Three views of a man's shoulder and upper arm show a full armour design with layered pauldron and arm plates, rivets, and a fleur-de-lis emblem on the top plate. The shading uses smooth grey tones with dark recesses and light highlights to give the metal a three-dimensional, worn look. The images are framed side by side, with the subject's head cropped out and a plain white background.

Realism Shoulder Upper arm Armour Fleur-de-lis Rivet Sleeve Metal Emblem

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Harriet Lowe had logged eleven umbrellas, a cello and a crate of live eels at Ashby Junction, but nothing had ever made the station master go pale. The parcel came on the Tuesday night goods, canvas wrapped and wired shut, with a brown label that read ARMOUR, FOR CAPTAIN VASSEUR, NOT TO BE OPENED BY PORTERS. Mr Hale wanted it sent back. Harriet wanted to see what was inside.

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Under the oilcloth lay the plates of a single arm: a pauldron domed like an upturned bowl, a fleur-de-lis stamped at its crown, rows of rivet heads marching down overlapping lames toward a vambrace the colour of rain on slate. The consignment note came from a forge outside Dijon. It asked that the piece be kept dry and handed only to the captain, or to whoever carried the ticket stub folded inside his glove. Nobody came. Harriet kept it in the waiting room under the clock and rubbed beeswax into the steel every evening, until the grey of it turned from dull to something close to silver.

Eddie Crane, who carried the mailbags and believed in ghosts on alternate Mondays, asked her why she bothered. She told him a promise was a promise, and that she had never once in six years let a parcel go unclaimed. On the eighth Thursday a letter came instead, Dijon postmark, in a hand that shook at the loops. The captain had died in March. He had asked that the armour go to the one who had kept it dry.

Harriet read it twice, then carried the pauldron out to the platform edge where the lamplight caught the fleur-de-lis. The 9:40 came through the cutting with its whistle going, and for a moment she thought it might stop. It didn't. She stood there polishing the crown of the plate until the last carriage was a red light at the bend, and then she set it on the bench to dry.