Photorealistic tattoo of a warrior's face partly hidden by a battered bronze helmet, with a blue eye, on an upper arm.

Realistic warrior face in a helmet on an upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A photorealistic warrior's face sits beneath a weathered bronze helmet, with one blue eye staring forward and a second eye visible at the left edge. The shading moves from warm ochre and rust in the skin to dark, near-black recesses in the helmet, giving the metal a worn, dented texture. The design fills the upper arm, with the helmet's edges framing the eyes and wrapping around the curve of the limb.

Realism Upper arm Warrior Helmet Face Eye Armour

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Tuesday, and the rain has finally stopped, so I'm writing this on the tailgate with clay to my elbows. Gary wanted to ring the coroner the minute the spade rang off something round. It was only a helmet, face down under a foot of wet ground in the bottom corner of Hobb's Ley, and it's in better nick than anything I've pulled out of that field in eleven years.

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I spent the evening cleaning it with a soft brush and a bowl of warm water, the way my nan used to do the good silver. The bronze has gone the colour of old pennies and dark as tea where the dents are. There's a thumb-sized hollow above the left cheek guard and a crack down the crest holder that someone must have stood on. Inside the brow, scratched so faintly I had to tilt it to the lamp, are three letters and a little cross. I've been staring at them for an hour, trying to decide whether they're a name or a prayer.

Dr Ferris from the county museum rang this afternoon, very polite, asking me to keep my voice down and not to touch the cheek guards again. He said the eye openings were cut wider than a fighting man would want, so the thing was made to be looked at as much as worn. He said it like it was a compliment to me, which I suppose it was.

I haven't told Gary where it's kept. It sits on the windowsill facing the lane, both eye holes turned out towards the gate. Last night I woke at three, sure something had moved, and went down in my socks to check. It was only the wind, and the helmet, still watching the road.