Colour tattoo of a gold Roman centurion helmet with a red crest and the numeral XI, with the words THE LAST CENTURION arched above it, on an upper arm.

Roman centurion helmet with lettering on upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

A shaded gold and bronze Roman centurion helmet with a bright red crest sits on the upper arm, with the numeral XI engraved on the cheek plate. The black serif words THE LAST CENTURION arc across the top of the design. The helmet is rendered with soft highlights and shadows, and the warm red and gold tones contrast with the black outlines and lettering.

Realism Lettering Upper arm Helmet Crest Roman numeral Armour

Find an artist for this

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

Dear Maggie, the bus from Carlisle got in an hour late, so I have been sitting on a bench under the clock at Crewe with a paper cup of tea going cold, watching the pigeons work out which crisp packet is worth fighting over. You will laugh, but I keep thinking about what Sergeant Ruddock said the week before we shipped out. Eleven men in a century, he said, and the one with the number on his helmet is the one who has to count them home. I thought it was just a thing sergeants say. The lads at the depot had it painted on the wall of the mess hut with a brush that was mostly bristle.

Keep reading

The train to Shrewsbury was called for platform four, and a young porter with a bandaged thumb read the names out off a clipboard as though they were the names of saints. When he got to mine he looked up at my shoulder, where the sleeve had ridden up, and said nothing at all, which was kind of him. I had got the helmet done in the spring, gold gone warm like old brass, the crest red as a postbox, the words arcing over the top in letters that looked like they had been cut into a gravestone. My mother hated it. My dad, who never says much, asked the artist whether the plume would fade, and I think that was his way of saying he wanted it to last.

So here is what I have decided. I am going to walk up the lane to the house this afternoon, and I am going to knock, and when Dad answers I am going to take my jacket off in the porch and let him see it. Then we can argue about whose century was whose. The train is coming in now, Maggie. I can hear the bell. Tell Mum I have the kettle on the list.