Request from Obsidianashes
I hope this isn't a bit much~
"Glory to the bearer of the ivory mantle, the aegis of the Geirwoltt. Glory to the scarlet feather, and all who rode the eight march."
These words lie written in small, steady script across the enamel shell of Sir Aziran's breastplate. The plates of armor layer upon each other like scales over a snake's hide, gleaming in alternating shades of ivory and crimson. The phoenix bears it well, and light cascades off of the suit in prismatic waterfalls, drawing attention away from the avian's already regal form. The armor is that of a templar, a leader, who thousands would follow to war.
But the gleam of the armor hides its scars. Thousands may have followed this knight to war, but the subtle cracks in the carapace and blunted gouges where deadly strikes were turned aside hint that a much smaller number followed him home. The phoenix's hide shares the same grizzled story; in amongst the striking red and ashen plumage hide thin scars and old wounds, grown white with age. Topping his head is a helm of angles and curves, fit for a knight of the order, but worn and experienced like its bearer.
The phoenix's movements are taut and finely controlled, and even when at rest, he's only a few seconds from battle-ready. Veteran of too many battles, Sir Aziran is the epitome of the knightly order's strong arm. Sadly, from his humorless grin and notched sword, it looks like you may need to look for a different knight for compassion and mercy.
"Glory to the bearer of the ivory mantle, the aegis of the Geirwoltt. Glory to the scarlet feather, and all who rode the eight march."
These words lie written in small, steady script across the enamel shell of Sir Aziran's breastplate. The plates of armor layer upon each other like scales over a snake's hide, gleaming in alternating shades of ivory and crimson. The phoenix bears it well, and light cascades off of the suit in prismatic waterfalls, drawing attention away from the avian's already regal form. The armor is that of a templar, a leader, who thousands would follow to war.
But the gleam of the armor hides its scars. Thousands may have followed this knight to war, but the subtle cracks in the carapace and blunted gouges where deadly strikes were turned aside hint that a much smaller number followed him home. The phoenix's hide shares the same grizzled story; in amongst the striking red and ashen plumage hide thin scars and old wounds, grown white with age. Topping his head is a helm of angles and curves, fit for a knight of the order, but worn and experienced like its bearer.
The phoenix's movements are taut and finely controlled, and even when at rest, he's only a few seconds from battle-ready. Veteran of too many battles, Sir Aziran is the epitome of the knightly order's strong arm. Sadly, from his humorless grin and notched sword, it looks like you may need to look for a different knight for compassion and mercy.