Plot Armour Meaning Novels & Stories

It was large and heavy, and made entirely out of stone, just like the armor was. This was Deus Armis – the Armor of the Gods. It was a powerful King Lease that allowed one to be clad in the forces of chaos. It was one of the ultimate sources of protection. This Lease manipulated the area around to produce a set of protective gear and an offensive weapon of your choosing. Today, Mane chose a sword. Maybe tomorrow he will choose a hammer. The platform here was the raw material manipulated by the Lease in this scenario. And even more amazing was that the Lease maintained the armor’s connection to the platform, which meant that even if it was breached it would be repaired, just like the platform

The person he was speaking to was someone from the Duval family, one of the major families in Beyford. Over the past decade, the Duvals had closely collaborated with Dragoria's military. The armor sets worn by Dragoria's armored soldiers were the Duvals’ creation. Because of this, the Duvals had boldly named the armor set the Dragoria Battle Armor, of which could grant an ordinary person the combat power of a powerful fighter.

He flicked my head with his middle finger. "See? If you can't even react to a simple finger flick— then there's no way you could dodge a bullet." "If I can't dodge, then can't I guard it just like how you guard against my fist earlier? You even used the same method to guard for several times. It's like you are wearing an invisible suit of armour." "That's the 'Will of Cladding'. In my case, you could call it 'Will of Defensive Cladding', or 'Defensive Cladding' in short. Now then, try punching me again—"

Firm hands grabbed me by the arms and lifted me to my feet. Feminine hands with red nail varnish. The hands encircled my biceps and remained tightly clasped. I really had to start working out. The six female warriors towered over me. I’m not the tallest of people, but I’ve always consoled myself with at least being above average height for a woman. Not today. They were dressed in very form-fitting leather armour with shiny metal plates covering their neck and shoulders, elbows and forearms, knees and shins. Thighs were completely exposed for some reason. Seemed like an odd design choice.

The first time Lyra saw dragon battle armor in person, she finally understood why humans once feared dragons enough to write myths about them. The armor wasn’t just protective gear—it was a declaration. A warning. A promise of violence wrapped in black leather and ancient craftsmanship. And Vaelrion, standing in the bedroom fastening the dark armor along his forearms, looked like a creature carved for war. “This is unnecessary,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

It looked new and it was tailored to my taste. “This is the finest armor I had made for you. Made with the finest steel and breathable. I know you don’t like restriction. I made Gilly imbue some magically properties in the armor. It will make you faster and more precise. It can deflect attacks easily and it will protest you from any form of harm.” He said.

I had rehearsed it in the car on the way over—something clean, articulate, and quotable about the evolution of structural design and the relationship between architecture and the body. It was a good answer. It was exactly what the room expected. I heard myself say something else entirely. “I spent three years making armour,” I said. Not metaphorically. “The clothes I designed were things a woman could put on when she needed to feel impenetrable. I needed that. I think a lot of women needed that.” I paused briefly. “But I don’t need it in the same way anymore. And I think the new collection reflects that.” The buyer leaned in slightly, her interest sharpening.

I held up my spear to him signally I was ready. “Well, Alred has all of them, one arm of tribal swirls, one arm of stripes, he’s got paw prints on his back and chest. I couldn’t tell you everything he’s got but he’s got them all.” He raised a sword to challenge but I saw him slip a few daggers in his back pocket. “You?” I looked at his arms, Anju wouldn’t allow him to be shirtless but he was in a sleeveless top that tied up a quarter from the top. He had stripes, four on one arm and two on his left. They were varying thicknesses.

She pulled back just enough to look at me. “What are you planning now?” There it was. Not if. What. I took a breath. “I’m designing armor,” I said. Her brows rose. “Armor?” “Personal combat armor,” I clarified. “For the Shadows. Lightweight. Flexible. Resistant to silver, wolfsbane, spell penetration. Something that doesn’t slow them down, but doesn’t let them die easily either.” Her hand tightened in my coat. “You’re preparing for casualties.” “I’m preparing to prevent them.”

I feel like I should. The armor had a coif with a squared, t-shaped opening leaving the eyes and mouth exposed; a squared nose guard protected the nose. Attached to the top was a leather piece used to attach long, colored hairs which flowed towards the back. The shoulders were fairly rounded, broad, and relatively small in size. They were decorated with two smaller blades on each side, curved towards the backside. The upper arms were protected by squared, fully covering rerebraces which sat quite well under the shoulder plates. Vambraces wrapped the lower arms with a row of long, curved spikes on the outer sides.