Platemail

Few women can wear skin-tight platemail, but on miniboss Shahdee here, it works.

An arrow had speared his leg, puncturing the platemail near his knee.

Platemail was too heavy and restricting, while most of the scalemail and chainmail was too rusted to move, not to mention the brown streaks it left across his skin.

He held the platemail before him and lifted his hand beneath it. A few moments later, a click reverberated from within. Almost immediately, two interlocking metal discs rotated from beneath the armor, locking into place within each circle.

Next to me is a huge warrior in battered platemail, heavy-duty stuff fashioned in the old style from black iron.

They were Reds; shields and platemail and a two-hander, Kigan knowing some heavies would test us what used only the broadsword.

The downed squid-dragon was just ahead now, the biggest one he’d ever seen just lying there in the middle of the battlefield, but between him and his quarry half a dozen Tothans had surrounded a ten-foot-tall, ox-faced wildborn laden with iron platemail, blue streamers flying from its horns.

Outside, Michael shrugged against the stiff shoulders of his jousting gambeson, opting to leave his platemail in the trunk.