Short Story - Crafted Armor
"With a mace in one hand, and a shield in the other"
Provided by @spalatino
Image courtesy of @rocking-dave
It was common practice for people of his kind to craft their own armors and weapons. Not because of their social status, but simply because they enjoyed wearing armor they made themselves. There was something special about it that nobody could describe with words.
George was one of such men. He was a carpenter by profession – which definitely helped – but his true love was craftsmanship.
Every day after work he would go to his workshop and work. Sometimes as late as three in the morning, sometimes even through the entire night. He was dedicated to do it on time, so he wouldn't need to wear something generic or his last year's creation.
His vision of the armor was different than what the others would wear. George enjoyed being different. Standing out in the crowd. He enjoyed people approaching him and complimenting his work, and he also made sure to compliment them back if they had created something magnificent themselves.
Some armors he had seen over the years were jaw-dropping, but completely unfunctional. It was obvious those people could never win, nor did they. Crafting your own weapons and armor meant more than just flashing its beauty, it needed also be functional, else all was in vain.
When the time came for George to take the bus, he was nearly finished with his project. The last of the details of his armor he painted over the bus stops – he couldn't have done it while driving because of the shaking – but he managed to get it done. He put it on at the next bus stop and took a good look of the others on the bus, checking out their armors. None of them had worn anything special – same plain market bought armor.
The moment they arrived and George left the bus, he kept checking out the crowds of men and women alike, scouting for what armor they crafted this year. Many approached him and complimented him on his works. It was the best day of his life – same as every year.
The compliments of strangers and his old buddies alike filled him with the confidence he needed to step on stage and perform.
With a mace in one hand and a shield in the other, no other contestant even stood a chance. George had won the comic con competition with ease.
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