Strong Shield

Strong Shield rests in the palm like a harbor of metal — a broad, sun-warmed disk of tempered steel, its edge beveled and scored by decades of skirmishes. The face wears a dull, brushed gleam in concentric circles that catch light and return it with stubborn patience. A brass boss sits at the center, scarred from blows, and around it the emblem—a lion's head overlaid with a winged sigil that hints at oath and peril. Runes along the rim are rough, chalked maps and hurried repairs. Leather straps wrap the grip, dyed once forest green but now faded to walnut. When you lift it, the weight settles like a promise kept, and you can tell this shield has stood in sun and rain long enough to feel like a piece of the world itself. This shield carries memory. Some histories claim dragon-scale tempering, but most buyers know it as a steadfast defender. In battle it acts as a barrier and morale boost: blocks buy time and deny the enemy a quick strike. It pairs with the right skills to create a shield wall that moves as one. Market talk softens the edge of its myth. A market vendor might say it is common enough to help a recruit, yet prized by veterans who patch it back to life after raids. I checked the Saddlebag Exchange, a caravan market where prices drift with weather and demand. Worn examples fetch steady coin; pristine ones command more, especially if the crest is lacquered and the grip remains supple. The price, as with any old protector, is a story in itself—what it has survived, what it has saved, and who has used it to stand firm when the ground beneath cracked. At a market dawn I watched a craftsman reset a dent at the boss with measured taps, the leather's grain smoothing under oil until the grip felt alive again. The shield’s patina softens its legend, catching the light and inviting a story to begin. A veteran I met swore the Strong Shield once saved a banner-bearer when a cliff path gave way, the line bending but holding because the disk could drink the hail of arrows long enough for the march to press forward. In those breaths between clang and clatter, it becomes more than iron and rivets; it is a pledge. The market hums around it, traders inspecting the crest and bargaining with practiced nods. On the Saddlebag Exchange the listing shimmers or dulls with condition, dye, and initials of the smith; prices drift with weather and demand, and a bold bid can turn a night’s risk into a relief for a hard-earned purse. The Strong Shield endures because someone chose to stand their ground.