"If I die I will die well dressed."
— Major Jean Villeneuve, The Patriot (2000)
Phaeron Sylphek awoke consumed by an obsession with the stars themselves, announcing to his bemused court he wished to drape himself in their molten glory. To placate their lord, the Crypteks of the Nephrekh crafted him a living-gold skin – a gift he has shared with his followers so that they might embody the glory of the triple suns of Nephrekh as they do battle.
— Warhammer 40,000: Codex - Necrons
Gone were the battle-trophies and tokens of honour they’d worn the day before; they’d stripped their armour bare and smudged the gleaming surfaces with dirt and soot to minimise any telltale glint that could give their position away.
— The Space Wolves subverting this trope to prepare an ambush, "Wolf At The Door"
Even from afar, his lord father was resplendent. Tywin Lannister's battle armor put his son Jaime's gilded suit to shame. His greatcloak was sewn from countless layers of cloth-of-gold, so heavy that it barely stirred even when he charged, so large that its drape covered most of his stallion's hindquarters when he took the saddle. No ordinary clasp would suffice for such a weight, so the greatcloak was held in place by a matched pair of miniature lionesses crouching on his shoulders, as if poised to spring. Their mate, a male with a magnificent mane, reclined atop Lord Tywin's greathelm, one paw raking the air as he roared. All three lions were wrought in gold, with ruby eyes. His armor was heavy steel plate, enameled in a dark crimson, greaves and gauntlets inlaid with ornate gold scrollwork. His rondels were golden sunbursts, all his fastenings were gilded, and the red steel was burnished to such a high sheen that it shone like fire in the light of the rising sun.
—A Game of Thrones, Chapter 62
Its head was crowned with two horizontal wing-like crests, pale and ivory, and below them at its temples hung a pair of golden rings. It was a helmet, Formora noted. Not a head. The vizor glinted in the sunlight, nearly indescribable, but the moment it turned and caught shadows she saw it was carved of a glassy substance like amethyst. The body of the creature was swathed in a fine set of robes, white and gold, and strange horn-growths emerged from its shoulder like runaway armoured plates. Jewels, too numerous to count, hung from the bottom of its robes like so many shiny baubles, more amethysts to dot its rich frame, and its faulds covered the sight of its legs, though Formora spied a pair of dark boots capped at the end in yet more gold. One boot, at least, was outfitted with a sharp golden spur. Of its hands it wore some sort of gloves or gauntlets, each index finger clad in a steely claw ornament, and along its forearms another pair of horn crests cradled a blue gem each, with both precious rocks skewered through with slim needles. Its robes, she saw as it briefly turned back to stare at the massive thing it had left behind, resembled moreso a long jacket than anything else but only if sung from a blend of silver steel and delicate silk. It was open at the front to reveal a darker undershirt. It wore loosely from one shoulder a large dark greatcoat that half hid its lustrous sheen, mantled around the shoulders and neck with what appeared to be a pelt of soft fur.
