Exhausting The Smithies

The forges were silent for the first time in weeks, there was no hammer clanging, no shouts of pain as white hot metal touched tender flesh, no crashing piles of metal being stocked into carts. The master smiths lay exhausted, some were slouched on the stone table, one was face down in a bowl of porridge. Their faces were black with soot and burned from the heat.
They had worked for three weeks solid to complete the suits of armour for Olgar's personal guard.
Suits of scale mail crafted from a gold alloy and interwoven with the white cloths that symbolised their status as official guardians of King of the Shieldbreaker clan. They were afforded a position of honour within the clan, but it was a position earned by fighting manically in battle to protect the king. Olgar had requested these new suits to make the warriors more officient. They could use their helmets too devistating effect by headbutting opponents. With the undead's tendancy too lunge for necks the helmets were a logical introduction. They marvelled as one at the glimmering suits of armour.
How long before they were tested in battle...