Carrion Privateer Shoulders of the Citadel

Carrion Privateer Shoulders of the Citadel rest on a workman's mannequin like a weathered treasure pulled from a ship’s hold, and the moment you glimpse them you feel the sea in their grain. The plates are bone-white and subtly curved, as if carved from old barnacles and whale bone, with a lacquer glaze that catches lamplight in tinder-bright flashes. Leather straps thread through iron buckles, saddle-stitching along the edges where salt and sun have eaten away the gloss, leaving a matte patina that hints at long voyages and longer storms. A pennant fragment—tattered red with a black sigil—is stitched into the shoulder seam, a quiet reminder of plundered flags and the privateer’s code: claim what you can, keep what you must, and never forget the weight of the cargo you shoulder. The edges bear shallow scratches like a ship’s rails after a night-white wake, and the whole piece seems to hum with the memory of a hundred decks creaking in unison. In price and in presence, these shoulders announce themselves in markets and taverns alike. They’re not simply armor; they’re a story worn on the shoulder, a cache of salvage and stubborn pride. When you walk into a harbor stall and lift the lid on a chest of gleaming hides and muffled jingles from coin purses, the Carrion Privateer Shoulders of the Citadel glow with a particular rumor: a rumor that they once kept a captain alive long enough to see dawn through a rain of crossbow bolts, a rumor that the Citadel’s privateers valued them not for flash but for the steady trust they inspired when every quarter-minute counted. The texture—rough leather, cool bone, and iron that ages with a patient, stubborn gleam—tells a buyer you’ve seen the prow of a storm and kept your nerve. Gameplay wise, the shoulders turn that story into endurance. They are the kind of piece that suits a balance-minded strategist who wants steadier survivability without surrendering a hint of agility. They invite builds that lean on condition damage and subtler, weaving strikes rather than brute force, rewarding the wearer who treats each skirmish as a page in a larger chronicle. You feel the world respond when you move: the weight shift of the armor aligns with the cadence of a long voyage, the momentary pressure making you hyper-aware of every breath, every heartbeat, every misstep. It’s not merely protection; it’s a talisman for the quiet crossings—the long dusk between sea spray and lantern light, when a decision can tilt a tide. And so the Carrion Privateer Shoulders of the Citadel weave into a broader lore of salvage and settlement. Their presence in a procession tells locals and travelers that there are still cargoes worth fighting for, still maps worth drawing in salt-streaked ink. In the market, the price can rise and fall with the tides, and the Saddlebag Exchange keeps a careful ledger of each shift in value, offering a compass for those who chase the story of a single piece of armor as it travels between boats, stalls, and campfires. To wear them is to carry a line of dialogue with the world—a whispered exchange with the sea, the Citadel, and every privateer who learned to read the weather and the future in the same breath.