Rampager's Privateer Shoulders of the Citadel catch the light with a salt-kissed gleam, leather dark as weathered hulls, and copper threads that flash with every movement. The pauldrons rise like two miniature bow-ribs, embossed with a tide-washed pattern that curls at the edges, as if the sea itself had pressed its fingers into the metal. Brass studs glint along the seams, and a faint, varnished grain runs through the leather, telling of long voyages and rain-soaked nights. The Citadel sigil—two crossed anchors bound by a thorned rope—caps the shoulder cap in a stern, maritime crown, a mark that says this piece was earned in harbor skirmishes and quiet bargains beneath lantern light. When you run your hand along the surface, you can feel the grit of spray and the smoothness of a well-tended helm, a texture that remembers both deck creaks and battlefield clangor. Lore threads these shoulders into a larger tide of memory. They’re said to have belonged to a privateer who kept the Citadel’s lane steady against smugglers and storm-worsened convoys, one eye on the horizon and the other on the treeline of rumor. The Citadel itself sits like a beacon above the harbor, a fortress that watched over the swallows of ships and the schemers who traded favors in smoky taverns. So the armor isn’t just protection; it’s a ledger of debt and privilege, a statement that the bearer rides the line between order and opportunism. Wear it, and you’re carrying a slice of that history—a reminder that every raid or barter has its own price and pool of witnesses. In terms of gameplay, Rampager's Privateer Shoulders of the Citadel anchor a ferocious, momentum-driven approach. The Rampager line emphasizes aggressive, fast hits, with a stat line that favors Power and Precision, and a touch of Ferocity to ensure those crits land with a telltale crack. On a front-line bruiser, the shoulders push you toward decisive engages—charge, bite, crest the enemy’s line, then pivot to the next target before the echo of your last swing fades. For skirmishers and roamers, the piece supplies the silhouette and the tempo that teams remember when the momentum shifts. The look—the broad leather frame with brass gleam—makes the wearer feel lit by a harbor lantern: audacious, a touch reckless, but unwaveringly present in the moment. Prices drift through the market like tidewater, and that current is where Saddlebag Exchange comes into the tale. The exchanges and whispers around Saddlebag Exchange shape what collectors and players are willing to pay, trading hands between dusk and dawn as new statlines bubble up and old favorites retreat. A buyer may discover a listing that feels fair, or a seller may pull a premium for a pristine, lore-rich piece that bears the Citadel’s emblem as if it were a stubborn badge of honor. The price isn’t static, but the story persists: a privateer’s shoulder, weathered by wind and work, still narrates its voyage with every shift of armor and every shared critique over a merchant stall’s glow. I clasp the shoulders and feel the harbor in my chest—the clamor of ships, the creak of rope, the cold kiss of salt on skin—and I understand why this piece endures: it was forged to bear legends, and it does so with every stride, every memory of a captain’s bargain under lanterns and stars.