Honed Scale Gauntlets

Honed Scale Gauntlets catch the late afternoon sun as I lean in to study them. The scales are carved into interlocking plates, each a leaf-shape of obsidian-green metal with a whisper of copper patina. They sit on the wrist like a second carapace, the knuckles armored with thicker slats that gleam with a honeyed burnished gloss. The inner lining is a deep red leather, soft as new hide but firm as a shield, comfortable enough to wear through hours of careful work or brutal skirmish. Runes run along the cuff, tiny amber sigils that pulse faintly when held near a fire, as if waiting for a story to be told aloud. I've heard the smith's tale: forged from the scales of an elder dragon that once haunted a river valley; the craftsman kept the creature's memory in the metal, tempering instead of breaking its will. Those who wore them after, say, the chieftain who led her people through a winter siege, could feel the battlefield's echo in every swing. Not merely armor; in the right hands they become a kind of instrument, a way to hear the rhythm of a fight before the crowd does. In actual play they shift the balance: the plates bite into the air and grant steadiness to a feint; the fingers stay agile, enabling swift parries and precise grabs on a weapon hilt, while the reinforced knuckles add some extra grunt to a hammer strike. They pair well with builds that prize control—guarding stance, WvW skirmishes, or a hunter's fast, close-quarters swordwork. Wearers report a slightly heavier wrist in the first minutes, then a sense that the body remembers the weight, and the gauntlets become an ally. On a day when the market smells of rain and oil, I drift into Saddlebag Exchange, where crates are stacked like stories and every vendor has a tale to trade as well as gear. A gauntlet might be priced modestly—two, three, or four gold for a refined specimen—or perhaps more if a sigil glints in the sun. The waiting crowds haggle in low voices, the way merchants do when a trusted buyer arrives with an eye for a bargain. I see a dealer trade a pair for a package of rare leather and a faded map; the scent of copper and wax fills the air. It's not just commerce; it's storytelling: these gauntlets pass from one traveler to the next, each adding a paragraph to their own legend. The price is a whisper and a handshake, a tally of risk and memory. Someone will walk into Saddlebag Exchange and claim them for courage, or for prestige. Either way, the Honed Scale Gauntlets will outlast the moment they are worn, weathering the praise and the glare of battles to come. Its story keeps growing.