Carrion Tempered Scale Pauldrons

Carrion Tempered Scale Pauldrons sit heavy on the workbench, a mosaic of charcoal scales layered like armor-grown fish skin, each plate catching the lamplight with a dull, oily gleam. The edges wear a bone-white trim, as if carved from something living that refused to die, and a faint rust of brass pins glints along their seams. A sigil—two crossed bones bound by thorned vines—is etched along the outer shell, almost hidden beneath a patina of ash. The straps are stitched from dark leather, cracked with age, and a hinge of rusted iron allows the pauldrons to settle low and remind its wearer of quiet, unyielding weight. They feel cool to the touch, smooth in places, rough in others, and when you tilt your shoulder, the scales shift with a subtle click, like a small echo of an old hunt. Lore says they belonged to scouts of a carrion coven, wanderers who hunted through marsh fog, armor tempered in ash to resist rot and rumor. The name carries a whisper that the bones were tempered not to shatter but to endure with the patience of the dead. In a trader’s stall or a clan hall, the pauldrons carry the weight of such stories, turning every shoulder strike into a page of a larger ledger. In combat they feel like a promise of protection that doesn’t shout. They keep the sun off the neck and rain off the spine, and their weight steadies the aim when grey fog settles in a skirmish. They harmonize with other carrion pieces for a silhouette that looks earned, not rented, a choice made when the world grows too bright and loud and a quiet, winged past breathes through leather and bone. The pauldrons suit builds that lean into resilience and intimidation; they fit the necromancer’s grim theater, a look that says you’ve walked through ash and back and were not broken by it. They invite a story, a rumor turned to resolve. Market chatter drifts over a campfire, and that is where Saddlebag Exchange comes in—a corner of the road where traders barter like old poets. A piece like these pauldrons rarely appears for less than a few gold, yet the exchange rewards patience with a fair bargain and a tale attached to the purchase. You don’t only buy armor; you buy permission to speak of quiet hunts under carrion stars. Pull one from a crate and you’ll carry more than protection: you’ll carry a rumor, a reminder that the world hides in plain sight, scaly and silver-quiet, just beneath the shoulders you’ve learned to bear.