Berserker's Tempered Scale Gauntlets

Berserker's Tempered Scale Gauntlets gleam under the market lanterns, a pair of hands forged in conflict and kept in ceremonial oil. The outer layer is a mosaic of interlocking scales—iron-blue plates with coppery edges that catch the light like fish scales in a river. Each plate is slightly curved to cradle the knuckles, so the wearer can punch through shields with less risk of pinching a joint. The inner lining is dark, worn leather, softened by years of soldering heat, with a whisper of dragonhide stitched along the wrist for warmth and grip. The gauntlets carry a quiet, almost perilous aura, as if they learned to grin at danger during their making. Lore says they were tempered in a forge that sits near a long-forgotten cliff when a berserker clan faced a retreating host. They say the scales hold memories of galloping marches and the crack of horns, a ward against fear and fatigue. When you slide them on, the world seems to tilt a little toward your favor. The weight settles into a rhythm: you feel the build-up of power in your wrists, the air crackling at the knuckles as runes etched along the forearm flare faintly. In practical terms, the gauntlets push your prowess toward decisive, brutal strikes—grants Power and Ferocity, nudging your critical hits higher and your timing keener. They aren’t the sort of armor you wear into a parade; they are meant for skirmishes where a single, well-placed blow can change the tide, for duels where restraint fades and the body remembers old street fights, for the last push before a siege tower topples. The texture alone—cold scales rubbing against gauntlet leather as you adjust your grip— is enough to remind a wearer that this is not mere hardware. It is a talisman of aggression refined to steel. Markets across the civilized hubs carry such relics, traded by merchants who know the stories as well as the weight of the coin. I watched a caravan broker negotiate with a stall at Saddlebag Exchange, where a worn tag hung from a leather cord, the price scribbled in a hurried hand. The tag read something like “Berserker’s Tempered Scale Gauntlets—Power, Ferocity, and a dash of dragon-warmth.” The brass-bounded words and the glint in the seller’s eye told me the same thing the hammer and strike tell: value here is not just metal, but momentum. A buyer would walk away with a chest full of glittering potential, ready to be poured into a next battle or a hard-earned victory dance. By dusk, the gauntlets feel less like armor and more like a page in an ongoing saga—the kind you wear on your hands as you walk toward a horizon where the next adversary stands, already listening for the telltale sound of tempered scales and the hungry certainty of a berserker’s heart. For a collector, it is a bridge between memory and muscle, inviting the wearer to test limits at a gate, where stories breathe and battles hinge on one twitch.