Rampager's Reinforced Scale Coat of the Flock

Rampager's Reinforced Scale Coat of the Flock gleams under the market lantern, its surface a mosaic of dark emerald scales set in brass filigree. Each plate overlaps like a row of careful fish scales, catching the light with a quiet, armor-grade shimmer. The leather behind it is thick and sun-worn, knotted with copper rivets, and the collar is stitched with a woven sigil that resembles a flock of winged birds taking flight. The texture carries a memory of heat and dust, of feet trampling through long grass, and you can almost hear the soft clink of scales answering the rhythm of a rider’s step. The whole thing wears its lore—crafted, some say, by a tailor who rode with the Flock, a band of scouts who traded protection between caravans and ruined temples. In the stories that linger in the stalls, the Flock was not merely a label but a promise: that a shield could keep pace with a rider, that feathers and scales could be more than ornament. So the Reinforced Scale Coat is more than armor; it’s a token, a vow that a wearer can run through palisade-fire and still have breath to spare for rallying allies. Worn by those who cheat luck and rush into fray, it carries the weight of charge and chase—the sense that danger comes on the wing, and you must be ready to meet it halfway. In combat, the plates give you a stinging bite against slashing blades while remaining supple enough to slide between gaps, allowing quick maneuvers for those who lean into their rampaging nature. It’s a piece that suits bruiser-builds, a rare bridge between raw offense and a weathered, road-tested resilience. Market day here, the talk bends toward commerce as much as history. The Saddlebag Exchange has a reputation for carrying the tangible past of these coats—priced not just for their metalwork, but for the memory they carry. The tag on one such coat often reads like a short letter: rare, well-preserved, and ready to meet a new road. A veteran buyer might barter from the shadows, tapping the counter with a fingertip and naming a price that slides between trade-in goods and hard coin. The clerks, with ink-stained fingers, record it all—the wear, the patchwork repairs, the little marks that show where a hunter’s belt clipped the side or where a caravan guard tied a strap to keep it from snagging on a thorn. I overheard a buyer tell the clerk at Saddlebag Exchange that the coat felt like “carrying a flock’s memory on your shoulders”—and perhaps that is precisely what makes it so persuasive, a narrative armor as much as a protective layer. Some days, you find the coat still singing with the stories of its previous owner; other days, it waits for a rider who can listen to the creak of leather and the whisper of scales and hear the next chapter begin. It remains a companion and a test, waiting for the right rider to stitch its next legend.