Thin Shoulderguard Padding

Thin Shoulderguard Padding sits on the counter with the quietness of a well-kept linen, a slender strip of pale hide fused to a pale-tan fabric backing. Its surface carries a whisper of grain, as if a minute map of the road, with a seam along the outer edge that looks hand-stitched with ivory thread. The padding’s color is a soft, oatmeal beige that catches rainlight and makes the armor beneath it feel almost lighter than air. If you brush your finger along the edge, you can feel a subtle give, a memory of the trip from caravan trail to smithy, of boots thudding the earth, of an arm raised to shield a comrade’s shoulder from a blade. Across town, a veteran leatherworker swore this padding came from the era when protection pooled with mobility. It’s not a heavy thing, not a plate or a shield, but a thoughtful layer that glides where the body moves. It’s built for the scout who crouches behind stone, the courier who skims the edge of a skirmish, the guard who must twist into a doorway and still keep watch. In the breath of its fibers lives a lore that a caravan guard once wore a similar piece under their pauldron as they rode toward a dawn market, the padding absorbing the jounce of leather saddles and the sting of gloved fists alike. The tale endures in the stories the brokers trade at the edge of the city, where the leather smell lingers over maps and coins. In gameplay terms, Thin Shoulderguard Padding is a pocket of light resilience. It won’t stop a greatsword blow, but it dampens the sharpness of a blade’s edge and cushions the blow when someone misreads a shoulder as a target. It makes a difference in long runs, in skirmishes where a party sweeps through a market alley under the weight of heat and fear. For a medium-heavy class, it offers a quiet confidence: you can weave, duck, and parry with a little extra cushion that doesn’t weigh you down. In a raid, it’s the balance between freedom and protection—a piece you layer under a jacket or mail, so your movement remains fluid while you still carry something to deflect glancing hits. Market whispers tell a story, too. In the Saddlebag Exchange, a stack of these pads might fetch around two to three silvers, depending on condition and the knot of brass on the stitching. People haggle in the open, counting coin, stories, and the distance traveled to find that exact piece that will complement a kit and a memory. When you wear it, there’s a sense that you’re not just protecting a shoulder; you’re carrying a fragment of a road worn by traders, guards, and dreamers, a small layer of history pressed into pale leather. Each wearer adds a node to its story—scuff marks, a faint stain, a nickname scratched into the inner lining—turning a simple padding into a living bookmark of journeys past and those yet to come.