Ravaging Reinforced Scale Gauntlets of the Citadel

Ravaging Reinforced Scale Gauntlets of the Citadel catch the light in a slow, deliberate shimmer, their surface a mosaic of overlapping scales—each plate hammered to a mirrored edge, the color a deep storm-gray that seems to drink the glow from nearby lamps. The leather beneath is stitched in long, confident lines, tanned until it breathes with heat and effort. Brass rivets pin the segments in place, and a small rune-hammered crest sits on the backhand, the Citadel’s eagle bound in a ring of flame. The texture is a paradox: the scales feel cool at first touch, then warm as the wearer’s pulse tugs at the metal, as if the armor remembers every fight it has witnessed. When you slide the gloves on, they click into motion with a weight that is part anchor, part invitation, as though the Citadel itself were taking a measured breath through your wrists. The surfaces carry faint micro-scar patterns, a map of battles survived, edges softened by time and the careful hands of smiths who learned to listen to iron. If you turn them over in your talon-like grip, you feel the story more than you hear it—the relic-bound promise that the Citadel fought to protect, and that the wearer must now keep intact. Legend tells of wardens who tempered these scales with the patience of siege engines, of dawns when the fortress stood at the edge of ruin and the gauntlets refused to yield. Some say the plates are forged from relic drake-skin, others whisper that they were patched with oath-braid and the resinous scent of triumph. Either way, the Gauntlets carry a weight beyond metal: they’re a pledge that a single enclosing fist can shield a fellow fighter, can pry a dangerous moment open long enough for a plan to be set in motion. In gameplay, they feel like a hinge between offense and defense, a tool for fighters who want to press the moment without breaking their guard. The reinforced scales reduce the sting of brutal blows and give the wearer a steadier grip on the world, letting you channel momentum into decisive strikes and clean parries. They pair well with builds that rely on close-quarters momentum, where every block feeds a follow-up, every parry opens a window for a crushing counter. They also suit those who carry a shield into the fray, because the gauntlets’ mass and texture help the shield-arm settle into a rhythm that feels almost prescient, as if the Citadel’s discipline flows through the wearer’s knuckles. Markets meet these relics with a wary enthusiasm that mirrors the road between memory and demand. At Saddlebag Exchange, I watched a pair change hands with the glide of rumor and weathered coins—the price rising in a swell of talk about recent sieges, then softening when a new batch of stories drifted in from the far reaches of the map. A healthy deal would fetch a fair handful of gold pieces, enough to tempt a collector and still leave a trader with a wary smile. The buy-sell dance is part of the gauntlets’ life, a reminder that relics in this world are never merely metal and leather; they are chapters that travelers wear, the wayfarer’s oath stitched into every step.