Ravaging Country Coat wraps you in weather-stained wool, a field-battered shield against wind and rain. The fabric is a thick, earth-toned braid—faded chestnut, slate, and burlap—woven with a stubborn stiffness that refuses to sag after long journeys. A high collar stands like a sentry, braced against sleet, and the edges are scuffed where boots and brambles have worn away the finish. Leather patches anchor the elbows; small brass rivets glint when sunlight pierces the gloom. The hem bears a spiderweb of mends—copper-thinned thread and patched cloth—that hint at storms weathered and lanes traveled. The coat carries a weight that fits a traveler’s silhouette: not flashy, but honest, as if it learned your pace and matched it stride for stride. I've heard local storytellers whisper about its origin: stitched in the back rooms of rural smithies where caravans paused to trade stories as much as goods. Some say the coat was sewn from salvaged banners and weathered saddles, a uniform for those who roamed the borderlands, living between towns and tolls. In hushed taverns, the coat is linked to the Ravagers—rumors that the design-coded long ago carried the mark of a band that raided but rarely kept to one place. Whether it's a romantic lie or pragmatic myth, the Ravaging Country Coat carries the rumor of travel: it invites you to keep moving, to respect the road and fear nothing that comes from it. From a gameplay angle, the coat is less about fortitude and more about identity. It is a sturdy chest-piece skin that transforms the look of heavier gear without altering your core stats, a camouflage you can tailor to the mood of the day—dusty road, rain-slick cobbles, or a sun-bleached noon. It pleases the eye of the collector and the practical mind of the scavenger who appreciates a garment that pockets a map, a token, a note. In events that crop up along the road, a coat like this becomes a symbol of credibility: the kind of gear that tells companions you’ve walked through storms and come out with your boots intact. It’s not merely armor; it is a travelogue you wear. Pricing, of course, shifts with the market’s mood. In the bustle of Saddlebag Exchange, where traders flip hides and hems as easily as coins, a Ravaging Country Coat can move between whispers and shouts. A well-worn but clean example finds a welcome hand for a few coins, while rarer variants—scarce threads, pristine patches—get priced like weathered relics. A buyer will haggle over the patchwork history, while a seller will point to the coat’s quiet resilience, its capacity to weather new storms as it has weathered old ones. Whether you seek a story to tell on the road or a look that says you’ve already survived more than a few chapters, the Ravaging Country Coat remains a companion. It is a garment that wears you as much as you wear it, a relic of lanes less traveled that somehow keeps pace with your next mile today.