Berserker's Banded Pauldrons of Infiltration

Berserker's Banded Pauldrons of Infiltration gleam under a sputtering tavern lantern, two broad curved plates layered with iron bands that cinch tight against the shoulder and slide with a whisper of steel on leather. The surface is a chessboard of hammered textures—rough bands catching the light, smoother crescents filing the edges, each rivet a small, patient heartbeat. A carved lupine crest runs along the rim, half-burnished to a coppery glow, while beneath the outer plate the underside bears a darker, almost velvet smoothness where the leather lining cradles the joint. They feel heavy with history, as if every clash of steel long ago carved a memory into the metal, a memory that wants to be told only in close quarters and loud, reckless laughter. The lore that clings to them is not purely practical. They were forged for a berserker who learned to move through chaos with the precision of a thief, a rare hybrid in a city that hates both noise and stillness alike. Artisans whispered that a Veiled Ward member had taught the wearer to harness breath and balance, a trick to mask the thunder of footsteps as battles roared around the flank. So the pauldrons carry more than weight; they carry covenant and rumor—the idea that power can travel in a stealthy shadow as well as in a roar. The crest on the rim, though worn smooth by time, still lingers with the suggestion of eyes that never blink, a reminder that infiltration is not merely about entering a room but about leaving a room unseen with your purpose intact. In combat they function like a partner who understands both the need to stand tall and the urge to slip away at the right moment. The weight anchors you when you shoulder into a line, the bands bite down with a reassuring clack, and the skin beneath breathes stubbornly against the chill of steel. In the right build they translate raw berserker fury into controlled, surgical pressure, allowing a frontline punch to carry you forward while the stealthy edge of a plan slips into play. Infiltration, as their name suggests, is not just a flourish of color but a philosophy: you break through to do your damage and disappear before anyone can answer back. Along the riverfront, a traveler once told me that market days at Saddlebag Exchange can turn a single piece of armor into a doorway. The seller weighed these pauldrons on a dented brass scale, eyeing the glow of the runes as if reading a weathered map. They offered them for roughly twenty-eight gold, with a weathered note that a handful of rare hides or a well-kept map could tilt the price in your favor. It wasn’t a hard bargain, just a conversation in which value shifted with the mood of the crowd and the stories you carried. I watched the fingers of the buyer drum a tentative rhythm against the side of the counter, and the deal shifted again—an exchange of past battles for new chances, with the pauldrons resting like a pulse between two lives. If you cradle them in your hands, you feel the world they inhabit—a place where courage and cunning must walk shoulder to shoulder, where a loud roar and a quiet step can be equally necessary, and where gear is as much a narrative as it is a tool of war. The Berserker's Banded Pauldrons of Infiltration are not simply armor; they are the hinge on which a story turns, the moment a warrior considers not just how hard to strike, but where and when to disappear.