Carrion Cabalist Shoulders of the Pack

Carrion Cabalist Shoulders of the Pack press close to the skin, ebony bone plates trimmed with ragged black leather and stitched sigils that catch the light like dried ink. A raven’s head, carved in meticulous relief, guards the outer edge, its beak curving over the shoulder seam. The texture is cool and subtly rough, as if the armor remembers wind from tombs and rain on graveyard paths; the interior smells faintly of resin and spice, a reminder of caravans that trade in relics rather than rumor. The chest behind it bears a copper insignia—two intertwined skulls bound by a chain—that whispers of a covenant among scavengers who walk the line between life and the things that linger after. Legends tie this piece to a roving cabalist’s pack, a caravan of carrion-luring traps and ritualists who traveled from ruined shrine to ruined shrine, gathering forgotten wards and wares. The shoulders are said to hold the memory of those journeys—the way the wearer’s presence unsettles scavengers and draws a spectral pack of carrion birds to hover at the edge of vision, warding off would-be thieves and drawing attention away from allies. In the deepest catacombs and the sun-scorched routes between trading posts, the artifact is rumored to hum with a patient hunger, as if every step carries a promise to carry something else home. In gameplay, the Carrion Cabalist Shoulders of the Pack feel like a talisman that belongs to a larger story. They suit necromancer and necromancer-themed builds, where the aesthetic of bones and bargains resonates with the class’s themes, but they also stand as a fashion statement for those who chase a mood rather than a metagame edge. The shoulders are crafted to complement gear with a bone-and-leather motif, and their subtle glow marks them as a relic tied to a caravan’s wanderings. When you wear them, you notice the way enemies react—some pause, as if catching scent of a distant tomb, while allies feel steadier in exchange for the sense that a watcher lurks just out of sight. The piece isn’t just armor; it’s a passport to a narrative about scavenging, memory, and the slow, stubborn road between ruin and renewal. On the market, price threads through every conversation like a rope of dried sinew. I met a trader who spoke of Saddlebag Exchange as if it were a harbor for relics, not merely a stall. There, a set like this might hover around a couple of gold, depending on the season and the stories attached to it. The richer days push it toward three or four gold, especially when the sigils are bright and the carpenter’s work holds its edge. And so the Carrion Cabalist shoulders travel on those stories, carried by a trader’s breath and the knowledge that a single piece can steer a caravan’s fate—how we barter life from the past, and how the past keeps pace with us in the next sunlit march. May their echoes guide new travelers toward mercy, caution, and curiosity.