Berserker's Apprentice Coat

Berserker's Apprentice Coat lies across a market stall, a vivid slice of crimson leather among the muted browns of everyday gear. The surface is matte but alive, grainy to the touch, with a stubborn warmth that tells you it has weathered rain and wind without snapping. The front is trimmed with blunt black stitches, and a modest row of brass hooks waits to catch a belt. The collar curls inward, lined with a thin peltry-like fuzz that speaks of bitter mornings and the need to keep the neck safe from frost. Along the inner lining a faint sigil winds like a secret map, barely visible unless the light falls just right. The coat carries the weight of stories—the stamp of the Berserker's school on the leather, the memory of a trainee's quick footwork, the moment of decision when a novice learns that armor can be a teacher as much as a shield. It has the tug of a tool and the resilience of a companion, as if it knows your pace and keeps the rhythm of your breath. In lore, the Apprentice Coat is said to have been worn by a promising recruit at Emberwatch, a place where the sound of metal rings through the halls and every drill ends with a whispered vow to press forward. Legends insist the coat carries a spark of the first true strike—the moment a student realizes that courage isn't loud, it's persistent. The coat is more than fabric; it's a signal that a story is about to be written with each fight, with every chase through alleyways and along cliff edges, where the wind seems to judge your choice of path. In gameplay terms, the coat stands as a bridge between training and triumph. It provides the wearer's Power and Ferocity tendencies, letting a skirmisher lean into offense without surrendering all defense. It moves with you, its weight a steady reminder that speed and momentum come from balance as much as from raw force. When paired with the Berserker's broader gear set, the Apprentice Coat helps characters push into high-damage windows, trading a touch of resilience for a sharper, more punishing stride. It feels like the skin of a mentor—a garment that teaches you through action, not lectures. Market stories weave into this as well. At Saddlebag Exchange, a stallkeeper will seldom part with it easily—the red gleam draws more than a few eyes. The price tag is a small scroll, sometimes two gold and fifty silver, sometimes a touch higher or lower depending on demand, season, and who tells the tale of its provenance. A traveler might haggle, listening for the yarns of Emberwatch, the memory of a narrow escape, the way the sigil in the lining seems to glow with the steadiness of purpose. In the end, what you pay is half the story, and what you gain is a companion ready to shoulder the next storm with you. It lingers in memory like heat on skin after a fierce fight.