Berserker's Rawhide Vest

Berserker's Rawhide Vest sits on the wooden hook of a market stall like a promise waiting to be earned. The leather is thick and sun-bleached, the grain standing up in bold ridges, as if the hide itself had just survived a fierce storm. Brass rivets glint along the shoulders, and a red thread runs in a jagged line across the front, as if the wearer had stitched in a heartbeat of courage after every clash. The back bears a faded sigil—the roar of a bear pressed into the leather by some nomad craftsman long ago—so the vest feels less mass-produced and more weathered storytelling, as if its seams remember every charge, every retreat, every narrow escape. Touch it and you feel the texture breathe: the outer hide remains cool to the palm, while an inner quilted layer offers a smidge of warmth on dawn patrols. It is light enough to keep hips from feeling tethered on a sprint, sturdy enough to deflect a stray blade or a stubborn spear. The cut sits close, designed to layer under a heavier coat or drape comfortably over a tunic during those long mercenary campaigns. It is not a suit of plate, nor an ornate trophy; it is a working garment for someone who moves first and asks questions later. Lore threads weave through its creation. The Berserker’s Rawhide Vest is said to have been forged by leatherworkers who rode beside a guild of frontline skirmishers, men and women who trusted nothing but instinct and a steady, charging rhythm. Each wearer added a scratch of their own, a patch or a mark, until the red seam could be read as a map of their boldest charges. Some tell of a village guard who wore it through a siege, the bear sigil on the back. Gameplay-wise, the vest is a choice for those who chase aggression rather than guile. It carries offense-leaning stats that favor Power and Precision, with Ferocity that glints when a critical strike lands. The trade-off is durability: you sacrifice a bit of vitality for mobility and burst. Players often pair it with weapons that reward bold, rapid engagements—the greatsword, the spear, the short bow—trusting that the leather will carry them through the first, furious moment of any encounter. In the world, it’s the kind of garment a traveling captain might lend to a promising recruit, or a seasoned scout might trade for information gathered in a border camp. On a sun-dried afternoon I wandered past Saddlebag Exchange, a stall famed for leather and salvage. The clerk handled a stack of vests with careful respect, noting that a Berserker's Rawhide—well cared for—could fetch a solid price, often around twenty-five silver, depending on wear. The market’s pulse softened the edges of that number. I left with a sense that this garment is more than fabric; it’s a passport to a story that began long before the road meets the gates, and will ride on after the last blade is sheathed.