Berserker's Rawhide Mask

A rough-hewn mask of rawhide lies on a weathered wooden table: tan and grainy, the leather pressed tight over a shallow, bone-thin face, eye slits like dark seeds, and a snarling mouth cut at a jagged angle that seems to grin even when untouched. The edges are frayed, the stitching thick and uneven, as if a dozen hands contributed to its making long ago. A single horn-shaped spur of bone is set at the temple, secured with copper rivets that catch candlelight and throw a warm reflection across the room. The whole piece carries the scent of smoke-dried hides and campfire ash, a scent that whispers of long nights spent watching for predators and rivals in the brush. People swear the mask carries the memory of whoever wore it first—the hunter who returned with trophies and a vow to walk the edge between mercy and wrath. In that sense, the Berserker's Rawhide Mask is less an ornament and more a story worn on the face. In the markets and camps along the caravan routes, it is not just its look that makes the mask sought after. It marks a wearer who is no stranger to close combat, to the moment when you must rely on instinct as much as any plan. Game rules aside, the piece functions as a lead-in to a persona: a front-line presence that makes traders and rivals alike pause, wondering what storms you have survived to stand there with that dry, weathered grin. You see, the Berserker's Rawhide Mask is part of a larger lineage—the old style of berserker gear crafted for those who fight with raw nerve and rawhide, who lean into ferocity rather than finesse. Worn with a hood, or beneath a heavier helm, it completes a look that says you have faced down a pack of wolves and chose to live, to press forward, to do whatever it takes to win. Players who choose it do so not just for fashion but for an identity—an emblem that tells allies and rivals that the wearer believes in the savage, primal advantage even when the odds are thin. In battles and skirmishes it acts as a signal as much as protection, catching an enemy's eye and inviting them to test the myth. The value of such a piece drifts with rumor and demand, often shifting in the crowded stalls of Saddlebag Exchange where traders tweet about scarcity and price. A well-connected broker might offer a rare deal, a few gold depending on season and condition, while a wanderer with the right luck could walk away with a bargain that feels like luck and fate in one. It is exactly that blend—memory, myth, and market—that keeps the Berserker's Rawhide Mask alive, a relic that fights as much as its wearer, a relic that looks back through the ages and whispers: keep going. Some wearers keep it years, polishing the patina, letting memories of battles mingle with leather until the mask feels like part of them.