Strong Rawhide Shoulders

Strong Rawhide Shoulders rest on the counter like a stubborn vow, thick panels of tan leather layered over stout padding, billeted together with coarse sinew and rivets that gleam with the patience of a hundred dawns. The surface is a tapestry of scars: a line of scratches where a knife once skid along the hide, the occasional bead of oil darkening the grain, and a seam that runs a steady, confident mile across each plate. The leather bears the memory of its quarry—a sturdy beast from the caravan routes—tamed by cutter’s hands and treated with an old oil that keeps sap and salt from cracking the hide. In lamplight the buckles glint like stubborn beads of brass, and the layered plates ride with a quiet weight, as if to remind any passerby that protection can be a companion, not a distraction. Their silhouette speaks of mobility: broad enough to shoulder a pack, narrow enough to swing a blade, with edges rounded smooth from years of use and a sheen that hints at routine maintenance rather than show. Lore does not always clothe a thing in grand myth, yet these shoulders carry their own small story. Caravaneers once swore by them, claiming the leather’s toughness came from storms faced on the plains where the wind rips in off the sea and settlements would huddle behind a caravan’s shield. Some say a hunter from the Mists tempered the hides, whispering that the thicker skin gives a better spark of resilience against bone-deep arrows and the jagged bite of wind. They are not decorations but companions; they are worn when the road grows rough, when a ranger climbs ridge trails or a pack mule strains under a heavier load. In battle they do their job, fending off thudding blows to the shoulders and offering a faint cushion for the weight of gear, a small mercy in the grind of endurance. In the marketplace a Strong Rawhide Shoulders can be a steady ally for someone chasing a balanced build: light enough to keep speed, sturdy enough to endure, and compatible with a leatherworker’s craft that can weave in minor runes or infuse with clean vitality. The Saddlebag Exchange, a busy aisle where merchants lay out hides, belts, and bracers, often shows them with a price that reflects both texture and tale. It’s not extravagant; perhaps a modest gold or two, depending on temper and demand, but the true value lies in the miles they’ve seen—someone who climbs a gully to reach a caravan’s last mile, or the guard who steadies a load across a rutted road. For the one who wears them, the shoulders become a quiet agreement: I will endure, I will move, I will carry you forward. Sometimes a buyer asks about repairs—how many times the seams have held, whether the oil has kept the leather supple—and I tell them the truth: strength is earned in the wear, not promised in a shine. When a road choice is hard, these shoulders answer with steady support.