Berserker's Rawhide Shoulders

Berserker's Rawhide Shoulders sit bulky and blunt on the wearer, a stubborn shield of tan leather that looks as weathered as a veteran’s memory. The hide is pebbled with the grain of years spent under sun and rain, each buckle and strap cut from the same stubborn skin. A broad, sculpted shoulder plate dips into the leather, then rises in a curve that seems to cradle muscle and wind alike. The edges are frayed in places, not ruined, just honest wear, and a thick stitch of sinew traces the seams, like a live heartbeat running along the armor. A muted brass stud glints here and there, catching light with a sly, almost amused gleam, as if to remind you that even the wildest rush of a berserker can be organized, disciplined by a craftsman’s patient hand. The leather carries a faint scent of tannins, smoke, and rain, the sort of odor that clings to campfires and telltales of long marches. If you tilt the shoulders toward the sun, the hue reveals a warmth—brown with coppery undertones—that seems to pulse with every breath you take, a texture that answers with a soft crackle when it’s flexed and worn. Beyond the practical beauty, there’s a lore thread that strings through the hide like a mark of journeys. They’re said to have been folded into the gear of a berserker who rode ahead of a ruined warband, a figure whose voice could out-shout a storm and whose blade found gaps where other arms failed. The sigil of a three-arrow motif, faint but discernible along the back, is worn smooth by countless campaigns, a quiet map of where the wearer has been and what it has survived. People speak of the Shoulders as more than leather and stitch: as a portable ledger of scars and trials, each mark a vow to stay the line even when the world is breaking apart. That is why some caravans treat them with reverence, and why others prize them for the courage they promise the next wearer to summon. In practice, those who sling Berserker's Rawhide Shoulders over their shoulders lean into a brutal rhythm. They’re part of a Berserker-leaning stat line—Power, Precision, Ferocity—gearing its owner toward relentless crits that carve through defenses and leave a trail of glorious, transient red numbers in the air. The armor whispers that the user should risk the next strike, trust the next moment, and let fury be the language through which the plan speaks. In skirmishes and duels, the shoulders don’t just protect the wearer; they amplify the tempo, encouraging a sequence of aggressive hits that can overwhelm slower defenses and force the world to bend to a sharper, louder cadence. Market day often finds this piece bouncing between campfires and trading posts, a sought-after trophy for those who chase the thrill of the crit and the pride of a well-worn legend. It’s not uncommon to hear a trader recount how a batch of these hides changed hands at the Saddlebag Exchange, where leather and legend mingle, and a silver coin or two might decide whether a warrior leaves with pride or with regret. A few silver more, a few silver less, the price depends on the glare of the sun on the brass studs and the lore tucked into the stitching. By nightfall, the Berserker's Rawhide Shoulders rest on a rack in the dim glow of a roadhouse, the wind whispering across the leather like a shared breath. They wait—not merely to armor a body, but to join a story that will echo into the next dawn, soft and hard as the hide itself.