Berserker's Rawhide Shoulders

The Berserker's Rawhide Shoulders sit heavy on the rack, a pair of weathered leather pauldrons curved to cradle the wearer’s shoulders. The leather is sun-warmed tan, grain pronounced and tactile, each plate stitched with thick sinew and bound with rusted bronze rivets. The edges are frayed, as if the wind itself has been carving at them, and along the seam runs a narrow line of crimson dye that hints at a long-forgotten sigil. A small, stylized rune in the shape of a roaring bear is stamped into the outer face, a talisman from a tribe that chased storms and carnage with equal fervor. The inside is softer, yet the leather wears its scars: tiny bite marks from tusks of palm-size beasts, the occasional scorch from campfires, a water stain that never quite dried. Lore connections anchor the piece in a longer tale told around dim lanterns and map-strewn tables. They were forged in the workshops of the northern caravans, worn by berserkers who turned battle into a dance of momentum and fury. The rawhide is not merely armor; it’s a memory of the road—one jagged night when a convoy held the line against raiders until dawn, and a captain’s voice shouted to “keep your shoulders to the wind.” Those who wore them learned to shift weight, to roll with blows, to answer a charge with a well-timed roar. Some insist the sigil bears the mark of a real bear, others swear it’s a spirit of the mountain—either way, the shoulders carried the weight of a legend, and a whisper of danger that made enemies hesitate. In the heat of combat, these shoulders become more than protection; they are a statement. They suit builds that favor precision, vitality, and the relentless cadence of a berserker’s strike. When a hard blow lands, the leather seems to breathe, as if the runic ink awakens with adrenaline, nudging the wearer toward sharper timing, a steadier grip, a readiness to press the advantage. The design preserves mobility—the kind you need when you sprint through a chorus of arrows or pivot into a rolling barbed arc—so you can trade parry for momentum without feeling the weight of thicker plates pressing the life from your limbs. It’s armor that fights alongside you, not just around you. In the bustling lanes of the markets, the story of price threads through every whispered estimation. Saddlebag Exchange becomes the chorus line where veteran traders trade not just goods but histories. A seasoned seller might note that a pristine pair can command a handsome sum if the dye remains bright and the sigil crisp, while wear dulls the sheen and trims value. The dialogue is as much about provenance as it is about coin, and the shoulders pass from one bold bearer to the next as if handing a banner down for the next march. You can almost hear the footsteps of past owners, the creak of leather under strain, and the rush of an approving crowd. To wear them is to embrace a moment of wild continuity—a thread in a larger tapestry of road and raid. They invite the wearer to forge a personal legend, to answer the next challenge with a roar that is part myth, part memory, and entirely alive on the battlefield that remains ever-ready at the edge of Tyria.