Carrion Sneakthief Shoulderguards of the Flock

Carrion Sneakthief Shoulderguards of the Flock hang from the rack like a weathered omen: dark plates etched with pale, bone-white filigree, leather so worn and salt-stung it feels like a memory you can wear. The edges are scalloped in a way that catches every glint of light, as if the armor itself keeps a flock of whispers inside—feather-soft trim fluttering when you move, even in the quietest rooms. The texture is a hunter’s memory on your shoulders: firm, lacquered leather that gives just a breath under pressure, with rivets that bite into the skin in a reminder that protection here is earned, not granted. If you lean in close, you can swear you smell carrion and rain—the scent of long nights spent stalking a target, of footprints tracked and retracted at the last possible moment. The lore carved into the steel speaks in a half-forgotten dialect, the Flock’s sigils looping along the vambraces and catching the light as if wings were about to unfold. It is said these shoulders were sewn from the hides of scavengers who served as silent guards to a thieves’ chorus—ornamental, yes, but deadly in the right hands, a reminder that even a careful thief is never truly alone when a flock has your back. In practice, the Shoulderguards feel like a hinge between two lives—the one you live in daylight, and the one you slip into when the room narrows and eyes turn to you as a shadow of a plan. They sit light on the frame, allowing for the quick, practiced motions that a Sneakthief spirit demands, yet they offer a crisp, protective bite to the shoulder that keeps you from tipping into crow-stealing bravado. Wearers report a certain poise—the sense that your silhouette thins just enough to blur at the edges of a sentry’s gaze, while your own steps become quieter, almost gliding, as though the Flock itself is feathering the path you take. The shoulders don’t transform you into a reckless hunter; they sharpen the angles, turning a cautious approach into a surgical, almost ritual feint. They are armor for a story, a chapter in which a thief learns to listen to the room and to the pulse of a guarded chest. Market winds blur and braid around such pieces, and this is where the locals weave price and myth together. In the busy aisles of the market, I watched a trader hover over the tag, tracing the sigils with a fingertip, narrating the history of the Flock as if it were a receipt and a confession at once. Word spreads that the Carrion Sneakthief Shoulderguards of the Flock carry not just protection but a reputation—the kind that makes fellow traders lean in and test the air for opportunity. The Saddlebag Exchange, that rolling, restless bazaar of stories and barter, is the perfect stage for this drama: a rarity like these shoulders doesn’t merely change hands; it passes from one person’s memory into another’s, the price shifting with each whispered tale of heists a century old, or so it seems, until a buyer pockets both steel and lore. So the Shoulderguards remain not simply a piece of gear but a keepsake you wear as you step through rooms that remember every footfall. They carry a vow of vigilance, a nod to the Flock, and a promise that even the boldest plan begins with a surface that looks unassuming—a quiet shoulder, ready to catch the world’s turning, one calculated beat at a time.