Berserker's Seer Coat of the Afflicted

Berserker's Seer Coat of the Afflicted clings to the peg like a rumor made of hide and thread, its leather slick with rain and age, the surface scraped with a lattice of crimson sigils that catch the light as you move. From the hood's shadow to the cuff's edge, it wears the weight of a dozen stories: marrow-white plates along the shoulders, runes etched in a tremulous hand, a lining of deep burgundy that smells faintly of iron and resin. People speak of the Afflicted seers who once wore it, wandering between plague houses and battlefields, trading whispered glimpses of what might be coming for those who would march into the storm. Now the coat drapes over a warrior who chooses fury over caution, the seams humming when a strike lands, as if the berserker's rage has found a way to bend the future into a single, crushing moment. In gameplay terms, the coat is less about subtlety and more about momentum. Players who chase a high-damage, high-risk build reach for its promise: a surge of ferocity that spikes at the moment of impact, a sense that every parry becomes an omen, every crit a prophecy fulfilled. Like any relic worn in a dangerous city, it exacts a price—voices in the lining that crowd the breath and a temptation to ignore defense in favor of a brighter, louder finish. Legends say the Afflicted were stalked by a sport of plague and prophecy, a century of misfortune etched into its seams, and those who wear it are seen by neighbors not only as fighters but as bearers of hard truth. Within dungeons, raids, and even the more casual soaring hunts, this coat marks its wearer as someone who will not back down, who has learned to dance with chaos rather than merely endure it. Players prize its blend of style and force, and its presence can tilt social encounters in a party’s favor, a walking omen that refuses to be ignored. Market lore gently tugs at its sleeve too. In the bustle of the city, a trader leans close to a faded ledger, whispering that a pristine Berserker's Seer Coat of the Afflicted can still fetch a price that makes the bravest blink—roughly two gold, a few silver, and perhaps a trade for a rare sigil. Nearby, the Saddlebag Exchange displays its own page for the item, a link that glows when the sun hits the row of tents just so, and you hear the soft chink of coins as a buyer bargains for a dream. For some, the listing is a dare: buy the coat and step into a world where prophecy meets impulse, where your next decision might ripple through a crowd of onlookers as if you were swinging a pocketful of future. Others choose patience, weighing the risk of wearing a relic that bites back against the thrill of roaring into the fray. Somewhere beyond the crowd, a bell tolls and the coat slides back into the shadows, waiting for the next boots to echo down sunlit streets.