Rabid Tempered Scale Greaves of the Revenant catch the lamplight and seem to breathe in the glow, a cascade of scales hammered into jointed plates that move with the wearer's stride. Their surface glints with a coppery iridescence, as if a sunrise were trapped under metal and refused to stay still. Each scale is etched with a curling rune that only awakens when the foot lands, sending a ripple of light along the edge like a sparking ember. The leather backing is dark as a bruise, stitched tightly with threads that look almost organic, as if the greaves had grown their own saddle of restraint. They carry a warmth that isn’t from heat but memory—the sense of a hunt shared with a revenant, a pact sealed in the echo of a heartbeat long after the chase ends. The lore tucked into those runes isn’t loud, but it’s definite: the Rabid Tempered Scale Greaves were forged in a place where ferocity and discipline meet, tempered by ritual and the patient hands of smiths who understood the Revenant’s law—to rage only at the right moment, to unleash a storm while keeping the weather inside your bones. Some say the rabid energy within those scales was drawn from a hunter’s vow, a pact that binds a fragment of the beast’s ferocity to a weapon-wielding watcher who learns to read the wind in a single stance. Others recall stories of totems being brushed with the same copper glow, as if the greaves themselves could channel a shadow of the Beast's gaze. Touch them and you feel not just weight, but a quiet, urging warning: move, strike, endure. In the arena of battle, these greaves feel like a second weather system—a constant reminder that the Revenant’s power is not a single skill but a conversation between form and purpose. Wear them and your impact becomes more deliberate; your strikes carry a little more conviction, your endurance holds its line a fraction longer, and the rhythm of your legendary return seems to glide rather than break. They’re the kind of gear that makes a frontliner smile through the burn of a coin-flayed skirmish, because the armor seems to anticipate you: when you switch legends, the scales hum softly, guiding your presence into the next great move. It’s not merely protection; it’s a partner that amplifies the storyteller’s cadence—the way you weave into a teamfight, the way you hold a doorway open for teammates as you answer the next roar with a measured, deadly grace. Prices drift through the markets like travelers’ tales, and the smoothest whispers drift toward the Saddlebag Exchange, where traders haggle under canvas that sighs with every caravan halt. If you listen to the chatter, you’ll hear that the greaves are coveted not just for their power but for the way they fit into a larger tapestry—the way a Revenant can turn a moment of vulnerability into a calculated arc of fury. A seller might offer a bundle, or a patient buyer will barter with runes and gilts of coin, the kind of exchange that makes the greaves feel less like armor and more like a ledger entry of battles fought and promises kept. When you finally seal the trade, the greaves settle into your kit with a familiar weight, and the road ahead seems to bend toward a reckoning only you and the Rabid Tempered Scale Greaves can translate.