Carrion Privateer Shoulders

Carrion Privateer Shoulders sit on the rack like a weathered flag ripped free from a ship’s halyard, a mantle of salt-streaked leather and bone. The leather is panned a deep, storm-slate brown, cracked in a few places where salt spray gnawed at it, and the stitching is a stubborn silver thread that catches the lamplight as you move. Along the outer curve, bone accents curve upward in a jagged pattern, each piece carved by the hand of a scavenger who learned to sea-sail with a knife and a weather eye. The edges are scalloped with a dry, almost papery texture that rustles softly when you bend, as if the garment keeps a whispered log of every tide it’s felt against. It isn’t pristine; it wears the sea’s memory like a second skin. Lore surrounding the piece speaks in hushed tones of a privateer crew that turned roguish, preying on ships that thought themselves untouchable, trading in death for currency and rumor. Some say the shoulders carry the last breath of a captain who never learned to surrender his crew’s scavenged fortune; others insist the bone-work wards off the worst of storm and skulkers, a talisman born from a world where mercy is a rare commodity. In the world, the Carrion Privateer Shoulders aren’t merely armor; they’re a narrative you wear into battle and into the cavernous markets where stories are traded as eagerly as weapons. The texture and silhouette—the broad, sculpted shoulders over a slim torso—give you the look of someone who’s seen a dozen port towns and left a dozen more in their wake. In combat, the piece reads like a signal that you’re not rushing into danger so much as inviting it to tell you its name. The leather’s weight anchors you, while the bone ornamentation—bone rivets, a short rib of blackened ivory—turns every head you pass in the suddenly quiet streets of a harbor. Players who favor fast, kinetic builds often choose it for the way it frames a skirmish as a swashbuckler’s dance, a balance between risk and reward, with the shoulders acting as a reminder that every strike comes with a story. Pricing, of course, remains a practical thread woven into this myth. In the dim corners of trade, a hunter might boast of a privateer’s haul, but many bargain-seekers walk the lanes of Saddlebag Exchange, where merchants and collectors haggle amidst the clatter of coin and map parchment. There, a Carrion Privateer Shoulders can trade hands for a price that ebbs with demand—sometimes a neat sum in gold, sometimes a trade for other relics of the sea or a favor owed. The Exchange isn’t merely a market; it’s a ledger of voyages, and the price of the shoulders reflects not just their beauty but the weight of the stories attached to them. A buyer might walk away with more than a piece of armor—perhaps a whispered invitation to join a convoy’s next run, or a vouch that a rumor about a sunken brigantine’s cargo will finally see the light of day. So you wear them and walk, shoulder to shoulder with the sea’s memory, letting the leather and bone recount a life spent chasing horizons and ferrying the fragile dreams of those who still believe a ship’s bell can call a new beginning.