Harrier's Medium Monastery Shoulderpads

Harrier's Medium Monastery Shoulderpads rest on a shelf like a relic from a cliff-side temple: darkened plates of alloyed steel hammered into a silhouette of wings, edges braided with brass filigree that catch the sun in quick, bright pinpricks. A deep sepia leather lining the inside feels supple yet steadfast, and the faint resin-and-parchment scent of old workshops clings to them as if the past itself still breathes there. On each outer pauldron, a harrier is carved in relief, wings spread in wind-worn grace, the feathers catching light and throwing tiny shadows with every measured turn of the head. The shoulder caps curve outward just enough to sit free of the neck and collarbone, a design that favors quick draw and broad, unhindered swings. This isn’t armor that shouts; it speaks in the measured tone of a scout who has learned to move with the world, not against it. Locals say the Harriers were the monastery’s eyes along the coast—rangers who braved squalls, traced weather scars, and read the lay of the wind as if it were a living map. So the Shoulderpads carry that memory: the harrier’s steady gaze perched over cliff and cove, the leather folding and unfolding like a coastline memo, the sense that weight can be tempered by balance rather than brute force. In the order’s lore, armor is not merely protection but a pledge to move with purpose—no wasted motion, no hesitation in the shadowed corridors of a night raid or a dawn patrol. In practical terms, these shoulders sit in that generous middle ground between steadfast defense and nimble mobility. They don’t lock you into a single stance; the plates are contoured to let your arms swing for a bow or a sword without a clang of metal against metal. For builds that favor speed and precision, they’re a natural complement to lighter chests and agile boots, letting you weave bursts of offense with careful retreats. Depending on your chosen path, rarities or infusions tailor the package—Power and Precision, Vitality, or equivalent stat lines—so you can align the piece with a hunter’s patient aim or a scout’s relentless pace. The market around this item hums with a living, salty cadence. A trader at a crowded harbor stall might lay Harrier's shoulderpads next to scrolls and wax-sealed crates, saying little beyond the rhythm of trade and tide. If you ask about price, he offers a tag that drifts with demand, then nods toward Saddlebag Exchange—the kind of place where a good find becomes a memory you carry as much as gear. Prices drift with the wind of reputation and season, sometimes a few copper, sometimes a small gold, but what matters most is the sensation that you’re not just buying armor—you’re stepping into a history you can wear. By dusk, the Harrier's shouldRes—no, the shoulders settle with a quiet confidence, as if the wind itself approves your path. They are more than metal and leather; they are a chapter in a larger story—the monastery’s discipline, a hunter’s patience, a traveler’s stubborn hope. To wear them is to walk with a margin of calm, ready to deflect what comes and rise toward what you aim.