Honed Privateer Shoulders of the Lich

Honed Privateer Shoulders of the Lich lie heavy with salt-streaked patina, a hinge of iron that gleams like a lantern caught in a storm. The leather beneath is stitched with seamwork that looks braided from sinew and river-salt tanned skin, weathered to a steel-gray patina. The pauldrons curve outward, sculpted lines resembling perched albatross wings, edged with bone-white ridges that trace along the shoulder and collarbone. Runic sigils, etched in a cobalt-blue ink, wind around the rims like a tide chart, catching light and glinting when the wearer moves. A faint, eerie warmth hums from within, as if a whispering shipwreck keeps vigil inside the metal. The title, 'Lich', whispers through the laces and plates, a reminder of bargains struck between piracy and necromancy, between freedom upon the sea and the cold contract of undeath. In the right light, darker cracks seem to pulse along the bone accents, as though the shoulders breathe with the memory of long voyages and storms survived. There is a texture to them that feels almost like coral dried under a black sun: rough to the touch, yet seductive in its precision. The leather clasping the arm is stiff with waxed resin, but loose enough to move with a captain’s swashbuckling stride. When the world recedes to a quiet murmur and the lanterns skim over a quay, you sense the weight of every decision made by the privateer who wore them—how they traded prudence for risk, and how the lich-shaped balance tilted the odds. The lore stitched into the shoulders invites questions: was the lich a patrons’ friend who blessed a ship, or a creditor who exacted a living debt? The answer remains slippery, rolling with the waves, but the shoulders carry it with a dry, sardonic grace. In gameplay terms, the Honed Privateer Shoulders of the Lich offer more than spectacle. They whisper about survivability and utility, fusing a sturdy silhouette with utility stats that can empower condition builds or support roles. They grant a durability that can turn a skirmish at the helm into a controlled retreat, or fuel a push through a corridor of cultists in a dungeon. For necromancer and revenant archetypes, the shoulders become a canvas where minions and lifeforce echo in the same breath—damage taken yields a fraction redirected to restore vigor, and timing tricks around fear and control become second nature. Collectors prize them for the story they tell—about a captain who bargained with a cold intellect for passage, and about a lich who kept that bargain to keep the sea in balance. Market life hums around these pieces, and the Saddlebag Exchange is where that hum becomes a rumor you can own. A seller names a price infused with myth—then a buyer, with a glint of gold, negotiates a fair share. The shoulder’s value is memory as metal: a badge for a voyage not over, steering toward the next horizon. On some nights the sea smells copper, and the shoulders glimmer, guiding decisions toward the next storm.