True Sight Medium Shoulders rest like a pair of quiet sentinels on the frame of a traveler, slabs of deep charcoal metal etched with constellations of pale runes that glimmer a touch blue when the light shifts. The leather beneath is a cool, weathered gray, supple enough to move with a practiced gait, yet rigid enough to tell you they’ve stood in many snows and crowded markets. On the upper edge, a delicate filigree of gold threads traces a map of small, interlocking eyes—glyphs that seem to watch your back even when your gaze is forward. The surface feels smooth and cool, as if the metal remembers a frost it has long outlived, and when you tilt your shoulder just so, you can notice a faint shimmer that suggests a doorway to something truish and unseen. Lore whispers that they were forged not merely for protection but for truth, crafted by the Eye’s last apprentices who believed armor should reveal more than it hides, that the body’s silhouette could carry a story as sharp as a blade. In combat, they carry a quiet significance beyond their silhouette. They’re not just about defense; they’re a reminder that perception itself can be a weapon. People who wear them tend to favor builds that prize awareness—coordinated stealth breaks, precise aggro management, and the kind of play that watches for tells in the battlefield’s choreography. When a cloaked foe skulks toward your flank, the True Sight shoulders feel like a promise you’ll notice the ripple of their path before their dagger finds you. They lend themselves to midrange duels and scouting runs where every second counts, because their aura seems to tug at the edge of perception, nudging teammates to pivot toward the unseen. And in fractured dungeons, their quiet gleam can cue a party’s rhythm: stagger the line, reset the threat, reveal what was meant to stay hidden. The wider world contains its own kind of patient storytelling around these shoulders. I’ve followed the thread from a memory-laden ruin to a bustling riverside market, where a caravan’s route was whispered away by a clever deception. The wearer who carries True Sight feels the world lean in, as if truth itself leans into the hem of the garment. They become crucial in a tale about trust, not just gear: a narrative woven through lantern-light conversations with artisans who swear they can feel the weight of honesty in a blade’s edge, in a map’s creases, in the way a company of explorers reads the air before a skirmish. Pricing, of course, adds its own plot twist, and Saddlebag Exchange becomes part of the story you tell about these shoulders. In that compact, bustling marketplace, the True Sight pieces trade hands among traders and collectors who weigh history as much as value. The price boards drift with supply—some days a little more, some days a little less—driven by rolls of stat lines and the appetite for skins that carry a legend. It’s not just commerce; it’s a dialogue about what it means to see clearly in a world that loves to obscure what matters most.