Berserker's Medium Antique Coat lies across a wooden market rack, its charcoal wool tightened at the shoulders and loosening at the elbows where wind has carved lines into the fabric. The leather panels along the sleeves bear the gloss of years, each seam a story, each buckle a small clang of memory. Brass studs along the epaulets catch the light like tiny suns in a cratered sky, while the collar—a folded surge of dark fur—peers out from beneath a weathered hood hook. When it shifts, the coat reveals a blood-red silk lining, faded and rubbed thin in places, as if a dozen hands have brushed past, admiring the craftsmanship yet unwilling to claim it fully as theirs. It is a garment that seems to hum with a soft, almost audible history—the weight of campaigns, the itch of a long march, the hush of a quiet vow whispered in the rain. The texture feels deliberate: tough wool that breathes just enough for a sweaty skirmish, leather worn smooth by grappling with gear and the grip of a tempered sword. The stitching is resilient, a latticework of patience that hints at the hands of a master tailor who knew where a man’s strength should meet a garment’s give. In the glow of lanterns, the coat’s surface carries faint scorch marks and a map of tiny nicks, like a battlefield topography pressed into fabric. Lore insists it was woven or repaired by Berserker kin—fighters who traded rage for precision and carried the emblem of their oath in the coat’s very seams. Some say a sigil once burned into the lining—a defensive rune, perhaps—now only a ghost of light when the sun hits the thread just right. In gameplay, the Berserker’s Medium Antique Coat is a portal to a particular design of combat. It bears Power, Precision, and Ferocity—the signature trio of a front-facing, crit-driven build that seeks to punch through defenses with speed and unyielding momentum. The texture and cut are less about protection and more about mobility: broad shoulders that sit comfortably under a helm, a torso free enough to pivot into a fierce strike, yet sturdy enough to defy a sudden shove from a restless foe. Paired with a greatsword or a dual-wield setup, it becomes a storytelling piece as much as a stat sheet, a garment that invites the wearer to lean into the narrative of a berserker who chose control over chaos at the last possible moment. Markets, of course, lend this coat its own chapter. On a damp morning, I watched a trader arrange it beneath a slate awning, the scent of wax and aged leather curling into the air. Buyers hovered, offering coins and stories in equal measure, each arguing why their memory of a fallen comrade or a hoped-for victory justified the cost. Saddlebag Exchange—a bustling artery of old gear and fresh ambitions—kept the ledger honest, its clerk tallying silver with a practiced eye. A price was named, then negotiated in quick, quiet whispers, the kind that explain why a coat remains in the room long after the buyer has stepped away. In the end, the coat changes hands not merely for its copper and gold, but for the promise of new chapters to be stitched into its lining. If you listen closely as its fabric settles, you can hear the road—summer dust, rain on stone, the creak of a cart at dusk—carrying the story forward. The Berserker’s Medium Antique Coat isn’t just equipment; it’s a vow recalled in thread, a moment of fierce grace preserved for the next journey through a world always in motion.