Cleric's Tempered Scale Chestplate

Cleric's Tempered Scale Chestplate glints with a sun-bleached sheen, the overlapping plates like a dragon's ribcage tamed into medical steel. Each scale is etched with faint sigils—the kind you learn to read in the healing halls—a brass-edged border catches the light as you move, and the texture between plates remains cool and smooth where the metal has been polished, rough where the hammer left a telltale rasp. A central crest, a dove in mid-flight, is inlaid in pale silver and surrounded by lines that shimmer when the wind carries a whispered prayer. The weight sits confident on the chest, not heavy so much as purposeful; it feels as if the armor bears a memory of mercy and victory, a talisman that has traveled through skirmishes and seasons alike. In the rumor-and-remembered lore of the temples, this chestplate was forged by the Order of the Sundered Light, healers who faced blade, fever, and famine, tempered with the resin of ancient scales to deflect poison and magic alike. It was meant for those who stand beside the wounded—guardians of sanctuaries who must hold the line while offering a hand to the fallen. The lore says the armor absorbs not just blows but the weight of sorrow, letting the wearer move with a steadier breath even as the world seems to tilt with fear. When a cleric raises a shield, the scales seem to ripple with a quiet resolve; when a healing bell rings in the hall, the pattern along the chestplate seems to catch the echo and hold it, turning it into a ward. From a gameplay angle, the Cleric's Tempered Scale Chestplate is more than a pretty relic. It is a frontline buffer that lets a healer slide into the breach without sacrificing the ability to mend the ranks. The plates are designed to endure heavy strikes, while the runic inlays focus energy toward vitality and protection, supporting boons and preventing teammates from melting away under pressure. It invites a player to weave protection and healing with a calm, deliberate tempo—to stand where the line between life and loss is thinnest, then push back with a steady flow of restored stamina. Prices in the market halls drift as caravans arrive and departure, and traders speak in a careful rhythm. In the back alleys of the city bazaar, the Saddlebag Exchange keeps a ledger of such pieces, trading coins and trinkets for gear with a story. A cleric’s tempered chestplate may fetch a fair tally depending on its enchantments, the urgency of demand, and whether it bears a blessing that glows faintly in moonlight. The price is never merely measured in gold; it is weighed in hours of service, in the gratitude of warded minds, and in the price of peace carried to the next battle. The armor returns again and again to the world, a standing reminder that protection, like mercy, is something you earn in small, careful acts. It remains, at heart, a testament to those who fight to heal. It travels still, a quiet shield for the next dawn.