Cleric's Emblazoned Coat

Cleric's Emblazoned Coat catches the light like a patient flame, a long, cream-woven canvas that seems to hum with its own quiet history. The fabric carries a felted weight, a blend of wool and linen that keeps the chill out and the wearer steady, even when stone corridors grow colder than mercy. Along the front, brass hooks settle into a neat row, while a high collar stands with the stiffness of a vow unbroken. The sleeves taper just so, ending in cuffs embroidered with a sunburst seal in gold thread, threads that catch a glow when a lantern breathes on them. Across the chest, an emblem is stitched—an intricate crest of a winged sun cradling a healing hand—its lines crisp, its gold softened by years of polish, as if many hands have tended to it and learned its rhythm. The back bears a broader sigil, two interlaced runes circling a worn heart, a reminder of protection earned through sacrifice. The texture shifts as you move: the surface is smooth under a gloved fingertip, yet if you press the hem, you can feel a sturdier underlayer that speaks of temple looms and patient tailors who measured every inch for endurance, not flash. Lore whispers cling to the coat as surely as the scent of lamp oil clings to a patrol baton. It’s said to have been cut by a master tailor who served a line of healing monks, the kind whose chants kept plague at bay and panic at bayier doors. The Threads of Mercy, as some wry elders call the weave, supposedly contain a blessing that survived even the city’s oldest wars. In the quiet hours of a sanctuary, the coat’s sigils supposedly awaken—just enough—to remind its wearer of vows made long before the first spark of a torch was struck. Wearers speak of the coat not merely as protection, but as a living connection to the healers who stood firm when fear pressed in from the alleys and catwalks alike. In actual play, the Cleric's Emblazoned Coat functions as more than a garment; it is a tangible extension of a healer’s purpose. The runes seem to pulse when you step into a doorway crowded with shadows, nudging companions toward safety and softening the sting of wounds with a keener eye for where to stand. It’s prized by support builds for the aura of steadiness it lends—the way it encourages team members to keep their lines and their hearts open, even when danger presses from all sides. The coat’s weight feels like a promise you can carry through a fight, a reminder that protection is not only about shielding but about guiding others toward the next breath. Market tales thread through the narrative too, as markets talk in hushed, weathered tones about the coat’s price and provenance. In the bustling stalls of the Saddlebag Exchange, a well-edged piece like Cleric’s Emblazoned Coat draws keen eyes and careful haggling. Dealers speak of its condition, of the runes’ glow, of the way a lucky buyer can snag it for a respectable gold-range sum or trade for a like-spirited relic. The coat’s value, like its history, rises and falls with the city’s fortunes, with new healers stepping into old scripts and old hands seeking a reminder of why they began this work in the first place. So the Cleric’s Emblazoned Coat endures, not only as armor but as a story worn on the shoulders, stitched with light and patient risk, a garment that keeps faith warm even when the world grows cold.