Cleric's Noble Mask sits on the table like a pale recognition of history: ivory porcelain molded into the calm, unlined face of someone long gone from the world, eyes closed as if listening for a whispered confession. The edges gleam with fine gold filigree that curls in delicate vines, catching the light in a way that makes the whole piece feel almost fragile enough to crack with a single careless breath. The inside is lined with a plush, midnight-black velvet that smells faintly of old wax and candle smoke, and a narrow band of leather sits where the strap would rest against the temple. It is as if the mask were designed not to hide a person but to reveal the dignity of a vow—an artifact that invites you to become someone steadier for a hour, a guardian in a room full of doubt. Its lore threads through the room like a threadbare tapestry. The Cleric’s Noble Mask is said to have originated with thees and thurs, a ceremonial piece worn during the funerary rites of noble houses and then preserved as a symbol of mercy and restraint—the kind of mercy that heals without spectacle and guides without coercion. In the oldest court records a scribe swore the mask wore a different gaze in every epoch, as if the wearer’s intention imprinted itself upon the glaze. Some tell of a vow renewed in the shadow of a chapel’s ruined arches, where healers once gathered not to flaunt power but to cradle the sick with a calm that felt almost holy. If you listen closely in a quiet room, the ornament seems to murmur of those rituals—the hush of a candlelit corridor, the soft clicking of a stone floor, the moment when a patient’s breath steadies and the world quietly shifts. In practical terms, the mask is a cosmetic treasure within the game, a slice of the world you can wear to signal lineage, duty, or the quiet patience of a healer. It does not grant combat bonuses, but it offers a powerful storytelling tool: dyeable to harmonize with a robe set, it can transform a character into a ceremonial figure, a diplomat of mercy, or a simply stern guardian who looks as though she could speak to the storm and bargain with it. It pairs especially well with robes of linen and gold, with a sash that hints at responsibility more than wealth, and it invites a roleplayer to walk with measured steps, as if the very air around them knows the cost of mercy. Market life around such a piece is a story of rumor and value, traded by couriers and collectors who understand that a mask holds a history as tangible as coin. Saddlebag Exchange becomes a tangible part of that tale—its stalls and listings where a worn copy of the legend might sit beside a pristine specimen, each with its own patina of price and provenance. A buyer will ask about the mask’s origin, the cloth of its lining, the strength of its hinge, while a seller might spin a legend of a chapel, a healer, and a vow kept through decades of upheaval. The result is a scene of commerce stitched to memory, where a price is not merely a number but a portal into a larger story. So the Cleric’s Noble Mask travels on, through hands and markets, through candlelit corridors and remembered vows. It remains a reminder that some forms of power endure not by force but by the quiet, unwavering presence they grant to those who wear them, a living link between past mercy and present courage.