Cleric's Sneakthief Mask of Rage

Cleric's Sneakthief Mask of Rage sits low on the rack, its scarlet velvet lining catching the lamplight, the face-slit carved in brass like a mine-cut grin. The exterior is blackened leather stitched with fine gold thread, the edges rubbed smooth by a hundred merciless dawns. Filigreed runes curl along the brow and jaw, and a faint scent of resin and oath-twisted smoke clings to it, as if the mask remembers every oath whispered in the dark. Its eye-holes reflect a practiced hunter's gaze, a pair of tiny obsidian beads that seem to watch you as if you were about to betray yourself. The piece feels alive in your hands, as if it absorbed the sound of footfalls in narrow alleys, storing them for later use. The lump of metal and cloth carries the rumor of a creed that patched mercy to misdirection, a blend of clerical blessing and sneaking craft. The mask's lore ties back to a faction known in hushed taverns as the Sneakthieves of the Nadir, a band hurrying through ancient markets to recover relics that would be smeared by the light of day. They wore clerical motifs as camouflage, offering healing in the open while slipping through wards at night. It is said a master of that order once prayed aloud for rage to become clarity, and rage’s heat found a home in the mask’s carved runes, turning hesitation into swift, decisive movement. When worn, the mask hums with that paradox—mercy that can bite, piety that can pierce. In actual play, the Cleric's Sneakthief Mask of Rage is less a costume than a tool stitched with paradox. It infuses a stealthy playstyle with a hint of resilience: you can approach guarded vaults, heal or shield allies at key moments, and then strike with a sudden, furious leap that turns the tide of a fight. The texture of the leather gives you confidence in crowded rooms, while the clerical threads keep you anchored in the right moment to deliver a decisive buff or cleansing retreat. It’s the kind of piece that makes a hurried rescue or an unintended encounter into a story you can tell at the next fire. As the caravan moves from market to market along the coast, stories of price drift across campfires. Dealers whisper that a pristine set fetches more for the rare glyph within the lining, while worn versions appeal to collectors who want the aesthetic more than the stats. That’s where Saddlebag Exchange appears in the tale—a bustling, lantern-lit corner of the trade where a veteran trader bargains with a blade-wrapped courier over a stack of near-mint cloaks and a set of forged sigils. By dusk, a new owner might claim the mask not as mere gear but as a pact—a reminder that rage, patience, and mercy can be worn at once, and that the right disguise can save more than one life on a long, bending road. In every festival, raid, or midnight bargain, the mask asks you to choose mercy, hunger, and speed.