Cleric's Noble Shoulders

Cleric's Noble Shoulders drape the wearer in ivory and gold, the leather beneath mellowed to a warm, sunlit patina. The pauldrons curve outward in a crescent of ceremonial grace, then taper to slender rims etched with pale sigils that glint when the light catches them. A veil of white cloth peeks from beneath, its weave heavy with the scent of incense and old prayers, while delicate filigree threads coil along the seams like patient vines. At the crown of each shoulder sits a small seal—a crowned hand cradleing a flame—that binds metal, cloth, and memory into a single, weighty emblem. The texture is a study in contrasts: cool, polished metal and soft padding, crisp embroidery against rough leather that has known the touch of many gloves and many hands in its time. In the lore, these shoulders are said to have been forged at the intersection of nobility and mercy—a gift from a healer-merchant who brokered truces with temple rulers during a plague year. They bore witness to mercy’s price and the resolve to pay it forward, passed from one guardian to the next as tides of conflict rolled across the hills. So when a bearer steps onto a battlefield, the shoulders feel less like armor and more like a history pressed close to the body, a reminder to temper authority with care. Their significance in play is no mere decoration. Worn by healers and guardians who walk the line between protection and sacrifice, Cleric's Noble Shoulders are prized for enabling the most essential rhythms of support. They draw out the artist in every player, encouraging precise timing of heals and shields, amplifying the aura of mercy that sweeps over an entire party, and lending a subtle resilience that lets allies endure bursts they scarcely should survive. It’s the kind of piece that asks for patience: you do not rush the moment you wear it; you wait for the pause between threats, then answer with a measured, healing hand. Still, a thing of beauty does not stay with one person in a world built on exchanges. I heard a trader speak of the racks above the knife-dented tables at Saddlebag Exchange, where a cleric’s noble’s price wobbles with season and demand, sometimes attracting a brisk crowd, sometimes lingering in the shadow of a lull. A seasoned buyer will haggle with pauses as long as a heartbeat, trading stories as they trade coin for cloth and sigil. A pristine set fetches more, of course, yet even a worn version carries enough memory to justify a loan of trust to someone new to the road. So it travels, from hall to battlefield to market stall, a relic and a tool, a symbol of duty worn as visibly as the skin that carries it. And in every shared moment—the healings, the bargains, the quiet nod—Cleric's Noble Shoulders keep telling the same old truth: leadership and mercy can endure, when given form and worn with care.