Cleric's Reinforced Scale Coat of Scavenging

Cleric's Reinforced Scale Coat of Scavenging lies polished and ready, a mosaic of dull pewter scales overlapped like armor for a patient river of storms, with blackened leather beneath that sighs softly when you lift it, the chest carved with a tattered sigil and the throat of the coat threaded in copper so threads catch the light as if tiny embers are trapped inside. The texture tells a story all by itself: cool, almost inert to the touch on the outside, rugged and truthfully heavy, yet within the lining there is a whisper-soft wool that clings without chafe, a warmth earned from long nights spent in the shadow of ruined sanctuaries, and the scent of oil and salt that clings to gear that’s traveled far and learned to endure. Its lore is stitched through with a patient kind of mercy—the scale’s edges are not perfectly uniform, evidence of repairs carried out in a guild closet or a field medic’s tent, a patch here and there showing where a blade was deflected or a buckle was salvaged from a collapsed shrine. The coat bears a quiet covenant of scavenging, a lineage among those who retrieve relics from the wreckage and turn them, with care, into protection for the living; it is said to have been forged by hands that knew both clerical bells and salvage yard clang, blessed to honor the fallen and to aid the living who must walk through the wreckage with doubt still in their pockets and hope in their packs. In that sense, the Cleric's Reinforced Scale Coat of Scavenging isn’t merely attire but a partner in a broader, slower war—one where salvage, not simply swordplay, chooses the day. The scales deflect glancing blades and the weight steadies the wearer in crowded market streets and collapsed archways, while the interior’s careful stitching keeps a traveler’s tools close at hand: a small lamp, a whetstone, a handful of salvaged resonators, and, crucially, a few extra pockets to cradle the odd trinket that might later yield a critical component. Its “of Scavenging” suffix glows in the mind as much as in the inventory, a promise that every salvage attempt, every wandering trek through ruin-strewn lanes, will yield a touch more treasure—the kind you can count on when the next repair kit costs more than a night’s lodging. The coat’s significance stretches into the world’s markets and memories alike, where a bargain can save a voyage. On a damp morning the Saddlebag Exchange fills with the creak of leather and the clink of coins, and a veteran merchant unfurls a soiled map of demand as if it were a spell. Here, Cleric's Reinforced Scale Coat of Scavenging sits among glistening crates and hurried scribbles, priced not merely by weight or gleam but by the promise of extra salvageable material the moment a failed salvaging run turns into a small windfall. A buyer, eyes keen as a scavenger’s eye for value, nods and threads a trade into his belt, thinking of the coin he’ll earn and the extra mats he’ll tuck into his pack, and for a moment the market feels less like commerce and more like an ongoing chapter of the item’s story—two hands, one journey, and a coat that keeps on turning wreckage into worth.