Ravaging Reinforced Scale Coat of the Afflicted

Ravaging Reinforced Scale Coat of the Afflicted lies on a weathered peg, its scales catching lamplight and shifting in a predatory gleam. The chest piece wears a tattoo of red-rimmed rivets along the corners, a lattice of iron-gray plates layered like the armor of a hounded beast. Each scale is pitted from long marches through ash and rot, edges dulled to a burnished silver that hints at age and use. The collar curves up with a stubborn pride, and along the breast there is a line of sigils—plague glyphs burned with slow heat, as if the coat remembers every fever and every retreat. When you lift it, the heft is honest—weight that speaks of protection earned in the scorch of battle, yet you can feel the coat living with a faint echo, as if a distant heartbeat thrums through the ribs of metal. The texture is oath and memory: cold to the touch, the scales have a whisper of resin and oil, like a shell that learned to endure the worst the world could throw at it. Run your fingers along the seam, and you’ll notice the seams are braided with a thread of myth: a reminder that this coat belongs to a lineage of survivors who faced the Afflicted—the plague-touched, the corrupted—yet refused to yield. In combat, it does more than clothe the wearer; it tempers the air around them, a quiet hum that breaks as danger nears. It exudes a shield of presence into the field, turning bruising blows into a stubborn stub of resistance, and allowing a tank or frontline bruiser to hold a line long enough for the rest of the party to reposition. Its significance in the world isn’t simply about protection. It’s a story piece, a relic salvaged from a crossroads where explorers met the people who walked through plumes of ash and pestilence. Worn by someone who learned to read the blight as a language, it becomes a device to tell that person’s tale—a tale of marches through infected towns, of bargaining with Plague Doctors and the odd, stubborn farmer who refused to abandon a ruined homestead. In gameplay, the coat’s aura encourages a particular rhythm: hold the line, soak the damage, and then press forward with renewed vigor when the Afflicted breathe their last. Prices drift like fog, and a careful collector might pick this up at Saddlebag Exchange, where merchants peddle their finds. A listing might sit beside quivering trinkets and old insignias, tagged for a handful of gold when the seller hopes to move a memory as well as a piece of armor. It’s not just steel; it’s a chapter you wear, a reminder that even in a world of ruin, some coats still carry promises of resilience and a future that can still be fought for. Perhaps that promise is why traders linger at dawn, the coat resting in their hands like a lit candle in a ruined chapel, waiting to be worn again by the next traveler who dares to mend the world with it.