Carrion Banded Coat of Mercy

Carrion Banded Coat of Mercy drapes over the shoulders like a memory pressed into weathered leather. Its surface blends ash-gray hide with iron-banded plates, the strips running in a measured rhythm that catches light and repels it at the same time. The texture shifts from slick, oiled leather to the bite of raw rivets as you brush against it, a tactile reminder that mercy, in this world, is a tool as much as a creed. The lining is a soft, pale fur-gray satin, faintly scented with rain and antiseptics—remnants of a dozen healings. A throat clasp bears a sigil—an open hand cradling a heart—worn smooth by travel yet stubbornly legible. On the back, patched panels tell a quiet story: battles survived, repairs made, lives saved, the coat aging like a patient partner in mercy rather than a trophy of war. Its lore whispers of a healer who wore it through a siege's darkest hours, stitching mercy into every seam. In the field, the coat offers a balance that players instinctively seek: stubborn protection from blunt force, enough flexibility to dodge and circle a healer's flare, and a presence that invites trust. For those who fight on the frontier—engineers shaping turrets, guardians standing as the line, or renegades slipping between factions—the coat marks you as someone who chooses care before tyranny. The mercy sigil isn't mere ornament; it lends weight in taverns and campfires, shaping how allies rally and how foes hesitate. The garment becomes part of a larger moral map, a compass stitched into every step you take. Markets in the caravan routes settle its value not only by leather and metal but by stories told around a lamp. A price in this world is as much a rumor as a number, and merchants of the Saddlebag Exchange know to listen for both. I’ve watched the coat traded with a quiet respect, a barter where a handful of salvaged relics and a few gold coins pass from hand to hand as if passing along a vow. Some buyers prize pristine patina, others want the provenance—the patchwork of hospital wards and roadside rescues that stitched the coat into a living history. The exchange hall hums with footfalls, questions, and nods of agreement: does the coat carry mercy well enough to justify its cost? In the end, the answer is as personal as the road you walk. Whichever path you choose, the Carrion Banded Coat of Mercy sits at the hinge of armor and oath. It asks you to remember who you are when you lift it, to protect and to heal as bravely as you strike. It travels with you through ruined towns and crowded markets, telling your story as surely as any spoken word, a coat that wears the world’s mercy on its sleeves and makes mercy feel earned, not given. And as the road wears on, the coat continues to carry the stories of those it sheltered, turning every journey into a small act of mercy witnessed by strangers.