Carrion Banded Coat of the Grove

Carrion Banded Coat of the Grove sits heavy on the shoulders, a weather-worn garment that looks as if it were stitched from dusk and the breath of a forest's scouts. The main body is a deep, waxy leather, rubbed with the streaks of rain-soaked wood and polished to a midnight gloss. Along the front, bands of bone—carved into leaf-lattice patterns—thread through the hide like a skeleton of a tree, catching glints of light as you move. The texture shifts with touch: slick from resin and oil in the one moment, yet gritty along the seams where bark dust clings like memories after rain. A hood rises from the collar, lined with a soft, warm fur that seems to hum with the memories of creatures that once guarded the Grove’s glades. The sigil on the collar glows faintly when the moon rides high, a pale green that threads along the seams like root-prints in damp soil. This coat is not only a piece of armor but a story worn close to the skin. Folk say it was forged by a trader who wandered between the Grove’s sacred oaks and the carrion-haunted fens, trading life for lore. The carrion beetle—its shell punctured with age and time—provided the tough, banded plates, while grove-dwellers lent resin and moss, letting the fabric breathe with the forest. In the field, the coat is said to carry a whisper of camouflage, a small mercy for scouts who must move unseen among fallen trees and creeping roots. The grove’s spirits, if you listen, seem to tug at the edge of the fabric, as if the coat were a tether between the living and the dead, between memory and march. In gameplay, it earns a place of quiet reverence among those who stalk forested routes and ruined sanctuaries. Wearers find themselves better suited to late-night ambushes and rain-slick paths, where the coat’s textures catch the eye and break outline in equal measure. It’s a rare find, coveted not just for protection but for the aura it lends—a practical cloak for rangers, necromancer-supports, and any wanderer who treats the Grove as a living map. Collectors prize the look as much as the lore, while guild traders prize its rumor value: a coat that might charm the spirits or summon wary glances from rival caravans. On days when the market winds swing toward coin, Saddlebag Exchange hums with talk of this coat. A price can swing with the tide of demand, veering from a modest bundle of copper to a glimmering cache of rare sigils, depending on who’s negotiating and what tales they’re hawking. A merchant might tuck it into a wagon, promising the new owner passage through dew-damp dawns and shadowed crossroads, while another hands you a weathered receipt and a wink, as if to remind you that every thread carries a risk and a rumor. By dusk, it belongs to someone who understands that a coat can shelter a body and carry a story farther than maps for travelers.