Shaman's Banded Coat of Melandru

Shaman's Banded Coat of Melandru lies heavy and warm, a forest-green mantle stitched with bronze bands that catch the lamplight like fallen leaves after rain. The texture is a hymn to craft: panels of stiffened hide layered over soft wool, seams braided with sinewy thread, edges rasping softly when you run a gloved finger along them. Across the chest and shoulders, the coppery bands form a lattice that reads as armor and ritual alike, as if the wearer walks between two orders—hunter and healer, traveler and guardian. The hood is deep and generous, lined with mossy felt that smells of pine and rain, and the sigils etched in the leather curl into vines, curling into small totems where a healer's hand might lay a palm for blessing. It is not merely clothing; it is a map, a memory pressed between skin and cloth. In the lore etched by those who made it, Melandru herself is said to have whispered the pattern into the weavers' ears, blessing the coat so any shamans who bore it could move with steadiness through brambles and blistering heat alike. The banding works as a language, telling hostile winds to back off, telling the forest to keep watch. Some tell of a hidden patch where a hint of moss never dries, as if the forest itself lends breath to the garment. Hunters who survive ambushes and healers who slow the dark with a single pulse of green have worn versions of this coat, and travelers swear the fabric seems to grow a touch more forgiving when the world grows cruel. From a gameplay perspective, it remains a sturdy piece for anyone who values protection without surrendering mobility. It sits in the middle of the armor spectrum, enough weight to weather a swing yet supple enough to let you pivot at the edge of a raid. The sigils and natural dyes are not mere decoration; they hint at a synergy with nature-themed builds—healing, vitality, and totem synergy that rewards being in touch with the environment rather than standing apart from it. Worn by rangers, shamans, and those who move with the forests' rhythm, the coat becomes part of a larger story: a caravan under oak skies, a healer guiding a skirmish away from a blind rush, a survivor who chooses patience over bravado. Market days add another layer. In the open-air row near the riverfront market, you glimpse a parchment tag and a price scribbled in ink—an offer from Saddlebag Exchange, the kind of counter where coins mingle with bartered stories. Prices shift with seasonality, dye lots, and the buyer’s patience; a well-kept version might fetch a fair coin’s worth, while a worn piece might invite a trade or an exchange of favors rather than gold alone. The coat’s true value, after all, lies not only in its fibers but in the journeys it has seen, and the people it has learned to trust.