The Cotton Epaulet Panel rests on the sun-warmed oak of a tailor’s display table, a small, stubborn rectangle of soft ivory cotton that catches the light like a seashell rinsed dry. Its weave is tight enough to hold a crease, yet inviting to the touch, with a breeze of cotton fibers that brushes the skin when you lift it. The edges are sewn with fine linen thread, pale as a cloud, and a stubborn, ready-to-thread corner peeks out, as if the panel is listening for a tailor’s next move. A tiny brass rivet, etched with a curving crest, anchors a suggestion of something sturdier than its delicate skin—a reminder that beauty here never forgets function. Lorekeepers whisper that this panel once rode on the shoulder of a courier who carried fragile letters between scattered outposts, the fabric chosen for its breathability and its quiet dignity, the kind that never drew attention yet carried a story in every seam. In the world where this epaulet lives, the panel is more than fabric; it’s a letter pressed into armor. When a character slides it into a set of light armor, the garment becomes a whispered signature—the wearer steps lighter, not merely because the cotton eases the weight, but because the panel carries a history that seems to re-tune the wearer’s posture. It reads as both protection and presentation: a practical sheath for the shoulder that shields a threadbare coat from brush and strap, while framing the silhouette of a guard, scout, or caravan guardian with a hint of refined restraint. Crafters prize it for dye compatibility, for the way a deep indigo or warm ochre catches in the weave and turns a routine kit into a personal banner. Players tell stories of nights patrolling along ruined walls, where this small panel became a badge of steadiness, a quiet identity that didn’t shout its power but offered it in small, steady increments—stamina during long watches, poise under sudden rain, and a sense of belonging in a crew that trusted the same faded emblem. Pricing, in the bustling market lanes where merchants swap wares and whispers, often turns on the panel’s condition and its lore. A road-weary buyer might trade a handful of silver at Saddlebag Exchange for a nearly pristine panel, while a bargain-hunter standing under a canvas awning could walk away with a weathered piece for a few copper more than a quick coffee. It’s not just about the cloth, but about the story it carries and the way a buyer imagines its next chapter. The stallholders love to spin the thread: this epaulet has seen rain on a road to a frontier post, or a dawn light that made the brass rivet gleam like a coin just minted. People come for the look, stay for the history, and leave with a sense that they’ve acquired more than a piece of fabric—they’ve adopted a shared memory. Every Cotton Epaulet Panel thus becomes a small act of theater in the day-to-day: a tangible reminder that even in a world of steel and spellcraft, the gentleness of cotton can anchor a life, a journey, and a story worth telling again and again.