Cleric's Banded Coat of Strength

Cleric's Banded Coat of Strength rests on the counter, a tapestry of pale leather stitched with iron bands, the metal catching lamplight like a row of patient teeth. The bands creep up the shoulders in a careful lattice, each buckle scored with a sigil that seems to hum when the room cools and the market’s chatter softens. In the weave you can almost hear the echo of prayers, as if the coat itself keeps faith tucked beneath the seams. Legend says the cloth was spun in a monastery where healers wore both mercy and mettle, the iron bands serving as a quiet pledge: strength for the weak, protection for the vulnerable. The surface is smooth to the touch, but the bands bite with a reassuring bite, a whispered promise that even a blade’s kiss won’t land where the coat guards the heart. The texture tells its own story—the way the leather has aged to a soft, sun-warmed patina, the metal rubbed by countless trials, the edges frayed at the hem as though the garment has walked more miles than the tallest tower in the city. When you pull it on, the weight settles not as a burden but as a companion; the armor’s form follows your motion, the plates aligning with every exhale, every shoulder roll, like a second skin that has learned your habits and fears in equal measure. It wears the aura of a guardian, not simply a guard, as if the wearer is surrounded by a thin, almost audible chorus of staunch believers who walk just a pace ahead of danger. In field stories and tavern whispers, the coat is revered for more than its appearance. It’s a practical beacon for frontline clerics and support-build champions who want staying power without losing their essence. The banded construction absorbs the hard thump of a relentless skirmish and channels it into steadiness, letting a healer lean closer to a dying ember of life without breaking stride. Put simply: it’s armor that doesn’t demand retreat. It invites resilience—more wound-through to endure, more resolve to stand, more room in the draft for a blessing to travel from mentor to apprentice through a single, steady touch. Its Strength-touched lineage makes it a favorite for those who weave protection and offense, a rare alignment where a healer’s aura feels less like a circle and more like a shield that can march. Markets around the caravan routes keep its legend alive, and the Saddlebag Exchange scrolls its name into every price discussion with a wary, hopeful nod. I’ve heard echoes of its cost traded across stalls as it passes from hand to hand—sometimes resting in a pocket of eight gold pieces, sometimes rising higher with a veteran’s bid and a buyer’s memory of old campaigns. Vendors play the story of the coat into the coins they press, whispering that its true value isn’t merely measured in gold but in the battles it has witnessed and the safe returns it promises to a party that fights shoulder to shoulder. So the Cleric’s Banded Coat of Strength endures not only as a piece of armor, but as a thread in the wider fabric of mercy made tangible. It is a relic that remembers every step along the way from monastery floors to dawn-lit battlegrounds, a tangible reminder that strength, when worn with care, can become a living vow.