Linen Epaulet Panel

The Linen Epaulet Panel lies on the stall like a pale, weathered leaf pressed between the pages of a long-forgotten ledger: a square of linen, softly warm to the touch, its weave unraveling in the light into tiny, honest ridges that catch on the skin of the finger as you lift it. The edges are neatly rolled, a thread of ivory tracing a quiet border around the fabric, and a single brass rivet at the top corner hints at the panel’s original purpose—meant to cling to a strap, to sit just so upon a shoulder while the world moved around it. The front bears a muted embroidery, a sigil’s ghost stitched in a thread of pale blue that seems to glow faintly when you tilt the item the right way, as if the linen remembers a loyalty it once carried. In the fading glow of the market, a craftsman’s tale threads through its texture. The linen is not new but thoughtfully cared for—the kind of material that breathes with patience, that settles to be cooler against the collarbone after a long day of travel or muster. The back side shows the crease of many journeys, a reminder that this panel traveled in a satchel, tucked above a traveler’s chest plate yet below weathered leathers. Some legends say it was woven by a caravan tailor who stitched the hopes of merchants into the fabric, a small blessing to keep shoulders steady against rough roads and rough weather alike. Others insist it is a relic from a forgotten guard’s uniform, where the panel’s plain elegance spoke louder than any badge could, signaling quiet discipline instead of ostentation. Either way, the panel feels like a hinge—a hinge between the wearer’s past steps and the road that lies ahead. Its value, in the game’s fabric of day-to-day life, is as much about story as it is about utility. The Linen Epaulet Panel is a decorative upgrade for light-armor ensembles, a way to lend a traveler’s austerity or a courtier’s restraint to a look without changing its essence. When clipped into place, it doesn’t flood the stats with power; it changes the silhouette, it alters the impression you leave on the world. It invites whispers about where you’ve been, who you’ve met, and what you’ve stood for, turning a simple piece of clothing into a page in a living diary. Players may dye it to shift its mood—cream, tan, or a soft sea-gray—so it can echo a clan’s colors or blend with a caravan’s faded banners. If you’re wandering through the market and a vendor calls out a fair price, you’ll find the Linen Epaulet Panel often moves through the hands of traders who know its worth in stories as well as silver. Saddlebag Exchange, a stall that enjoys the trade of odds and ends travelers amass on their routes, tends to set the bar for its value. A panel like this might fetch a handful of silver or a modest copper premium depending on the day’s mood, the dust in the air, and the tell of the seller’s smile. A mint-condition panel might climb toward the higher end of expectations, while a worn one will still carry a smile from a long road walked. So it rests in the palm, a hint of linen warmth, a story stitched into its seam. The Linen Epaulet Panel is more than cloth; it’s a memory waiting to be worn, a quiet agreement between traveler and road: that appearances can honor a journey, and a single panel can carry a hundred miles of meaning.