Cleric's Privateer Pants of Melandru

Cleric's Privateer Pants of Melandru sit draped over a chair in the dim glow of a harbor inn, their fabric a pale, sea-washed linen that catches the light with a soft, sun-salted glow. The texture is a quiet contradiction: sturdy enough to withstand deckwork yet supple enough to move with the wearer in a healer’s measured steps. A band of kelp-green trim runs along the thighs, stitched with tiny, almost imperceptible runes that shimmer faintly when rain threads the air. The belt is reinforced with weathered leather, a small pouch looped from a silver ring, and a whisper of salt glosses the seams as if the pants have learned the taste of every tide. On the right hip, an embroidered sigil threads Melandru’s vines with sea-waves, a lantern-flower motif woven through the leaves, as if the goddess herself had placed a lantern at the edge of a storm. There’s a story in the way the fabric sits, how the pockets are deep enough for salves yet shallow enough not to snag on rigging. It’s a garment born of two worlds—the cleric’s steady hand and the privateer’s restless sea-roam—woven together in a single, practical aesthetic. The myth speaks of Melandru’s blessing riding the crests of waves, turning treacherous passages into routes of healing. Some say the pants carry a memory of shipwrecks survived and healings performed in the same breath; others hear the soft clink of shells and the quiet murmur of distant groves, as if the wearer is always on the cusp between sanctuary and pursuit. In gameplay, the Cleric's Privateer Pants of Melandru feel like a bridge. They’re not merely armor for the legs; they’re a statement of a role that’s part guardian, part wanderer. Wearing them, a player feels the balance between protection and freedom—vitality and healing power converge, enabling a healer to stand firm in the storm while keeping their allies steady with restorative wards and timely cleanses. The texture and cut are designed to support movement: long, deliberate strides across a battlefield, quick pivots to shield a kneeling ally, the discreet roll of fabric to cushion a fall into rough seas of combat. It’s the kind of garment that invites storytelling—a cleric who patched the pants with scraps from a privateer’s coat after a voyage, a healer who learned to anticipate the next wave by listening to the wind. The lore breathes through any draw of their strings; it feels like a relic that could be found tucked into a crate on a quay, waiting to be claimed by the one who needs both mercy and a map. Market chatter drifts in as the tide changes. At Saddlebag Exchange, a well-worn pair is traded softly, the price wobbling with the season’s supply of salvaged fabric and the demand of collectors chasing the unique hybrid of aesthetic and utility. The exchange’s boards show a modest but respectable value, punctuated by the occasional bargain that arrives when a shipwright’s cache surfaces and traders decide the vines-and-waves motif deserves a lighter tally. It’s a reminder that these pants are more than a stat line; they’re a compass, pointing toward a world where healing ships go out into rough weather and come back with stories to spare.