Cleric's Reinforced Scale Gauntlets of the Citadel

Cleric's Reinforced Scale Gauntlets of the Citadel gleam on the workbench, the plates arranged in a meticulous fish-scale pattern that catches lantern light with a reverent flicker. Bronze-tinted scales overlap like armor woven from the careful sighs of a dragonfly, each one hammered thin and rolled at the edge for a smooth bite against blade and bone. The back of the hand bears a crest—an austere shield within a star—stamped in a darker alloy, a mark of the Citadel’s clerics who tempered metal and spell alike. The interior is lined with soft, sun-warmed leather, worn in by decades of patient hands, and a ring of chainmail at the wrist to catch a stray spark. It is a piece that wears its history on its surface, and in low light you can almost see the citadel’s wards etched into the patina, a map of vigilant eyes guiding the wearer. To call them “mere gloves” would be to mistake their purpose. In the field they are not simply protection; they are an instrument. Clerics of the Citadel used such reinforced gauntlets during rites where healing and warding go hand in hand, when fingers must dance with glyphs and chants while a shield of light blooms at the knuckles. The scales themselves act like miniature wards, catching hostile heat and dulling the sting of splinters; the sigils carved into the plates glow a pale green when a rite gathers power. Worn by frontline healers and cautious guardians alike, the gauntlets invite a storyteller’s memory: the moment a city’s users learned to combine palm, spell alike to turn the tide of a skirmish. In practice, they transform combat and care into a single, fluent motion. The wearer can tighten their grip on a ceremonial staff without losing the nimbleness required to lay a barrier with a thumb and forefinger. They lend resilience to the wrists during frantic gestures, smoothing the arc of a healing incantation so that wards rise as if pulled from the air itself. It’s not uncommon to see the Cleric’s Reinforced Scale Gauntlets paired with a healer’s robe and a shieldbearer’s pauldron, a trifecta that tells enemies, allies, and onlookers that the Citadel’s protection is no rumor but habit. Markets in the harbor drift sometimes toward tales more than truths, and the asking price for such relics shifts with the wind. I’ve watched a young buyer haggle through a gale of memory and coin at Saddlebag Exchange, where traders barter not just for metal and leather but for the weight of a story. The gauntlets command a price that makes sense only when you hear the vendor spin their history—a blend of craft, faith, and the city’s long memory. In the end, whether your hands are clasped in prayer or braced against a charge, the Cleric’s Reinforced Scale Gauntlets of the Citadel remain a tangible link to a living, breathing order—guardians who pressed their faith into steel and never stopped listening for the knock of warding on the air. Stories linger.