Cleric's Banded Gauntlets of Balthazar

Cleric's Banded Gauntlets of Balthazar sit on the table like a captured weather pattern—steel plates hammered into curved, knuckle-warmed arcs, bound with copper bands that run in riveted rivers along the forearm. The leather lining bears the scent of oil and rain, creasing with the years of service. Sigils of Balthazar are inlaid in bright red enamel, a flame-woven script that seems to tremble when the light catches them. The edges carry scorch marks, not from accidental burns but from the deliberate, ritualized heat of a smith's forge. When you slip them on, the weight feels older than the wearer, as if the relic itself remembers battles that happened long before your own boots ever found the road. They glow faintly at the knuckles, a warm, almost pulse-like glow, as if a contained blaze beats beneath the banded armor. Within the world, these gauntlets are not merely ornaments; they are a conduit for the order's zeal. Whispers say they were worn by a cleric who walked a shattered cliff-side shrine, fending off a darkness that moved through the flame-sick air. In combat or during prayer, the gauntlets seem to coax the wearer's hands into a steadier breath, guiding healing light while cracking open a path for righteous fire to cleanse corruption. In practice, healers who clutch them feel a surge of focus, and those on the front lines notice a steadier resolve; the burn of the sigils becomes a beacon that steadies allies and sharpens the aim of every strike against fear and frost. It is not just about punishment; there is mercy in the burn, a controlled blaze that seals wounds with warmth and banishes creeping gloom. Market days weave stories too. I watched a lone broker chase dawn across the quarter, chasing rumors that the gauntlets would surface again at Saddlebag Exchange, where relics are weighed not only in gold but in the stories they carry. A price can drift with the candlelight and the mood of the crowd—the kind of drift that makes sense only to traders who listen to the pulse of the city. A buyer might offer courage and coins, while a caretaker of memory—someone who believes the relic should walk again among the living—would trade supplies or scrolls and a favor. In such places, the gauntlets are less about raw power and more about status, history, and the vow they symbolize. To hold them is to hold a thread of the world’s fevered history, a reminder that power in the east and fire in the heart are linked by duty. As factions clash and the gods’ temper flares through the land, Cleric's Banded Gauntlets of Balthazar remain a stubborn sign of conviction: that even in the hottest hours, mercy and fire can walk beside one another, wrapped around a determined hand. And so the tale of this relic continues, worn by those who would light a path through smoke and sorrow, one careful strike at a time. Its legend keeps kindling hope in markets and prayers alike.