Carrion Privateer Coat of the Eagle

Carrion Privateer Coat of the Eagle curls around the dim lamp, a riot of torn velvet and patinated brass. The coat's fabric is storm-touched charcoal, salty and aged, rough as rope and stubborn. Along the hem run iron-gray fringe like barnacles clinging to hull planks. On the shoulders loom the eagle's sigil, embroidered in gold thread that catches light with a hungry gleam, while the back bears a patchwork of leather plates, as if a ship's hull had been stitched onto fabric. The collar is tall, a protective sail, and the chunky brass buttons bear a winged emblem. Inside, the lining is red as a brazier's glow, a reminder of long nights on creaking decks and whispered deals at port taverns. It's a coat built for a life lived between fog banks and gunpowder, a garment carrying the salt and stories of the sea in its seams. The scent is odd: tar, old leather, and something like dried blood that never fades, an echo of carrion birds circling the crow's nest above a mutinous crew. Legends say it was tailor-made for a privateer who plundered with a noble's code and a scavenger's hunger. When worn, the eagle motif glints at the corner of vision, a morale signal among mutineers and map-binders alike. In combat, the coat's weight steadies the breath and the aim; in social skirmishes, it commands presence that makes merchants and rivals pause. It isn't merely armor; it's a talisman that binds memory to motive. The Carrion prefix hints at its origin from ships that survive on the edges of law—pale-faced surgeons, grizzled captains, and deckhands who learned to read the winds as well as market stalls. In the wilds of the mariner's trade, such a coat signals a story: raids, rescues, and dusk-lit bargains where a price is paid in future favors. In game terms, it reads as a striking cosmetic chest piece that can be worn by representatives of many professions, letting the eagle crest glow against stormy skies and lantern light. It does not grant instant power, but it grants presence—the aura that makes a negotiator lean a little closer at the port, or a foe falter to miss a key opening. And that is why, in the hush of the market beneath a half-moon, a privateer who once sailed under a carrion banner might part with coin to slip this coat over a new captain’s shoulders. Traders whisper that its value has changed with the tides, turning as swiftly as a ship’s wake. Saddlebag Exchange, a flicker of rumor and ledger in the same breath, often sees bids rise and fall as collectors chase a story as much as a price. A recent auction drifted in with a soft murmur: a handful of gold, a map, and a promise of future voyages. The coat becomes more than leather and thread—it becomes propulsion toward the next horizon, the next handshake on a damp wharf, the next legend waiting to be stitched into its lining today.