Rampager's Rogue Coat of Lyssa

Rampager's Rogue Coat of Lyssa lies across the chair like a shadow pulled from a moonlit alley, the fabric a dense, obedient wool that seems to hold a secret within its weave. The charcoal surface catches the light in a way that makes the fibers look almost winged, as if the cloth itself might slip away at a whispered command. The leather trim is a polished obsidian, stitched along the seams with that practiced care thieves learn from hard lessons, and the hem falls just so, designed for swiftness and unhurried swagger. A hood hangs at the back, roomy enough to cloak a headlong sprint or a careful misdirection, and the sleeves narrow to snug cuffs that won’t snag on a weapon’s hilt. The lining tells you more than the surface ever could: a silk-smooth red-brown interior that bears subtle sigils—Lyssa’s crescent, paired with a twin-dagger motif—that glow faintly when the wearer draws near a shadow. Lore threads it into the coat as surely as the stitch: Lyssa, patron of deception and charm, is said to have blessed this garment with the language of silence. The coat’s makers swore it was spun in a backroom where lanterns hissed and the keenest rogues traded gossip for gold. Worn by those who move where others do not notice, it supposedly carries a memory of every hand that’s slid it across a shoulder, every plan that hinged on a feint, every escape carved from a press of bodies. The result is more than a look or a save-me-from-a-pickle tactic; it feels like a small, living contract between wearer and myth. In practical terms, this is a piece that belongs to the story of Rampager’s line—the gauntlet set that favors bold, precise blows and the crucible of quick, kinetic combat. When the coat is worn, movement becomes a deliberate choreography: a step that buys a breath, a twist that invites a strike, the air around you sharpening into a corridor for your blades. It’s a favorite among those who prefer a backstab’s sudden flare, or who dance through crowded rooms with the ease of a whisper. Its texture invites contact in a world built on perception and timing, and its Lyssan lore lends a psychological edge—that sense of being unseen until the moment you decide to let the world know you’re there. Market talk is never far from a story like this, either, for the coat travels as much as its wearer. In the markets near the Gate, you’ll hear traders swap sightings and prices as if they’re trading rumors for gold. There’s a particular stall—Saddlebag Exchange—where the ledger glints under a rain-soaked awning and a clerk's hands move with the practiced certainty of someone who knows a bargain when it tries to melt away. They’ll offer a price that reflects not only the coat’s rarity but the way it changes a thief’s niche in the city’s fragile economy: the shooting star of a kill shot in a crowded dusk, the quiet debt paid by someone who never saw the moment the deal snapped shut. And so Rampager’s Rogue Coat of Lyssa becomes more than fabric and trim; it is a portable oath. A reminder that in a world of bright banners and loud challenges, some stories are written in shadow—and the coat is the pen.