Cleric's Rogue Coat of Lyssa

Cleric's Rogue Coat of Lyssa unfurls across the chair with a quiet, dignified grace: the exterior is a twilight weave of ash and gunmetal, brushed velvet at the collar, and a hem embroidered with a argent moon and dagger motif. The texture changes under the fingers—smooth satin at the lining, where warmth pools like a secret, and a stubborn, almost leather-like panel along the split sleeves that feels resistant to rain and rumor. The coat carries the weight of lore as if the fabric had absorbed every whispered bargain struck in moonlit courtyards: Lyssa, patron of trickery and lucid dreams, is said to have tempered this garment for those who walk the edge between sanctuary and stealth. When worn, the coat seems to answer with a hush, as if quieting the world so the wearer can hear the timbre of intentions. Within its seams lie stories of healers who learned to move unseen, of scouts who paused only long enough to offer a blessing before slipping back into the shadows. The rogue's cut keeps the silhouette slender, allowing swift dodges and precise steps without betraying the heart of a cleric's devotion. A hidden pocket, stitched to hold a bandage or a folded prayer, hints at the dual life of its bearer—one hand raised in mercy, the other ready to vanish into the night. The sigils along the lining pulse faintly when the wearer channels moonlight, a reminder that this is not merely cloth but a pact between piety and peril. Gamers and storytellers alike speak of its usefulness in both dungeon runs and delicate negotiations, where appearance holds as much weight as the words spoken. Its enchantments, rumored to harmonize with healing magic while sharpening the senses, let a player slip past a wary guard and still cradle a wounded ally with a touch of brightness that feels almost holy. In party dynamics, the coat signals a boundary-crossing figure—someone trusted to mend, mend, and move with unprecedented grace. It becomes part of the world’s moral topology: a beacon for those who seek mercy in the shadow, and a reminder that aid does not always arrive with a trumpet blast. On Saddlebag Exchange, its price travels between rumor and certainty, priced in gold and the occasional trade for rare pigments or a map of a forgotten corridor. The marketplace chatter swirls as a veteran trader notes that the coat’s true value lies not just in its threads but in the stories it invites—tales of a healer who vanished into a doorway of moonlight, or a rogue who blessed a dying comrade before slipping away. If you listen closely, you can hear the clink of coin and the soft rustle of silk as somebody signs a purchase, then pockets the coat with the care of handing someone a fragile mercy. In the end, the coat feels heavier with every choice made in its shadow: mercy weighed against risk, trust earned against suspicion, and the certainty that grace can travel farther than steel.