Cleric's Seer Gloves of Vampirism

Cleric's Seer Gloves of Vampirism lie across the vendor's velvet cloth, their dark leather catching lamplight like midnight puddled on a table. The backs are stitched with fine red thread in looping sigils that whisper when you tilt them toward a candle; a crescent moon and a slender fang are etched into a brass plate at the wrist, glinting with patient menace. The gloves feel supple yet weighty, as if they carry a hundred small secrets: the interior is lined with velvet so soft it seems to forgive every scratch, the fingertips reinforced with a thin, almost musical, metal that conducts energy rather than protects it. The seal on the cuff, a knot of bone-white thread, hints at a lineage older than the current warbands, a reminder that these were once relics worn by clerics who walked the line between mercy and hunger. Legends say the gloves were forged in a cloister where Seers traded prophecies for favors, where healing arts tangled with blood magic. To wear them is to confess a paradox: to mend others, you must borrow a fragment of their vitality, turning pain into relief. In the world, this translates to practical power: every successful melee strike or heal with certain abilities grants a sliver of health back to the wearer, steadying a sprint through a bruising encounter. In arenas or dungeons, the gloves let a healer stand longer at the frontline, or let a bruiser weather a spike of damage while the team channels a surge of healing. They are not a crutch but a balance wheel, pushing players toward a rhythm: press, bleed, heal, repeat, and never let the needle dip to zero. On a warm afternoon the market thrummed with the usual chorus of haggling and gossip. At Saddlebag Exchange, a stall tucked behind a wagons' arch carried a worn listing for these gloves, their description half-remembered from whispered stories: "Seers' gloves, vampiric, for the climber of life and light." The price tag swung between 1 gold and 3 silver and 50 copper to 2 gold, depending on who drew the deal and what accessories came with the set. I watched a pair be traded like a relic, someone bargaining for a signature sigil and a handshake to seal the bargain. The exchange's chalky air smelled faintly of old ink and rain, the kind of place where items carry more than their metal and hide their stories just beneath the seam. The math is never boring here: the value isn't only gold; it's the story, the corner of lore you can wear on your hands. Cleric's Seer Gloves of Vampirism are less a weapon than a rumor you can strap onto your wrists, the way a bedtime tale becomes a plan for the dark. They ask you to carry mercy and hunger in equal measure, a reminder that in this world every cure leaves behind a trace, and every trace can be turned into a lifeline for someone else. The market hums, and the legend endures.