Cleric's Cabalist Gloves of the Lich

Cleric's Cabalist Gloves of the Lich are cut from ebony leather, the backs etched with a silver sigil that spirals along the wrist like a skeletal fern. The knuckles bear bone-white rivets that catch the candlelight, while the fingertips are finished in a soft, velvet-smooth patina that seems to pulse with a light, almost unearthly warmth. A thread of pale gold runs along the seams, and when you slide them on, a faint, astringent scent—iron and rain—drifts up, as if the gloves carry the memory of a long night spent by a chapel altar. They are more than adornment; they feel as if they hold a patient, careful vigil inside the lining, a whisper of life held just beneath the surface, waiting for a chance to surface. In the lore of their makers, these gloves were wrought by a cabalist order that learned to blend mercy with motive, healing with the hunger of the living dead. It’s said the first wearer stood at a crossroad between salvation and surrender, guiding wounded souls toward dawn while teaching the dead to pace their sighs. The cleric who wore them learned to coax vitality from the very air—how to graft resilience onto a comrade’s spirit and, if necessary, to tighten the grip when mercy needed a sharper edge. So the gloves carry both a blessing and a burden: their touch promises restoration, even as a quiet, necrotic resonance reminds you that every gift bears a cost. It’s the tension of that bargain that gives them their peculiar weight. Gamers who seek to weave these gloves into a larger story find themselves drawn to their dual nature. On one hand, the Cabalist’s gloves lend a healer’s calm to skirmishes, enabling steady restoration while warding off fatigue with a subtle lifeforce siphon. On the other, they lend a shadowed allure to necromancer-support builds, where lifeforce isn’t merely spent but repurposed—turned into a shield for allies or a spark that fuels fleeting, spectral bursts. The texture, the glow in the sigil, the way the leather seems to settle into the hand—these cues make the wearer feel part of a centuries-old narrative: the cleric who tends the living, the cabalist who keeps a vigil over the dead, the gear that binds their fates together. Market whispers make the story tangible. In the morning bustle of the Saddlebag Exchange, a pair of gloves like these can tempt a collector with a rumor of rarity or a pragmatic adventurer with a practical need for a lifeline in tight battles. Prices drift with the mood of the market—sometimes hovering around a few gold pieces, other times dipping into silver as buyers chase a flash of necrotic glow. Traders speak in careful tones, noting the glow’s intensity and the wear on the leather as if they’re reading a weathered spellbook. A quick trade there can feel like signing a pact: you walk away with a relic that promises both revival and restraint, a relic that will keep its own counsel long after the day’s battles fade. And so the Cleric’s Cabalist Gloves of the Lich pass from hand to hand, carrying stories of mercy tempered by shadow, and a reminder that every gift, even a healing one, bears the echo of what was sacrificed to give it life.