Carrion Conjurer Gloves of the Lich

Carrion Conjurer Gloves of the Lich gleam with a pallid sheen, their leather stitched in thread the color of dried venom, and a ragged edge of bone-work along the cuffs. The fingers are long and slender, like talons, and they curve inward as if listening for whispers from the dead. A faint pulse, barely visible, travels along the seams when moonlight hits them, and a scent of damp earth and old herbs clings to the lining. The gloves carry a delicate lace of sigils, etched in ash-gray ink, that glows with a pale, sickly ember when a fallen foe’s essence drifts too close. You can tell at a glance they are not merely fashion. They are lore wrapped in hide, a relic of the conjurer who walked the border between light and rot, binding carrion to life as a resource and a warning. In the hands of a practitioner, the gloves taste of patience and restraint. They tighten around the wrist when a spell takes hold, offering a grip on the invisible specter that follows a necromancer through the battlefield. With a casual touch, the wearer can summon a fleeting wraith of bone and shadow, a tool for distraction or a shield for a moment's breath. They do not turn every strike into a grand gesture, but they tilt the balance of a skirmish just enough to keep a group from being overwhelmed. The conjurer’s art here is not showy; it is a quiet invitation for the dead to lend their strength to the living's survival, a pact sealed with dried resin and careful care. Markets remember more than weapons. The price of such gloves often drifts through the whispers of the docks, the way merchant ships drift on a warm tide, and traders learn to listen to the soft, sultry terms that accompany a rare drop. On the morning when I first heard the name, a note rode in on a carrier hawk from Saddlebag Exchange, tucked into a ledger-bound envelope that smelled of cedar and old coins. The cartographer at the counter spoke of scarcity and demand, of collectors who chase the Lich’s lineage and crafters who want a lever to force a stubborn spell, and of the risk that rides with anything touched by death’s own toolkit. The exchange room hummed with quiet calculations, as forgotten reliquaries were weighed against the usefulness of a single glove that could bend the line between control and surrender. For the world it inhabits, the Carrion Conjurer Gloves of the Lich are more than gear. They are a story you tell with your hands, a reminder that power in the right hands is a careful thread, sturdy enough to hold a line of defense, delicate enough to break the most stubborn surge of fear. They invite you to walk the edge, not to leap, and to remember that every pulse of magic has a price that the living and the dead alike agree to share. The gloves keep faith with endurance.