Cleric's Cabalist Shoulders of Melandru

Cleric's Cabalist Shoulders of Melandru sit upon the wearer like a carved mantle of the wild—leaves pressed into tempered steel, the greens shifting from mossy to forest-dark as light slides across the filigree. The plates curl at the edges with the soft geometry of vines, and a fine gold thread traces sigils that catch firelight and hold it, as if little suns were stitched into the fabric. The texture is a curious blend: cool, almost mineral on the outside, yet within lies a pliant leather that hums with a quiet life, a whisper of sap and soil where the shoulders rest. When you turn your head, the emblem—an entwined crescent of bark and bloom—seems to shimmer, as if the goddess Melandru herself paused to bless the seam. The lore is a familiar ache in the marrow of the piece: a relic of Cabalists who learned to read storms as prayers and to bind healing with habitat, a gift from the temple workshops where ritual and nature’s cadence were braided into armor. There is a weight to the shoulders that feels like responsibility as much as armor. In battle they gather the eye not merely for their beauty, but for the way they frame a healer’s presence. Wearers speak of a subtle bloom in the air around them, a gentle uptick in grace under pressure, as if Melandru’s breath travels through the fabric to steady a frightened heart or steady a faltering hand. In practice, these shoulders are the quiet backbone of a support-heavy build: they don’t shout with raw damage, but they sing with sustain. They can bolster healing with a soft, reinforcing pulse, shorten the distance between ally and danger with a measured, shield-like aura, and make it easier for the group to press forward when the world tightens around you. It’s the kind of gear that doesn’t demand attention so much as invite trust—an artifact that becomes part of a story rather than a costume. In the lanes where traders shout and the road-weary rest, the market’s future drifts with the weather of demand. I’ve seen them pass from one sturdy hand to another at the Saddlebag Exchange, where prices drift with rumor and season, and a careful negotiation can turn a glimmering piece of history into a partner you’ll rely on for months. A seller might speak in low, careful tones about knotted vines etched into the backplate, while the buyer gauges their worth against the weight of a rescue tale told under lantern light—how the shoulders once steadied a caravan through a night of ash and how the same night might be faced again with a healer’s calm at the helm. The exchange is a living thing in this world, a place where a single worn tag can tell a dozen stories if you’re listening to the right stall. So the Cleric's Cabalist Shoulders of Melandru endure not just as a piece of gear but as a hinge in the larger chronicle of caretakers and wanderers. They are a reminder that protection can be as quiet as a whisper and as enduring as the forest, a symbol that healing and resilience travel on the shoulders of those who choose to carry them forward, into the next dawn.