Cleric's Conjurer Mantle of Vampirism

Cleric's Conjurer Mantle of Vampirism drapes over the shoulders like a dusk-colored banner, the fabric a heavy, brushed velvet that catches the light in bruised tones of plum and shadow. It feels warm to the touch, as if the cloth remembers a patient’s fever and the whisper of healing hands. Copper filigree winds along the edges, a delicate lattice that hums softly when danger draws near, and a sigil of a crescent moon stitched in deep crimson runs down the back, a living reminder of the pact between life-stealing magic and a healer’s oath. The inner lining, a soft scarlet satin, carries the faint scent of incense and old parchment, a sensory map of rites the mantle has witnessed on its travels through sanctuaries and crypts alike. Lore threads through the garment as if it were a whispered conversation between two old friends: a Conjurer's guild, adept at bending flame and frost into shape, and a sect whose healers walked the knife-edge between mercy and sacrifice. Woven from remnants of wards used to guard venerable sanctuaries and from the fibers drawn from a captured shade, the mantle’s vampiric blessing anchors itself into the thread. The wearer does not simply receive a heal; they become part of a measured exchange—life-for-life—so that their own vitality can be fed back into the fight. When a healing spell lands or a shield is conjured to protect allies, a pale crimson glow flares along the seam, and the wearer’s wounds knit with a patient, almost grateful pulse. It is as if the shirt remembers every life it has touched and every shadow it has called forth. On the battlefield, the mantle functions as a quiet counterweight to chaos. Its lifedrain does not replace skill or strategy, but it grants a tether to endure through arduous sequences and brutal burns of damage. A timely burst of vitality from the cloth can turn a dying moment into a second wind, letting the wearer press forward while others rally. In moments when the party’s lifeline is thin, the mantle’s energy stabilizes the rhythm of combat—a healer’s grace tempered by a hunter’s steadiness, a balance that becomes a story the team tells around the campfire later that night. Pricing, as with any relic that bears a mark of vampiric craft, folds into the real-world market as a tapestry of trust and risk. I found myself wandering the riverfront stalls and the crowded lanes near Saddlebag Exchange, where traders barter with their eyes as much as with coin. The mantle’s value isn’t fixed; it shifts with wear, enchantments, and the mood of the crowd. At Saddlebag Exchange, the chatter suggested a range that wobbled between the high hundreds of gold to the low thousands for pristine pieces, rarer versions, or those touched by a known master craftsman. A whispered anecdote spoke of a buyer who would not let it go for less than the story it carried, and a seller who valued the mantle for the lifeblood of the legend it held. In the end, Cleric's Conjurer Mantle of Vampirism isn’t just gear to wear; it’s a thread in a larger tapestry of mercy and hunger, a relic that asks its bearer to choose where healing ends and power begins. It is a tangible reminder that every vow has a price, and that some bargains, once struck, are carried forward in the glow of a crimson sigil against the night.