Carrion Cabalist Coat

The Carrion Cabalist Coat hangs heavy on the hook, a deep charcoal wool that swallows light. Its surface bears patches of tanned leather stitched with careful, raven-black seams. A high collar stands tall enough to catch a draft, and bone-white buttons march down the chest like a baroque omen. Along the hem, sigils carved into leather glow with a faint, sickly green, a language of scavenged rites. The lining is a wine-red satin, smooth against the skin, and a damp-earth scent clings to the fabric as if it carries the memory of rain-soaked tombs. It feels ancient, as if the coat absorbed every whisper spoken near the plague-worn catacombs it protected. Legends say it was sewn by a cabalist who taught apprentices to walk a narrow line between life and death. Worn by guardians of forbidden knowledge, it carried the weight of bargains with carrion spirits—guardian bargains cut with ink and bone. If the stories hold any truth, the coat can cradle remnants of fallen foes, letting a wearer siphon vitality in the same breath they call forth a minion or seal a wound with a whispered rite. It’s less a fashion statement than a relic that binds a necromancer’s craft to the fabric of the world’s darker corners. In practice, the coat is prized for its lifedrain-yielding lean. The sigils seem to breathe when the battle grows desperate, nudging minions to endure longer and letting its wearer harvest life more efficiently from foes who lie fallen in the mud. Paired with the right traits, it turns corpses into a renewable resource and elevates the kind of crowd-control that makes a necromancer feel as much part of the battlefield’s pulse as any armored warrior. It’s a quiet power, a story you wear on your chest as you conjure a shadow of death, then lean into it and move forward. The effect isn’t flashy; it’s patient, compounding with each graveyard pulse and each bone-pale smile you coax from a dying foe. Prices drift with rumor and market wind, and the Saddlebag Exchange is where such whispers resolve into numbers. A coat like this might fetch a handful of gold, or be traded for rare bones, a crafted sigil, and a handful of herbs, depending on the seller’s memory and the buyer’s nerve. A buyer will listen for the mark of authenticity—the way the sigils glow, the fabric’s weight, the memory stored in every seam. The Exchange makes the coat feel tangible, letting you imagine not just a piece of gear but a future you might survive wearing it, a future in which every step toward the shadow feels deliberate rather than desperate. Beyond the scrolls and the coin, the Carrion Cabalist Coat travels through the world like a rumor with real weight—a reminder that power in these lands belongs to those who understand decay and time. It sits at the crossroads of fashion and fate, a symbol of the necromancer’s craft as much as a tool for the living, shaping how travelers speak of death and where they choose to stand when the dead do not rest.