Soldier's Rogue Coat

Soldier's Rogue Coat sits on the hook like a folded letter from two orders at odds with themselves: a rugged, oil-dark canvas shell stitched to a lining of softly worn leather, the color shifting with the light from amber to shadow. The coat falls long and lean, cut to keep the hands free for a blade or a map, yet generous enough to swallow a night’s haul of tools and trinkets. Brass clasps catch the eye, not with flash but with quiet intent, each one a small memory of a march, a skirmish, a whispered exchange beneath a rain-soaked awning. The sleeve cuffs are reinforced with stubborn, coin-bright rivets, and the shoulders bear a discreet, almost forgotten crest—a heraldic whisper that hints at a soldier’s duty patched over by a rogue’s hunger for movement and mischief. The texture tells a story all its own: the canvas is coarse but stubborn, like a broom with sand in its fibers, the leather lining warm and familiar as a second skin after years on the road. If you press your fingers along the hem, you’ll feel the soft give of age—how a coat can hold the memory of countless doors opened and keys turned in the night. There are pockets hidden in the seams, lined with a waxed fabric that keeps the wind from finding its way in, and a small, almost unnoticeable seam that can conceal a blade or a folded map. The coat seems to carry both the discipline of a marching order and the improvisation of a night shift on a backstreet delivery route. In its patches and seams you glimpse a lore: a union of orders that trained to move with precision, then learned to move without being seen. In play, the Soldier's Rogue Coat feels like the hinge between two worlds. It carries the aura of a veteran who could march through a patrol and vanish into a crowd, yet it accommodates the rogue’s need for speed and stealth. It’s a wearable piece of the world’s memory, offering practical protection while amplifying a character’s signature style. The fabric holds steady under rain, the lining remains warm after a long watch, and the coat’s cut—long enough to shade a blade yet short enough to spare the ankles from a hurried sprint—encourages both bold charges and careful, quiet steps. Wear it, and a player’s carriage seems to tell a story before a word is spoken: a disciplined mind torn along by the lure of the unpredictable. Pricing, as such things tend to drift like merchants’ rumors, drifts too. In markets that trade in memory as much as metal, a Soldier's Rogue Coat can surface with a price that reflects its dual temperament—neither pure soldier’s heft nor pure thief’s edge, but something in between. In conversations I’ve overheard by a busy stall, the Saddlebag Exchange appears as the natural crossroads where old coats find new owners, and a coat with this much history can fetch a modest sum, sometimes more if the buyer believes it can carry them through a night’s storm or a day’s deceit. It’s not merely gear; it’s a passport to a story—the sort of piece that invites a traveler to step into a world where duty and cunning walk side by side, and where every sleeve may hide a plan, every pocket a promise.