Giver's Exalted Gloves

Giver's Exalted Gloves gleam under a lantern's careful glow, their leather warmed to a honeyed bronze by years of use and careful polishing. The backs are stitched with fine gold filigree that traces sigils of mercy, sunbursts curling toward the wrist like vines. A thin plate over the knuckles bears an engraved emblem—a small sun with an eye at its center—flickering with a patient, almost holy light when the wearer leans into a moment of aid. The fingertips taper to pointed tips, lined with a barely perceptible red thread, and when you curl your hands, you feel not merely protection but a whisper of history, as if a dozen healers and guardians had lent you their steadiness for a breath. In lore, these gloves are said to carry the patience of a thousand hands, forged in the years after a great flood of sorrow when communities learned to depend on one another. They are not merely padding for the palms but conduits for care, attuned to the wearer's intent to shield, mend, and steady those around them. In practice, they suit a healer who moves with the ease of a guardian, or a support who knows that the quiet moment between two bursts of combat can decide a fight's fate. The gloves resonate with a calm that spreads through the party, nudging skill and timing into a gentler, more resolute rhythm. Wearers report a subtle boost to healing throughput and a steadier focus when shielding allies; they feel as if the glove itself asks for restraint, then rewards it with a clean, unghosted breath between effects. They are ascended gear through and through—hard to come by, touched by the right craftsman, and worth the wait of many a trek. Some whisper that you earn them by standing at the edge of a hard-fought victory and choosing mercy over frenzy, others that a wise trade will bring them into your grasp after a long winter’s market. The journey is as much about the story you tell with the gloves as the stat sheet they carry, a reminder that power, properly used, can resemble generosity in motion. Pricing and trade stories drift through the market’s sunlit aisles, and the Saddlebag Exchange has become the kind of place where a bargain feels like a small victory in itself. A wary buyer might haggle over a few sovereigns, the price tag hovering just above the cost of a decent day’s provisions, while a veteran trader weighs the gloves against a stash of rare mats and a tale of past rescues. It’s not just about gold; it’s about signaling trust, about what we owe the next ally who steps into the breach. By dusk, the gloves may be worn by a healer who would rather mend a wound with patience than press on with bravado, and in that choice, the Giver’s Exalted Gloves find their true closing line: a promise that power, when tempered by mercy, becomes a lasting gift. Let generosity guide every decision.