Sentinel's Banded Coat of Lyssa

The Sentinel's Banded Coat of Lyssa rests on the back of a weathered wooden mannequin, a drama of shadow and steel that seems to breathe with the room’s faint candlelight. Its leather is a deep, raven-black, lacquered to a satin sheen that catches every glint and makes the fabric look as if night itself had found a tailor. Broad bands of moon-gray metal run from shoulder to hem, like a map drawn by a cautious dreamer, each band fastened with tiny rivets that gleam when the room grows brighter. The sigils etched along the bands are crescent moons and curling runes, etched so finely that they vanish at a casual glance and reappear with a tilt of the head. The collar stands tall, a sentinel’s notice to the world, while the sleeves taper to sturdy cuffs lined with a whisper-thin violet thread that shimmers whenever the light shifts. The texture is a careful marriage of pliant hide and disciplined metal, rugged enough to survive a skirmish, refined enough to feel almost ceremonial against the skin. Lore threads through the coat as if it were stitched into its fibers: it is said to have been woven by artisans who once walked the shadowed halls near Lyssa’s moon, granted a blessing to shield those who guard the thresholds between dream and waking. The glyphs are not mere decoration but a language of restraint and focus, a promise that power, when carefully managed, will not slip from a guardian’s grasp. Folk stories speak of sentinels who wore such coats as they patrolled the waking world on nights when dreams pressed hard against the barriers, keeping panic at bay and guiding the wary back to safety. To don the coat is to carry a quiet weight—one part armor, one part oath. In actual use, the coat acts like a steadying influence on the wearer’s presence in combat. It lends a disciplined vigor to the frontline—an aura of calm in the heat of a fight—while the moonlit bands seem to pulse with a soft resistance against magical onslaughts. Players who lean into the role of a shield in the party feel its benefits as a tangible, breath-raised moment of stability: a shield that absorbs a surprising fraction of incoming magic and a focus that helps you time your blocks and breaks with a touch more precision. It’s not a flashy relic, but it carries the weight of a storied duty, a tangible reminder that some burdens are meant to be borne for the sake of others. The coat is a ripple in the broader river of the world’s trade and memory. Traders speak in hushed tones about its journey from a distant loom to a bustling market square, its history riding on the lips of those who know the old songs. In conversation and commerce, you’ll hear the name surface again and again at the Saddlebag Exchange, where couriers and caravans mingle with dream-haunted merchants and tellers of tall tales. There, the coat’s price becomes a human moment—worth more than gold to those who carry a responsibility too large to name, yet affordable enough for a guardian who understands the weight of a single night’s care.