Sentinel's Banded Gauntlets of the Flock

Sentinel's Banded Gauntlets of the Flock gleam with a moon-bright patina, their overlapped steel bands tracing the wearer’s wrists like a chorus of feathers caught in a winter wind. The back of each hand bears the sigil of a flock—twisting silhouettes of hawks and ravens entwined in flight—etched with patient brass inlay that catches the light in quick, birdlike flashes. Leather inside is supple yet stubborn, softened by years of patrols and the soft tug of gloves being pulled on and off under alarm bells and watchtower rain. The texture is a careful balance of cool, hard metal and the warm, living grain of tanned hide, a tactile reminder that protection here is as much about feel as it is about form. Small rivets along the knuckles glint like distant stars, and the edges are beveled to slide beneath cuffs without snagging, as if the gauntlets themselves are always ready to begin a whispered signaling in the dim hours of a border post. Lore lingers in the lines and letters of the engraving. These gauntlets were forged for the Flock, a vigilant order whose scouts sketched a living map of the air—rutted valleys, cliff sentinels, and routes where birds would warn of trouble before any horn could sound. The Flock believed a watcher’s hand should be steady and light, able to lift a bow or a blade and still signal a safe path through gusts and fog. So the smiths pressed into the metal a memory of wings: a hinge-like design that lets the wearer move with the ease of a bird taking off, and a sigil that catches the eye and nods toward the old stories of bird-borne messages threading through towers and caravans. It is a relic that whispers to every new wearer: you carry more than a shield; you carry a legend. In the world where these gauntlets travel, their usefulness does not end when the battlefield quiets. For rangers and guardians alike, the banded plates offer a tactile advantage, a lighter grip that translates into swifter, more precise strikes and smoother parries when battles spill into narrow streets or cliffside ledges. They feel almost custom-made for situations where signaling is as critical as striking—when a quick motion can call a comrade to aid, or when a silent identification of friend from foe must be made while the wind carries dust and rumor alike. The Flock’s gauntlets also serve as a sort of talisman, the sort of gear that makes a hero’s reputation travel faster than the wearer. A trader’s voice often greets the morning crowd at Saddlebag Exchange, where these pieces drift in and out of the market like quiet birds. They come with a price that reflects more than metal—a blend of metalwork, memory, and mystery. The right buyer will pay a handsome sum for the story, the patina, and the way the sigil seems to glow faintly when the sun catches the edge just so. They’re not merely armor but a narrative you can put on your hands, a tangible thread tying a present journey to the long, wind-worn road of the Flock.