Errol's Coat

Errol's Coat spills warm into the light like a guarded secret: a length of charcoal wool that holds the night in its weave, its edges softly frayed where years have rubbed against rain and road dust. The fabric carries a whisper of oil, a sheen that catches the lamp glow and turns it to copper-rimmed fire. Brass buttons, slightly tarnished, run in a stubborn line along the front, while patches of supple, weathered leather stitch the shoulders and elbows with a careful, almost conspiratorial patience. Inside, the lining is a deep crimson, a kiss of color against the dark, and there sits a tiny, almost invisible pocket—just large enough for a folded map or a scrap of handwriting that never belonged to you. The coat’s scent is a memory of long evenings and narrow escapes, of damp alleys and the feel of a city’s heartbeat at your sleeve. Lore had it that Errol—the elusive figure who vanished into the mist of a border skirmish years ago—wore this coat on moments when he needed to blend into a crowd and slip away unseen. Some say the lining was stitched by a merchant’s daughter who never learned fear; others insist the coat itself absorbed the stories of the places it touched, growing heavier with each tale. There are tales of a hidden map pressed into the seam, a guide to a forgotten warehouse district that only reveals itself to those who know Errol’s routes by heart. Regardless of which version you believe, the coat carries a sense of history that nudges you to listen when old rumors drift from the shadows. In the world of play, Errol's Coat feels less like fabric and more like a thread that ties a person to a larger tapestry. It’s not merely a warm layer against a chilly wind; it’s a character, a symbol of cunning, discretion, and a certain audacity. Put on the coat, and you walk as if you’ve read the room before the room has even begun to speak. NPCs who trade in whispers will keep their voice steady around you; a merchant might offer a sharper price or a friend in the streets will share a shortcut only someone with Errol’s aura would dare to take. It’s a piece that invites roleplay—an invitation to chase the coat’s past as you chart your own path through the city’s interconnected stories. In party composition, it’s a reminder that appearances can be a currency of their own, drawing conversations and skirmishes toward a familiar silhouette. Market days bend to its appeal as well. At Saddlebag Exchange, the chatter around Errol's Coat thickens with the scent of old leather and new opportunities. A leatherworker with nimble fingers and a glint in his eye will tell you the coat is worth more than its threads, a relic that can unlock a tale or a quest if you prove yourself worthy of the best-kept secrets. The vendor’s board lists a price in silver, sometimes a little more or less depending on who’s telling the tale and how many stories you bring to the table. Negotiations drift like smoke, and the coat’s value becomes as much about the buyer’s courage as the coin in hand. So you walk away with more than you bargained for: a garment that breathes with the city’s memory, a cloak that keeps you warm in the night and a doorway into a larger story—one that continues to unfold whenever you choose to wear Errol's Coat and listen to what the world is willing to reveal.