Assassin's Masquerade Raiments

Assassin's Masquerade Raiments spill from a weathered trunk like a shadow uncoiling—midnight velvet, cut in a silhouette that hugs the form while leaving room to move, with edges trimmed in onyx thread that catches lamplight in pinpoints along the cuffs and collar. The fabric drinks the light, soft to the touch yet with a sturdiness that hints at hidden seams and discreet pockets sewn into a double-stitched lining. A high collar sits close to the throat; the hood lies flat behind it, not a disguise but a promise of anonymity, and the breast and sleeve embroidery traces a delicate, sinuous sigil that fans stories of a masked order who moved through masquerades as if the night itself were their ally. Some whisper that the Raiments were woven from the remnants of a carnival’s smoke—threads dyed in shadows and scented faintly of wax and rain—meant for those who wished to talk with danger without speaking. In the market's murmur, its presence is more than color and cut. The Raiments are not a badge of raw power but a tool of presence and precision: a thief's suit that invites curiosity, a dancer's armor that makes every step look unhurried, a spy's uniform that grants a moment longer to breathe before a gaze is turned. Worn with light boots and a belt of muted steel, they let the wearer slip along lanes, slip past torchlight, and slip right into the next room as if the walls themselves were folding away. They pair well with utility, offering hidden pockets for picks, maps, or a folded note, and the texture lends itself to dyeing for seasonal rituals so that the Masquerade can be the same silhouette at a gala or a night market. The world remembers the scars of a masquerade long after the clash of blades: a rumor that a single costume could alter a scene, shifting focus, turning suspicion aside. And in the hands of traders and dreamers alike, the Raiments become a living story—part relic, part tool, part theater. At the Saddlebag Exchange, the chatter grows hushed when it comes to the price tag. A clipped coin-patter from a broker there often lands somewhere in the six-gold range, enough to tempt a collector or a hopeful thief but never so much that it stops the story from turning another page. The clerk slides the cloth across the table, notes blinking in the lamplight, and for a moment the room holds its breath, watching a world where elegance and danger can walk side by side, where a single outfit can open doors and close others, and where the mask remains central to both fashion and fate. During seasonal masquerades, the Raiments are worn to honor an old pact between thieves and performers, a tacit agreement that disguise can be as useful as a blade when the crowd is thick. In skirmishes or crowded escape scenes, the wearer can feint, sow misdirection, and slip away before alarms rise. For collectors and wanderers, it's a trophy, a reminder that in Tyria's streets masks can be both shield and passport.