Assassin's Prowler Coat

The Assassin's Prowler Coat opens with a whisper of midnight-green satin, layered over stitched leather that catches the light in slow, confident glints. The fabric bears the warm weight of years, as if it remembers every alley it has crossed. Its collar rises like a sentry's crest, and the seams hum with a subtle lacquer that shifts green to blue under lamplight. The coat is cut close to the body, yet the sleeves widen just enough for a quick signature move, as though it wants to vanish into shadow. Leather patches along the forearms look as if they have weathered more storms than most travelers survive. On the chest, an emblem stitched in copper threads hints at old loyalties, a thief guild of sorts, a rider’s promise, a rumor kept in velvet and wind. The texture is cool and tactile, the sort of fabric that betrays the wearer only when they want to be seen. You can feel the coat echo with old bargains struck in candlelit backrooms, with every featherweight step a line in a longer chapter of clandestine commerce and whispered agreements. Its lore is not merely fashion: it is a passport through privateer piers, a token of trust between hunter and prey, a reminder that some stories are stitched into fabric long before a player ever laced it up. In combat, the coat isn't just a silhouette: its weave helps reduce noise when you skirt building corners, and its shading buffs let you strike from the verge of sight before stepping back into safer light. Players prize its blend of stealth and mobility, trading raw power for flexibility. In coordinated strikes or in decks built for scouting, the coat is a quiet partner, letting an assassin pace and choose when to reveal themselves. The chest emblem sometimes shines with a companion sigil that pulses when an opening appears, nudging a player toward decisive action. Even now merchants talk about its durability, the way the leather wears to a soft patina after months of use, a memory that the world can tell by its creased hem. Traders will speak of price as if it were a rune, and the market hums with hopeful chatter. At Saddlebag Exchange, a neat balance of rarity and demand keeps the coat fees reasonable enough for a well-equipped scout to upgrade a setup without crippling their budget. The shop racks gleam with traded threads, and the clerk will tell you a story about a rescue mission where a prowler coat kept a contact alive and brought help through a storm of fallen hail. The price swings with supply and rumor, yet the idea of slipping into the night with that coat beside you remains an alluring promise. For those who walk between light and shadow, it is less a garment than a testimony—a quiet pact with movement. It bears the weight of choices made in dim corridors, of alarms bypassed and doors nudged open with patience. The prowler coat invites your own narration, turning the wearer into part of a longer legend that the city has kept secret under its breath.