Carrion Privateer Coat

The Carrion Privateer Coat hungrily absorbs light, a heavy sea-wool cloak draped over the shoulders like a tide-worn banner. Its color is a weathered inky navy, flecked with salt and sun-bleached lint, the wool rough to the touch as if it has weathered many a storm at sea. Brass buttons, tarnished to a dull gold, run in double-breasted lines, each button embossed with a carrion crow perched on a ship’s wheel. The edges are trimmed in bone-white piping, a nod to the scavenger-bird's watchful eye, and the lining—a satin sea-green—is faded but still holds a peculiar, oily sheen that catches moonlight. Lore tells that the coat belonged to a privateer captain who sailed under a black pennant and a pallid moon, trading captured cargo with necromancers in harbor fog. The sigil stitched in copper thread—a carrion crow above a spinning helm—confirmed the captain's alliance with death-ward crewmates. It carried salt-streaked breath and mutinous stories; sailors swore the coat could soak up wind and rumor alike, then release them in a chorus of midnight rustle when night drew close. Some decks claim that the fabric remembers the footsteps of every mutiny, storing the hush of whispered treacheries until the cloak is asked to bear witness again. In gameplay terms, the coat is a piece that makes a statement whether you fight beside it or drift through the docks in quiet contemplation. It reads as armor—bulk that suggests resilience in skirmishes and long battles alike—while its silhouette grants a pirate-merchant air that players chase in taverns and moonlit quays. The Carrion Privateer Coat suits necromancer or revenant vibes, but it remains visually striking on any class, giving a sense of weathered authority to a character who bargains with fate as readily as with foes. Worn with a tricorn hat, leather boots, and a belt of salvaged trinkets, it becomes a living vignette: a narrator who has sailed through storms and signed death’s ledger with a wink. Its embroidery and patina invite farmers of fashion and steely-eyed tacticians alike to imagine a larger voyage—the old captain’s pact echoing in every raid, every salvage run, every whispered negotiation at the edge of a fog-bound harbor. The coat’s runes and seams invite interpretation, suggesting that garments tied to the carrion world carry a patient, watchful magic—enabling a character to turn quiet encounters into turning points. Price, of course, moves with the tides. In the market lanes around Saddlebag Exchange, traders speak in half-loud brag and half-hushed caution about the coat’s patina and sigil: a little wear adds character; pristine areas fetch higher esteem. The scent of salt on the lining, the brass’s dull glow, the stubborn seam that refuses to fray—these become talking points as silhouettes drift between stalls, bargaining for a piece that feels like a page torn from a pirate’s ledger. A fair deal here might include a weathered map fragment or a cache of rare dyes; a better one, perhaps, carries a story worth retelling at the next harbor fire. Slip it on, and you enter a corridor of memory and omen. The Carrion Privateer Coat isn’t merely cloth and thread; it’s a chapter stitched in copper and wool, a reminder that in this world, clothing can be a compass, pointing toward a voyage you have yet to claim.