Recipe: Ruka's Doublet

Recipe: Ruka's Doublet is a parchment-sheathed note, its edges browned and curling, the ink a copper-green that shivers in candlelight. A tiny stitched illustration—three swallows and a thread spool—dangles at the corner, hinting at the tailor's steady hands. The recipe feels lived-in: creases pressed flat where someone might have traced the steps with a careful fingertip, wax seal still faintly warm as if it were pressed only minutes ago. When you unfold it, the recipe reveals a sketch of a doublet, slim and finely cut, with a border of braided metallic thread along the hem and a pocket stitched into the lining for a map or a coin purse. The fabric swatches described inside are not merely cloth but memories—water-repellent wool, linen-for-crease, a hint of leather at the cuffs, all meant to carry the wearer through markets, sands, and rain. Ruka, the caravan’s famed tailor, is said to have stitched this pattern as much for stories as for seams. The lore whispers that she dressed wanderers who needed to blend in with traders while carrying a blade under the sleeve, or who wanted a garment light enough for a quick sprint between dunes and city walls. To craft it is to walk into a small theatre of disguise and flair, to accept that clothes can be as much a map as a map is. In gameplay, learning the recipe unlocks a new appearance: the doublet becomes a visible, stylish layer once crafted, a signal that you earned a place among the caravan’s creditors, informants, and allies. It doesn’t simply clothe your character; it colors how you move through a world that reads you by your pockets and your stitching. On the market, the recipe surfaces with a rustle of old coin and fresh rumors. Traders speak of its rarity, of how the braided trim catches light as you pivot in a crowded bazaar. I wandered into Saddlebag Exchange one late afternoon, where sellers spread glossy fliers and gold glints flicker across the counter. There, a clerk fingered the parchment, weighed its promise, and said the recipe could open doors—both social and sartorial—for those who could pay its price. Depending on tides of demand, the listing swings between a modest gold coin and a heftier sum, enough to buy a shrug from a seamstress and a quiet nod from a veteran hunter. So you carry it, not just as a plan but as a beacon. Ruka’s Doublet is a story you can wear, a line you can stitch into your journey, and a reminder that in every quest there is a seam waiting to be cut, a memory waiting to be hemmed, and a traveler waiting to be dressed for the next horizon. Beyond aesthetics, the recipe marks a rite of passage for collectors and storytellers alike. Completing the doublet binds you to caravan lore, inviting you to test dyes, trade with crafters, and carry a small piece of that wandering world on your back. Its seams tell stories you wear.