Carrion Winged Mantle of the Necromancer

Carrion Winged Mantle of the Necromancer spreads across the shoulders, a shadow-carved cloak stitched from blackened fabric and bone. Its surface is a quilt of ash-gray velvet and hide-tanned leather, pitted with tiny scars that feel like dried wind on skin. Two rib-like panels sweep back into wing shapes, each feathered with ragged edges that rustle with every movement, as if the wearer is walking through a cold, whispering gale. The wings are not real feathers but a lattice of bone-white plates, cooled in a necromancer’s crypt until they feel almost cold to the touch. A faint, sickly-green sigil glows along the spine, a reminder of the pact whispered in dark vaults, where the dead listen to the living. Lore whispers that it was forged by a nameless master who bargained with carrion birds to bind their wings to cloth for a hunter who walked between life and death. Another tale speaks of a necromancer who wore it atop a ruined monastery, drawing the dead to attention as if the world’s tremors themselves were listening. In the damp, language-filled corners of markets and ruins alike, the mantle is regarded not merely as equipment but as a page torn from a larger-than-life chronicle—one that threads through mausoleums, patrol routes, and the odd midnight vigil. In the world of play, the Carrion Winged Mantle of the Necromancer is a coveted cosmetic that communicates a player’s affinity for the darker arts without altering a single stat line. It sits on the back like a living shadow, shaping how others read your silhouette in the heat of a skirmish or the hush of a dungeon corridor. Dyes let you tailor the mood—steel-blue night, sickly green, or a smoke-tinted black—so the mantle can harmonize with a full ensemble or stand out as a solitary omen. It’s the kind of piece that invites storytelling: a necromancer’s rival notices the wings twitching at the edge of a ritual circle, a courier recognizes the omen they portend, a barterer spots the mantle and recalls a forgotten pact spoken in a candlelit crypt. The market around this relic is a slow, breath-held affair, and Saddlebag Exchange is where the whispers become numbers. Sellers speak of the mantle in hushed roping tones, pricing it in gold pieces that rise and fall with the moon and the rumor mill. A well-preserved version can pull a respectable sum, while a rarer hue or pristine condition can spark a bidding war among collectors who prize the artifact’s mood as much as its form. Traders trade stories as often as silver, trading pins of memory for the possibility of a new chapter in the wearer’s legend. People say the price reflects not only the cloth and bone, but the weight of the dead that seem to lean a little closer whenever the mantle is worn. So the Carrion Winged Mantle of the Necromancer endures, not merely as gear but as a hinge between past and present. It invites you to walk a road where every shadow has a history, where the living and the dead keep a wary, almost affectionate company, and where a simple piece of clothing can become the very tale a campfire tells when the night grows too quiet to ignore.