Satchel of Cleric's Prowler Armor

Satchel of Cleric's Prowler Armor sits on a battered oak counter, its leather a deep, weathered chestnut that catches lamplight like a slow-tearing river of autumn. The satchel is compact, yet heavy with history: within lie the pieces of the Cleric's Prowler Armor—pale under-armor peeking between gilt-edged plates, a hood folded like a whispered vow, gauntlets with fingertips softened by time. The outer flap bears an embroidered sigil: a crescent cradling a starlit eye, stitched in silver thread that seems to glow a pale blue when the room grows dim. The texture tells a tale—leather supple but resilient, rubbed with oil until it gleams in a way that hints at hands that never stop moving, never stop listening. The metal is not pure steel but a rumor of it—iron tempered with myth, catching the lamp’s light and throwing it back as a faint, moon-bright sparkle. Lore threads bind the satchel to a long-forgotten order known as Mercy’s Watch, a tradition that believed healing required motion: a healer should move like a prowler through crowds to find the wounded, while preserving sacred stillness in the moment. The armor within is light, designed to bend with the body rather than resist it, stitched with runes that hum when dawn touches the horizon. The wearer is meant to listen for danger’s breath and answer with a touch that preserves life—a paradoxical blend of mercy and speed. In practical terms, the Satchel of Cleric's Prowler Armor slides on as a set that favors agility without surrendering protection. It helps a field medic keep pace with a skirmish, shield a fleeing ally, or slip through a corridor of foes to reach someone in need. The cloth and plate, worn together, encourage a quiet, careful approach—armor that does not shout, healing that does not wait for the storm to pass. Players discover it during caravan runs or dusk-touched quests, and its value grows not only from protection but from the stories carried in its seams—the whispered confessions of healers who walked the line between mercy and stealth. Pricing, like all scarce relics, is a negotiation of memory and supply. In the bustling Saddlebag Exchange, traders compare notes and rarities, trading rumors as readily as coins. One buyer swears the satchel is worth more during harvest moorings; another swears the sigil glows stronger after a night of rain. The stallkeeper smiles, taking a coin from a young scavenger, then taps the satchel with a finger and says the true price is measured in trust—between buyer, seller, and the world that longs to trust again. And so the Satchel of Cleric's Prowler Armor passes from hand to hand, a pocket of mercy folded away for the next patient in line.