Cavalier's Banded Gauntlets rest on the table, a curious duet of weathered leather and stubborn steel. The fingers are stitched with narrow metal bands that curve with each knuckle, and the palm bears a faint, circular crest: a horse in mid-chase, stamped as if pressed by a rider's glove years ago. The leather has the scent of rain-soaked saddles and long roads: firm where the palm meets the metal, soft where the thumb would flex, and worn at the cuffs where reins and bridle leather rubbed through many campaigns. The gauntlets are not merely armor; they are a tale caught in rivets and grain, a hinge between memory and the next skirmish. Some say they were forged in a hill town famed for cavalry legends, their maker inscribing the first rider's name along the inner edge, a whisper only the wearer can hear when the metal cools at dusk. As you slip them on, the weight settles in a way that makes a character feel ready to ride into the wind. The bands bite into the joints, offering a reassuring resistance when you swing, fending off stray blades with a practiced, almost casual flick of the wrist. In the world outside the dressing room, these gauntlets belong to stories: caravan guards who learned to read the road signs by the tremor of the earth, riders who pressed through sudden storms with the horse's heartbeat echoing in their ears. They carry a sense of jurisdiction, of being part of the order that kept trade lanes open and travelers alive, where a decisive strike could turn a chase into a retreat and a retreat into safe passage. In gameplay, they become more than ornament. They are a mark of reliability in close quarters, a visible reminder that your character favors the spear, the shield, or the quick punch of a short blade over careless waste. They frame your silhouette in campaigns and open-world wanderings, letting allies and rivals read your intent without a word. They pair well with the mantle of a rider who knows the road's hazards and the arch of a friendly wink in a tense moment. Their cryptic lore threads into events, too—one town's legends claim the gauntlets glow faintly when a caravan’s last bell rings, as if the road itself lends them its courage. Prices, too, travel with such relics. In the Saddlebag Exchange, a murmured price conversation often follows the first glance. Traders haggle over provenance and wear, balancing the gauntlets' romance against their practical wear. A buyer who has walked through two dozen markets recognizes the weight in the leather and the stubborn efficiency of the steel; they know a fair deal when it arrives between a quiet nod and a rustling coin pouch. So the Cavalier's Banded Gauntlets pass hands, and with them, a promise: that every road walked is a ledger of courage, and every grip a little more certain, until the next horizon calls. Some mornings the leather remembers rain and dust together.