Recipe: Laranthir's Leather Breather sits on the working bench like a small, disciplined relic. A strip of oiled leather, dark as a timber stain, is stitched with stubborn, neat stitches that speak of patient hands. Its edges are softened by age, yet the material holds a quiet strength, as if it remembers every breath taken through it. Brass buckles catch the light in a steady gleam, and a narrow strap threads through a ring that once clasped tight to a collar, now repurposed as a reminder of the device’s field life. The outer surface bears a shallow etching—a looping sigil, a laurel leaf, and a tiny numeral that hints at a workshop’s cataloging system. Inside, a whisper-thin filter of charcoal and resin sits behind a pale foam, designed to trap particulates and dampen the bite of ash and sour air. A faint scent of tannin, oil, and something resinous clings to the leather, like a memory that refuses to be rubbed away. The card that accompanies it is not a flashy scroll but a practical note, stained around the edges, with neat cursive that has seen years of handling. It speaks of Laranthir, a name carried through caravans and ruined outposts: a hunter, a scavenger, a lore-seeker who trusted his life to a breathing mask when the air turned cruel. The breather itself was never a showpiece but a field tool, a quiet companion on long treks through smoke, dust, and gas that could weaken a person in minutes. The recipe is a bridge between craft and necessity, a map that says, in plain ink, how to pair hide, thread, resin, and filter to fashion a wearable shield against the world’s more biting breath. In practice, the leather breather becomes a small, crucial piece of a larger expedition. A healer in a ruined outpost wears it to weather a dust-choked descent into a collapsed mine; a cartographer uses it to study a cavern where fungal spores ride the air like iron filings in a magnet. It doesn’t grant invincibility, but it buys time—time to scout, time to think, time to pull a companion clear of danger. Players who discover the recipe can craft the piece, then lend it to others or trade it along a dusty trail, letting the design carry forward the memory of Laranthir and the hands that bound the leather to a safer, steadier breath. Pricing stories drift through the market as caravans come and go, and it’s here that Saddlebag Exchange slips into the tale. Traders whisper that a clean, usable Laranthir’s Leather Breather recipe can ride the days of scarcity, swinging in value with ashfalls and dampened demand. On a busy day someone may offer a fair trade of leather, resin, and a small coin, while on a slow week the same recipe can command a little more, driven by rumors of a particularly challenging expedition or a collector’s urge to own a fragment of the old craftsman’s lineage. In the end, the item remains more than a tool; it’s a thread binding past to present, a tangible link to the road-worn resilience of those who learned to breathe easy when the world refused to.