Medium Moldy Bag sits on a sun-worn stall, its leather a pale, damp color, with the edges frayed and the strap loosening from years of travel. A greenish bloom threads through the stitches, a delicate velvet of mold that has aged into the grain. The clasp is rusted, the buckle dented, and the interior lining shows a damp smear. The bag’s medium size announces its promise: big enough for a day’s rations, small enough to tuck beneath a cloak. The texture is a study in contradiction: slick leather on the outside, rough burlap on the inside; the mold lends a velvet touch, as if the bag wore a forest moor on its skin. The patterns form random sigils, or so the curious might swear, as if a careless courier once pressed a hand to the bag and left damp trails in its wake. Lore about such bags whispers of caravan guards who needed a discreet place for papers and tokens, kept safe from salt spray and prying eyes. Some say the green bloom is a blessing, others a warning; traders tell tales of a bag that traveled from harbor to market, catching rain and memory alike. In gameplay terms, the Medium Moldy Bag is a practical companion for travelers and tinkers. It serves as a portable storage option, a low-cost container that fits between a pocket and a pack. When cracked open, its contents lean toward salvage: coarse cloth scraps, a few tarnished coins, perhaps a small map fragment. The bag’s value lies not in grand drops, but in the tiny stories its contents imply: a clue to a side quest, a hint of a route through a foggy pass, a reminder that someone once counted on this very bag to keep a secret. Markets rarely forget these relics. On a busy morning you’ll hear stall chatter about provenance, and at Saddlebag Exchange the talk swells with practical confidence. Vendors price the Medium Moldy Bag modestly, often in copper coins, with a silver note only if the moisture has been driven away and the lining brightened by careful hands. The exchange has a knack for turning a moldy joke into a usable tool, a cursed omen into a traded memory. So the bag endures, not as a trophy but as a hinge between souls—hunters, merchants, and folk who barter and barter again. A simple container, perhaps, yet it keeps faith with the road-worn and the hopeful, a pocket-sized reliquary of travel. The Medium Moldy Bag reminds us that in a world of brisk trades and rain-soaked days, even the humblest container can hold a hundred small stories, each one worth a moment’s pause on the way to the next destination.