Contoured mottled black leathers

Prize item from Hunt for History.

some contoured mottled black leathers

Said to have belonged to a Dhe'nar ranger and date to the burning of Sharath.

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Boiled leather has been painstakingly shaped to conform to the body of a slender elf. From the wraparound leg greaves to the helm shaped to fit elven ears, the armor is both light and durable thanks to reinforcing leather strips that strengthen and shape it. Each piece of this set of armor is dyed into random-looking patterns of dark grey, charcoal, and matte black that break up the wearer's silhouette within almost any environment. You also notice a small enchanter's mark.

Loresong

A dark jungle mutters the soft sounds of a moonless night. Insects hum through the air to be snatched out by small predators, and in the distance a panther coughs. A small, furry animal creeps along a narrow path, whether hunting or avoiding larger beasts, unknown. The point abruptly becomes moot as it is transfixed by a black arrow shaft, pinning it to a tree. The creature dies without a sound, its life brought to a sudden end.

Something moves by the dead animal. A shadow that did not exist before falls over the tree and when it disappears, the corpse is gone as well. A few bushes rustle with the passing of the shadow and then all is still. Once more the jungle rustles with the teeming inhabitants, undisturbed by the death of one of their number.

Atop a small and bare hillock, a slow moving and silent shape appears, rising from the grasses. It resolves itself into a dark figure with a light cloud shrouding its form. No weapons are visible but it carries something small and limp in one hand and a flash of silver hair reflects the dull red glow of a mountaintop in the distance. The figure stares at the mountain for long minutes, and then drops back into the grasses. The grasses barely move and then the hillock is bare once more.

A small cavern is lit by a meager fire crackling in the fire pit. Around it huddle a score of dark elves, half of them children. They have a lean, hungry look to them and all carry weapons, even the youngest. One child faces the thick reed mat that serves for a door and she tenses, hissing warning as it twitches aside. Bows and throwing knives are trained towards the entrance at a leather-armored figure. He tosses a dead animal by the firepit, violet eyes sweeping across the others. Several other dark leather-clad push the reed mat aside and enter the cramped cavern standing behind the first dark elf. The ready weapons are relaxed and one dark elf in plate mail strides forward and inquires, "What news from the Esleash Eldha'a?"

The cavern is more crowded now, with nearly a hundred dark elves packed within. The new arrivals stand in front of a larger fire and the picked-over bones of the leader's kill lie beside it. The only noise in the packed cave is the quiet breathing of the elves as they wait for the ranger to speak. He clenches his jaw and growls out his words, "I have been to Sharath. Noi'sho'rah's prophesy has come true. They are dead, all of them. The Promised Land is no more."