Poacher’s Clothes

Outlawed a century ago, most of the works of the Tailor of Cragg were burned and classified as subersive technology by all the civilized nations from sea to sea. But, you can no more take quality larcenous goods out of the market entirely than you can take piss out of a beer once the halfling pisses in your beer.
Poacher’s Clothes were the least of his creations, truly. An alchemical and arcane enriched suit of travelling clothes that were specially designed for the Brightlight Gang who famously stole Lord ir’Corwin’s famed Dialai Cattle and cleared the game out of his personal wood before the last war.
Trousers, loose and outfitted with clever ties to cinch close to the joints when needed; shirt, longsleeved and similarly designed; short hose to wick away moisture; three-tailed scarf of incredibly robust design for use as a short poncho, a bundle, or a shade. Longcoat that folds down for easy carry that is water and mostly element proof and retracting hood attached–perfect for keeping the weather off. The whole outfit is a strange shade of beige that, when looking too long, seems to shift in hue and texture.
Attunement requires outfitting one’s self and being away from populated civilization for at least 12 hours. The magic that drives it was designed to keep the outfit from being used in urban and settled towns and areas (so the Tailor could keep the lowest profile). If one is within a mile of a major settlement of people (defined by the DM, but must be limited to areas incorporated as formal cities or towns or settlements at least), the clothes only appear to be ill-fitting beige drapery.
However, away from such place, the Poacher’s Clothes grant the wearer resistance to the natural elements (naturally occurring heat, cold, wet, arid landscapes, etc) which advantage them on all checks to resist damage or exhaustion from exposure. The clothes retain much of the wearer’s natural body moisture and one need not drink water but once a week (rather than once a day). One is advantaged on Stealth checks in natural environments and one need not have tents or blankets or bedrolls to achieve a normal, comfortable sleep.
In addition, the Poacher’s Clothes shift and adapt (as an illusion) in the eyes of any given viewer. So long as a creature has an Intelligence Score greater than 3, one may attempt to hide even if one is in plain sight. On one’s turn, one may take an action to focus the effect on one target, forcing them to make an Intelligence Save DC equal to one’s Spell Save DC (if one doesn’t have one, this effect is not possible). On a failure, one may attempt a hide on their next turn at Disadvantage in clear view of the target vs target’s Passive Perception. Attacking or otherwise directing new attention to one’s self will break this Hide as normal. To the target, one appears to be there and then it becomes very hard to distinguish between the wearer and other things in the background. The mind is forcing itself away from the confusion constantly.

Poacher’s Clothes

Item type

Clothing / Accessory

“Can we set a fire or not?!?” Harris was now yelling upward at the old paladin, towering several good feet over him. They’d been at it all night. The group had picked up the delver down in Farahtown—solid reputation. Could charm the pants off a lock. Knew his way through Hob ruins. Expert, you could say. But, with a good reputation comes some bad spots. Bit of a lazy thing, hear tell. bit of a priss.
And from the looks of it, Broadways was about two seconds from slapping the teeth out of the little gnomish gander. Hardly started this adventure and they were ready for a fight. The others just turned away, suddenly finding the grass more interesting than the coming ruckus.
“I’d already said we can’t. Too dangerous. We’ll eat cold and sleep cold, you can have my tent, Mister Pale, if you must. But no fire”, Ser Broadways—Brodie as the gang called him—was patient and kind, but his thick brow was furrowed enough to plant corn in tonight. This sorta thing had been going on since breakfast.
All the while, Wat reclined against a stump of a gnarled oak tree working himself to a nap, watching the coming scrap. City-boys and girls. What a useless bunch of cunts.