For those of you that haven’t read the from GoN descriptions, or that want a reminder, here they are.
They all wear jackets which are beautifully dyed in swirling variations of the Thornmouth guild colors. Some edges of the jackets are frayed, as if they were idly worried while their wearers got lost in an old book. Small magnifying glasses hang from lapels. Other jacket pockets are stuffed with pens and scraps of paper for scribbling a note or documenting a stray thought. All have a small phial hanging from a chain, a warm light inside; a flicker of the Mindflame.
Their long jackets are shades of ochres, umber, crimson, and made from fine, but proudly-aged leather. The jackets whip in the wind off the sea. Maps peek out from their pockets, some of the ghosts even have sections of unfinished maps etched onto the fabric of their clothes.
The tails of their indigo jackets catch in the seawind as the ebbing colors of dusk play along their wool-trimmed edges. Their jackets are set with ordered pockets and loops of varying sizes and placements. Some to hold a bow across one’s back. Others to carry rows of worn tools for carving stone, or painting, or scrying. They each wear a small set of scales around a chain, scales that tip and move of their own accord, measuring some unseen balance.
Part cloak, part waistcoat, their hooded jackets are covered in what look like spatters of inky black at the bottom, and deep green on the body and shoulders, with a sort of sheen that catches the light every now and then. On further inspection, though, it is more like a watercolor of a deep forest path, where an emerald canopy is every now and then pierced by brilliant, shimmering white light, illuminating the verdant soil below. It is like a wearable mirror, obscuring them and reflecting, not what is around the wearer, but where they would rather be, the true home of the Balimorans–somewhere in the ever-wavering light and dark of nature. They are here, and yet they are not. When visible, their pockets are overfull of scrolls and strange blossoms, or gnarled twigs, kept for unknown purposes. Attached to their coat are gloves, which they use to feel soil, cast charms, or test the energy and direction of the wind, attuned with all the sensitivity of the wearers. The different parts of the coat are connected in a rough patchwork manner, composed of multitudinous substances, and yet, the chaos somehow contains a secret harmony.
They already wear impressive jackets, embossed with the Flinterforge logo, fit for a great cause, but as they fade into existence, they are already putting on workman’s smocks and gloves.
Some wear long jackets, while others are short-cropped at the waist, with pockets and vented panels that can be expanded to an enormous volume. Some are colored, and some are made of plain canvas, while others are covered with notes of unfinished calculations, waiting to be brought to fruition. Every once in a while, a ghost will be seen to wave their hand over these scrawlings, wiping them clean in an instant. One Flinterforge grabs the hem of their long coat, twisting it and attaching it to their shoulders in one seamless motion, turning the cloak into a waist-length jacket, with a deep hood used to block out all distractions. Another Flinterforge emerges from a nap inside a one-person tent, only to pinch the edge of the tent, shaking it for a moment, and watching it as it contracts into a jacket. They seem to become whatever is needed at the moment. Flinterforge are proud of their jackets, every one a singular and personal creation made to satisfy their interests and endeavors.
The Gossmere jackets are pale–some are knitted from yarn, while others are long and light, made of cotton. They come in many shades, from yellows and creams, to off-whites and tans. But none are plain. All have been colored by strenuous labor. Their edges are stained with bright tinctures and petal dust, with hearth smoke and multicolored ink. Their coats are comfortable, inviting, simple, but the smears and stains serve as reminders of healing bedside visits or wild and raucous nights around a drumfire. Buttons made of brilliant and multi-faceted metallic stars hum and resonate, especially at their hearts, and an errant thread or strand of yarn can be pulled clean and used to bind a wound, divine a hidden herb, or even string an instrument. Their jackets may not be as utilitarian as the other guilds, but they are beautiful, and when seen by others, they seem to conjure senses of warmth, healing, and union.