Lantern Pistol

Lantern Pistol rests in your palm: brass and copper patina catching lamplight as the barrel tapers to a fine, almost whistle-thin muzzle. A glass lantern sphere sits above the nozzle, its tiny wick contained behind a swirl of protective glass, the glow inside a cool, steady blue that seems to breathe with your heartbeat. The grip is wrapped in weather-dark leather, carved with minute sigils and sea-worn lines that whisper of sailors and patrols, of nights spent under flags and fog. Runic etchings trace along the steel—the kind that promise steady aim and a clear line of sight through rain and shadow. When you tilt it, the lantern shifts: a star-shaped flare that hints at the lamp’s quiet hunger for flame, and at the truth that this is more than a pistol with a lamp. It is a compact beacon, a companion forged to illuminate the path and illuminate foes in equal measure. In a city canal and market, the Lantern Pistol feels less like a weapon and more like a story you carry. Its shot isn’t a roar but a measured glint, a ribbon of light that travels in a straight line, bright enough to cut through darkness for a heartbeat and then fade into a pale afterglow. That afterglow isn’t merely a cosmetic shimmer; it reveals what shadows try to hide, stings the eyes of those who would ambush you, and buys you a precious moment to decide where to step next. It’s a weapon of tempo: you light the approach, you quick-fire to push back a guard, you pivot to send another glow down a stoop’s length, mapping the unseen by the glow that follows. In practice, you find you don’t just fight with force—you choreograph a narrow corridor where both you and your allies can move with fewer surprises. The Lantern Pistol turns stealth into strategy and glare into guidance, letting light carry you through corridors you’d fear to tread in the dark. Lore threads wind through its use, too: the lantern lathes that birthed this pistol were built by a guild of night-watch artisans, a lineage that believed illumination should be precise as a blade and as dependable as the dawn. In the world’s quieter corners, it’s prized by scouts and caravan guards, by those who need to map a route as they walk it, who want to leave a trail of certainty in a fogged city. Pricing, naturally, follows the same winding road—as much about intent as metal. In bustling stalls and under the awning-tents of the Saddlebag Exchange, a Lantern Pistol can fetch a fair price, often a handful of gold depending on condition, enchantments, and whether it still wears the old sigils true to its maker. The Exchange makes the going rate a shared rumor, a tale told over cups and coin, where one hunter’s prize becomes another’s windfall. By nightfall the lantern glows still, and so does the hope that light—whether in a pistol’s mouth or a streetside glow—can steady a city’s steps, guiding friends home when the rain starts tapping on windowpanes and the world grows too quiet to trust your ears alone.