Cleric's Pearl Speargun

Cleric's Pearl Speargun glows with a pearlescent patina, a long, slender barrel wrapped in ivory shellwork that catches light as if underwater lanterns were lifting the room. The stock is a sweep of driftwood, smooth where the palm settles and scored with crescent-moon runes that shimmer faintly when the air carries salt. The muzzle is crowned with a ring of pearl inlays, each a tiny map of a tide that never fully returns to shore. Its texture is cool and glassy, yet the weapon bears the kiss of wear—minute nicks along the grip where a hard sea spray found its mark and a soft weave of rope scars from coastal markets. In the right light, the runes seem to pulse with a quiet mercy, as if the pearl itself remembers every prayer spoken to ward off storms. The Cleric’s Pearl Speargun feels half relic, half instrument, a bridge between faith and fortune carved by hands that knew both mercy and steel. Lore tells of a small order who tended ships and ferry routes along a misting archipelago, the Pearl Court that believed the sea speaks in currents and in courage. They blessed tools that could defend the vulnerable without stealing the night’s breath from those who depended on it. So the speargun was not merely a weapon but a conduit—an offering of precision and care. When used by a patient hand, its shots were said to tether chaos, drawing enemies toward a center of light, while a second breath of radiance mends allies nearby. Players who cradle this weapon often describe it as a companion in a long vigil: a spear that can pierce the fog, a marker of mercy in the middle of a skirmish, a reminder that violence and virtue can share the same blade. In practical terms, the Cleric’s Pearl Speargun marries two worlds: it grants reliable ranged damage while weaving in supportive potential that can turn a tense moment into a saved convoy or a rescued healer. Its shots sometimes resonate with a gentle heal or a buff that steadies a group’s focus, depending on how the shipwright and runes have been tuned. It’s not flashy in the way a sweeping flamethrower might be, but it carries a patient, disciplined cadence—a reminder that true power often respects restraint. The sound of its release is like a bell over calm water, a signal that help is arriving just as the danger peaks. Market stories drift through taverns and harbors, where traders compare notes about provenance and condition. On Saddlebag Exchange, the cleric’s pearl glows in the ledger beside other coastbound relics, its price shifting with the tide of demand and the sheen of the shell. A pristine specimen fetches a higher chorus of gold, while a well-loved survivor trades hands for a fairer sum, enough to buy a winter’s meal and a few new rations for a caravan. It’s the kind of item that makes you lean in and listen to the old sailors’ tales—the kind that turns a weapon into a keepsake, and a keep-safe faith into a living chapter of the world’s ongoing tide.