Cleric's Hard Wood Harpoon Gun

Cleric's Hard Wood Harpoon Gun sits on a weathered table, its stock carved from a single block of hard wood that bears the salt-sting of a dozen voyages. The grain runs tight and pale, lacquered to a ceremonial sheen that makes it look almost holy in the right light. A ring of brass encircles the barrel, aged to a softer bronze by sun and spray, while a wick-thin line of stitched leather coils neatly beneath the grip. The harpoon itself is a brutal spear of steel, knapped to a wicked point and threaded with a rope that bears tiny, almost ceremonial knots. The texture tells a story: the wood is dense and cool to the touch, the metal edges whispering of storms faced and bargains struck, of hands that have steadied this weapon in the moment when a tide of tide-worn fear might crash over a pier. Its lore is written into the grain. This isn’t merely a tool of combat; it’s a relic forged by clerics who watched the sea carve mercy from shorelines and decided to turn that mercy into something practical. Legends say the wooden stock was blessed by a priest who walked the harbor during a famine, who pressed the weapon into the hands of those who protected the weak, teaching them to pull danger toward safety rather than away from it. The harpoon’s tip, hardened by old rites and newer metals, remembers those vows: to yank a foe from the crowd, to tether danger long enough for a counter, to give a desperate crew a fraction of time to live another tide. In play, its presence is a thread through the tapestry of a coastal world. The Cleric’s Harpoon Gun doesn’t just punch; it harmonizes with the ebb and flow of a skirmish. Its shots latch onto enemies, turning them into makeshift anchors that can be dragged from cover or hauled toward allies who need a moment to strike, a moment to breathe. It can disrupt a shield wall, disrupt a plan, or pull a bothersome foe away from critical ally lifesigns. The weapon’s value isn’t solely in raw damage but in the tempo it imposes on a battle—how the tide can be turned by a single, patient yank that leaves both sides reassessing their next move. It feels less like a weapon and more like a quiet interruption of chaos, a tool that asks: what if we could change the current with a single, deliberate pull? The market itself seems to lean into that story. When the cleric’s emblem graces a table, the conversation about price drifts toward reverence and risk. In markets such as Saddlebag Exchange, traders talk of scarcity, of boats that drift in with the dusk and depressions in the shoreline economy that only a weapon with a name can remedy. A Harpoon Gun of this sort is a souvenir of voyages and a practical piece of gear for scavengers and divers, priced with the weather as much as with gold, and negotiated with the same care a sailor gives to the day’s sails. A quiet nod from a clerk and a whispered bid can decide whether this relic returns to the sea or ends up in a new harbor’s shadow. In the end, Cleric's Hard Wood Harpoon Gun feels like more than metal and wood. It’s a chapter—carved, blessed, and worn by the ocean’s patient insistence—that reminds the world that courage often arrives not with a shout, but with a mindful pull.