Berserker's Iron Pistol

Berserker's Iron Pistol sits on the counter like a stubborn relic, its barrel a matte grey that drinks light rather than reflects it, pitted and seasoned from the heat of a dozen forges. The grip is wrapped in deep, worn red leather that smells of oil and old rain, the edges smoothed by years of use until they feel like a second skin. Along the length of the iron body run slender, rune-etched grooves that glow faintly when the room is warm, a ghostly thread the smiths swore connected to a berserker’s vow—fight first, think later—carved into the metal by a master who believed silence belonged to the dead. The stock bears a small brass crest—a roaring silhouette trapped in a line of flame—that catches the lamplight and seems to leap for a heartbeat, then quiet again as if the pistol itself is listening for orders. Its texture tells a story of repair and pride. The finish carries small dents from field work and a patch or two where a careful hand sealed a crack with rivets and lacquer. When you cradle it, the weight sits heavy in the hand, a paradox of delicacy and force, as if the weapon could be coaxed into a whisper or snapped into a roar with equal ease. The trigger guard has a slight lean, as though the pistol learned to lean on any shoulder that offered it a steady aim, and the barrel—short and compact—hints at a weapon built for quick, decisive bursts rather than drawn-out duels. Lore threads weave through that practical shell. Tales say this pistol was forged by a guild of ironworkers who swore fealty to the berserker’s code—a code that prized ferocity and speed in equal measure. Some insist the runes stitched along the breech are more than decorative; they are the memory of old campaigns, a whisper to the weapon to guard its bearer’s heart and to strike with the fury of a thousand storms when the moment demands it. Whether true or simply the sort of story sailors tell in taverns, the pistol carries the weight of that legend in every clink of the chamber and every soft thrum of the metal when heated by a quick draw. In practical terms, Berserker's Iron Pistol is a high-damage favorite for those who chase bold, crit-driven play. Its Berserker’s heritage tilts toward Power, Precision, and Ferocity, rewarding players who like to lean into rapid-fire moments and confident engagements. You feel the difference in a well-timed crit—bright, hot, and consequential—each successful shot snapping the weave of a fight into sharper focus. It’s a tool for skirmishes where tempo matters: a burst of shots to push a foe off balance, then a pivot to reestablish distance before the world reclaims the moment. Market life gives the pistol its own rhythm. In the Saddlebag Exchange, the price of a Berserker’s Iron Pistol glides with demand, a copper coin here, a traded trinket there, more often a story about who once owned it and where it was last shown off in a tavern glare of post-battle pride. You hear the clink of coins, the soft bargaining, the quiet sigh of someone deciding whether the tale behind that crest warrants a larger stake. It’s not merely a weapon; it’s a chapter in a larger ongoing epic, carried by hands that know both the joy of a clean shot and the burden of a legend they choose to live with. So the pistol remains, not just as metal and wood, but as a shared memory of battles fought in crowded streets, under banners, and between the lines of a larger, stubborn world that keeps turning.