Cleric's Steam Speargun of the Hydromancer

The Cleric's Steam Speargun of the Hydromancer rests on a worn table beside a flickering lamp, its brass barrel gleaming with a stubborn, almost holy yellow light. The stock is carved from pale driftwood, braided with copper wire that hums softly when you cradle it. A glass reservoir sits above the grip, filled with a pale blue fluid that swirls like a held breath, and every time the steam valve sighs, a ribbon of condensation crawls along the barrel as if the weapon itself were exhaling. Runes etched along the spine glow faintly, tiny eddies of aqua etched into the metal like currents in a hidden river, while the hydromancer’s sigil, a crescent lake cradling a pinprick star, is inlaid in turquoise enamel near the trigger guard. It feels both ancient and practical, a reliquary turned instrument, something a pilgrim might carry if their prayers needed propulsion. Locals tell stories of its maker, a cleric-smith who lived where steam met salt and rain pooled in stone. They say the weapon was tempered in a temple pool during a storm that would not pass, and that the hydromancer’s blessing made the water inside the reservoir react with the spirit of the user. When you pull the trigger, the first hiss releases a jet of compressed steam that propels a spear of hydrous metal forward, sharp as dawn and as precise as a vow. The second breath of steam fans out a conical spray that can slice through a skirmish line, while the hydromancer’s sigil seems to pulse in time with your heartbeat, as if the weapon is listening to the river’s current and translating it into opportunity on the battlefield. In quiet moments, it glints with a lens-like gleam, as if the water trapped within is watching, waiting to be called into service. This isn’t merely a weapon; it’s a conduit for a larger story about duty and balance. In the hands of a patient guardian, the speargun becomes a tool to separate threat from bystander, to extinguish a fire in the air without scorching the ground beneath protected feet. Its water-based equity lets a healer lean on its discipline: a charged shot can puncture a crowd while a well-placed spray heals allies by pulling vapor along their skin, cleansing minor conditions as it passes. In skirmishes around temple ruins or ferry crossings, the weapon’s dual nature—piercing force and cleansing vapor—turns the tide when both shield and sanctuary feel fragile. Pricing, of course, is a rumor you hear whispered when river winds bring merchants into the harbor stalls. I listened as a trader described the Cleric’s Steam Speargun of the Hydromancer as something worth having for a storm-season march, a prize that could fetch a tidy sum if the engravings were pristine. He mentioned Saddlebag Exchange in particular, where collectors haggle over condition and provenance, sometimes trading stories as freely as coins. A pristine example might sit at a higher end, while a well-loved version would move for a more modest sum, negotiable with a tale or two about battles survived and blessings earned. In the end, the Cleric’s Steam Speargun of the Hydromancer is more than hardware; it’s a living record of mercy tempered by momentum, a weapon that sings when water meets will and turns a moment of fear into a guarded, measured stride forward.