Rampager's Steam Speargun of Bloodlust rests on the workbench, a gleam of brass and red lacquer catching the lamplight. The barrel is a serpentine tube of hammered copper, riveted plates along its spine, the stock carved from dark hardwood that smells of smoke and oiled leather. A glass charge chamber sits near the trigger, filled with ruby-tinted liquid that swirls when the weapon tilts. Gears click within a heat-warmed housing, a leather strap stitched with runic thread looping from the fore-end. The silhouette is brutal and elegant, as if hunter’s dream fused with a machinist’s plan. Sigils along the barrel glow faintly when charged, and a brass plate behind the trigger guard bears a crest—a stylized horned rat. The texture tells a story: pitted brass, slick oil, and the memory of battles fought in rain and dust. In lore, the Rampager's name is whispered with respect. They say the Bloodlust version was forged during a brutal cycle of hunts where hunter and prey blurred, where blood and steam fused into a single roar. The gun’s signature isn’t only its explosive arc but the way it drinks the heat of combat, surging with a heartbeat that matches a warrior’s own. To wield it is to join the hunt’s momentum: the more you press forward, the more the bloodcalls urge you onward. Gameplay-wise, the ramped fury manifests as a disciplined, punishing cadence. It fires a steeltipped spear with surprising range, its projectiles weaving through armor and clutter, piercing through danger with a measured sting. A well-timed burst can trigger lifesteal and adrenaline, letting a berserker or scrapper keep pace with a frontline that seems to advance like a living wall. The weapon’s steam hiss becomes a lure and a warning, a reminder that every reload is risking something—and every successful shot earned through grit. It fits within a larger story—the tale of mercantile caravans, stubborn smiths, tavern debates over which build deserves such a weapon, and teams who survive by reading wind and metal alike. At Saddlebag Exchange, its value is weighed beyond coin. Traders murmur about the price tag—an asking that signals rarity and travel—while a seasoned clerk tacks a tag that gleams in gold: a fair share of gold, a few silver, and perhaps a trade-for-value that opens the road to future hunts. Buyers circle, bargaining with smiles, and the Rampager’s Steam Speargun of Bloodlust moves on, ready to roar again as the caravan rolls ahead. Some travelers swear the gun chooses its owner as much as the owner chooses it, a partner in the chase that never truly ends.