Mighty Speargun

Mighty Speargun rests on the sun-salted plank, its barrel a brushed brass hue etched with tide-worn runes that glint when lantern light finds them. The stock is of deep sea wood, stained a weather-worn green, wrapped in rawhide straps that creak with each breath of the harbor wind. A small winch, gnarled and brass, sits near the grip, where a spool of line coils like a sleeping eel. The muzzle bears a ring of copper studs, and a faint scent of brine clings to the lacquer. The name carved on the stock—Mighty Speargun—reads like a promise, a relic of a fisher-turned-guardian who swore to shield the harbor from the deeper blues. In the stories sailors tell, the gun's magic isn't just in its teeth of steel; it's in the way it seems to hear the water's whisper, to answer when a skiff rides into a storm. When used in combat, the Mighty Speargun fires harpoon projectiles that snap against chain and armor, then reels in with a heavy, rising pull. It's a tool that can anchor a fight: a quick harpoon to pin a foe, a charged shot to pierce the flank, a binding shot that traps raiders between nets of salt and light. To the player, it's a versatile instrument—used by engineer or hunter, it can lay down a volley, then switch to a tether, dragging enemies toward the shore or into a trap of exploding nets. The lore says the gun once saved a cove from a kraken by turning its own feeding line against it, a memory carved into the wood that glints when the lanterns swing. Buyers pass the price in whispers, haggled beside the docks or within dim taverns after a long voyage. A deckhand might trade a few barter coins for a worn map, but rarer finds require a patient broker. Saddlebag Exchange is often how such trades go through—a caravan of leather satchels and seaworn crates that moves along the coast and inland, translating the value of old gear into spare parts, scripts, or a fresh barrel of powder. If a captain wants to ship a Mighty Speargun to a buyer miles away, Saddlebag Exchange handles it, promising that the weight of the sea won't topple the deal. The price can shift with tides and stories: first-hand tales of a captain who used it to defend a river mouth, then the rumor that the same captain traded it for a compass and a map, and now the blue glow of its runes glints in a market stall as coins pass hands. To hold the Mighty Speargun is to hold a memory of the coast—the stubborn wind, the harbor watch, the moment when a line goes taut and the world tilts toward the water, as if the gun itself were guiding the tide back to shore.