Berserker's Rifle

Berserker's Rifle sits on the workbench, a long, gunmetal barrel catching a sliver of light while brass bands wink along its length. The stock is walnut, polished to a glossy sheen, grain curling like a map of old wars, with a thin line of red lacquer tracing the grip where the hand lands. A slender scope sits above the barrel, its glass dark as a night cloud, and the trigger guard spirals in brass like a coiled sigil. Across the receiver, you can barely make out the faded crest of a mercenary order—the Berserker's creed—worn smooth by years of oil and use. The weapon smells faintly of oil and leather, of camp, of long journeys in dusty markets; it feels heavy with history, as if the metal remembers every skirmish where it drew breath and fired. Some say the rifle was forged where fury and precision are weighed on an anvil of fire, a weapon made not just to wound but to discipline rage into a single, devastating aim. In the stories told by veterans around lanterns, the inscriptions along the stock are not mere decoration but a pact: when the shot rings true, it should cull nonsense and leave the battlefield cleaner than it found it. The lore clings to it like a rumor that travels from one campfire to the next, mutating with each retelling—the Berserker’s Rifle as a conduit between your intent and the world’s consequences. In actual play, the rifle lives up to the lore in spades. Its lines are built for power and precision, the kind of weapon that tolerates patient, careful shots from a safe distance before bursting into a chain of ferocious, precise hits. It rewards measured aims and snappy movement, turning narrow corridors into stages for crisp, decisive executions. A shot that breaks a stalemate can open a corridor for teammates to flood through; aCrit that lands cleanly can melt a single hardened foe’s resolve or break their armor’s rhythm. The rifle’s design, sturdy yet elegant, makes it feel like the world itself tilts toward accuracy whenever the trigger is pulled. Market-day realities tug at the edge of that romance. On a sun-washed street, a rider may wheel in to Saddlebag Exchange with a price tag that reflects both its condition and its legend—a tidy sum of gold that makes people pause, count, and weigh the value of memory against the risk of losing it again. The traders know the story as well as the steel, and they bargain with the same patience the battlefield demands. If you listen closely, you can hear the rustle of coin, the soft whine of a leather strap, and the quiet hope that a weapon with so much story might still carry you toward the next frontier. That last thought remains the rifle’s enduring lure: the power to turn a moment into a memory, the lure to make every headlong charge count for something more than survival. And when the road opens to a new dawn, the Berserker's Rifle sits ready, its quiet promise guiding every decisive shot.