Strong Speargun

Strong Speargun rests on the rail of a weathered workbench, its barrel a polished, sun-warmed bronze that glints like a coin pulled from a tide-washed drawer. The stock is carved from driftwood, pale and salt-etched, bound with copper rivets, and spiraled with runes that look as if they were pulled from a sailor’s old journal. A coil of hardened sinew anchors the trigger to a small band of whale-bone that hums faintly when the gun is swung, as if the weapon remembers every wave it has faced. The muzzle wears a ring of patinaed brass, and the spear tip inside seems almost to breathe, a hint of danger kept under quiet control. It is a tool designed for the sea as much as for the shore—an artifact of fishermen who learned to barter with storms, a token that links the old salt routes to the new markets of the human free corners. In the world where it travels, the Strong Speargun is not just a weapon but a memory. Tales say it was forged by a shipwright who traded with the Pact and then forged a compromise between iron and kelp—blessed with a touch of magic that makes its harpoon travel farther when the water is heavy with salt. Its significance in combat is clear: a long-range implement that can fire spears with concerted precision, then switch to a rapid-fire harpoon mode to hold a line, pin a foe, or snare a retreating skirmisher. It rewards patience and timing, rewarding the good hunter who reads the sea's moods. Heavier than a pistol but lighter than a rifle, it is the kind of tool you carry along the harbor’s edge and into the far wrecks, where the coral gleams and danger hides in the shadows of a sunken hull. The Strong Speargun can disrupt a frontline and pull enemies out of position, its anchor-like heft letting you carve through armor with a well-timed shot. Pricing stories drift through the markets as easily as ship fog. In the morning, a rumor can lift the gun’s price as sailors barter tales about a catch that paid for a whole quarter’s sails. By afternoon, a buyer scribbles in a notebook and heads toward Saddlebag Exchange, where a price tag has a stubborn glow—two pieces of gold and a spare coil of rope, or whatever else the crowded stalls will trade—matched to the gun's wear, its legend, and the buyer’s need. You walk away with a sense that this is more than metal and wood; it’s a link to the sea’s memory and to the trades that keep a town afloat. There, the Strong Speargun sits in its case, a quiet reminder that every story, even a weapon, is balanced on a string of tides. Some nights, a lone fisher taps the brass and whispers thanks to the sea, for the Strong Speargun has not just hunted but connected people—measuring time by tides, balancing risk with reward, and stitching stories into the harbor's wooden spine.