Malign Steam Gizmo of Agony

Malign Steam Gizmo of Agony rests on the worktable, its brass body swollen with age, the enamel chipped to reveal a coppery gleam underneath. A glass capsule sits in a cradle of rivets, swirling black steam inside like a captured shadow. A spidery lattice of iron filigree coils around the case, each notch etched with sigils that count the minutes of suffering rather than the hours of work. A small pressure gauge, half hidden by soot, ticks toward red whenever its temper grows cruel. A nozzle at the end fumbles a hiss of hot breath, as if it were alive and gossiping with the room. The Gizmo bears a label burned into a leather tag: Malign Steam Gizmo of Agony, a name barely decent for a thing that has never known mercy. To hold it is to feel history leaning in: old workshop secrets poured into brass, a line of tinkers who believed pain could be engineered into precision. Some tell of a broken war engine spirited away by a caravan of scavengers, others whisper of a mistress of torment who learned to coax steam into a language: to twist a foe's breath and steal their resolve. When the Gizmo tugs at the air, it seems to carry the memory of those who tested it, the way steam carries a rumor across a crowded market. On the field, it does what its name promises and more. When activated, a narrow plume blooms from the nozzle, a ring of bitter warmth that clings to the ground like a drawn breath. Enemies stepping into the cloud find their movements slowed, their stamina burning as if they stood in a furnace that never quite goes out. It applies torment and a shallow burn, and it can disrupt healer casts by interrupting their rhythm. For engineers who value crowd control, it's a rare symphony of status and tempo; for thieves, a chance to slip away in the same steam that chokes pursuers. In the right hands, it becomes a central beat in a larger plan: isolate a flank, drive a group toward a choke, then let allies press through while the Gizmo keeps the pressure taut. At Saddlebag Exchange, a vendor weighed the Gizmo in his gloved palm, listening to the brass sing as he tipped the lid. The price drifted like a rumor, settled after a careful counter with a few silver and gold coins, and finally nudged toward eight gold and fifty silver. The seller shrugged with a half-smile and tucked the tag away, knowing some buyers would chase its memory more than value. And so the Malign Steam Gizmo of Agony continues to hum in the pockets of those who prize cunning and consequence. It stands as a hinge in the world’s churn—proof that pain, when engineered, can serve a purpose larger than fear. The next buyer might see a tool; the next story, a turning point for a crew learning to navigate danger with quiet resolve that lingers in the dawn.