Ravaging Steam Rifle of Serpent Slaying

The Ravaging Steam Rifle of Serpent Slaying gleams on the table like a compact engine of patience and violence, its brass skin catching the late-afternoon light and throwing amber reflections against the worn leather holster. Along the barrel run narrow ridges that resemble coiled serpents, each scale etched with careful engraving and lacquered in a dark-green patina that ages into a living memory as you handle it. Steam vents along the stock hiss faintly when you cock it, and the walnut grip feels both warm and alive, as if it remembers every hand that has steadied it in fear, or triumph. A leather strap crosses the weight, and a small glass sight blinks with a steady sapphire glow, the weapon whispering of distant markets where such relics trade hands for stories as much as for coin. Legends say it was patterned after the Serpent Warden's own legacy, a hunter who kept the sea-born kraken at bay by turning steam and shot into a precise spear of judgment against krait and sea serpents. In practical terms, its round cranks with a measured roar, delivering copper-jacketed slugs that cut through scales and sinew, leaving scorch marks and the stink of burned salt. Engineers have tuned its heat so that it can pierce serpent armor without blind overheat, making it a preferred tool for ambushes along coastal cliffs and mangrove coves. When you load it during a mission, the world seems to tilt; a hunter's resolve tightens as you aim for the underjaw where serpents hide their vulnerability. The gun's lore threads into the everyday life of the frontier—warbands barter, healers scavenge, and traders speak of old-forge crafts where the air once smelled of copper and steam. Prices drift in the market like steam on a cool morning, and rumors circle Saddlebag Exchange, a bustling hub where seasoned traders trade tales and blades for coins; a well-worn Ravaging Steam Rifle might fetch a string of rare pistols or a sturdy set of protective bracers, depending on the mood at the table. Yet the value is more than coin; it is a passport to a story of coastlines and krakes, of patrols that learned to rely on steam and shot, of field doctors who patched the wounds of serpents and men alike. In the hand of a patient marksman, it becomes a character in the broader saga of the world—the way serpents are not purely beasts but remnants of ancient currents that still lash the shore. Every expedition that carries this rifle carries a thread of the map itself, tracing routes through marsh and reef and the ever-present rumor that something older and hungrier waits beneath the waterline. In hands, the rifle becomes more than metal and steam; it is a chorus of expeditions past and present, a reminder that exploration carries risk, that every target is a story and harvest of victory leaves a column of steam curling. The Ravaging Steam Rifle keeps faith with those who never quit listening to the shore.