Carrion Flame Rifle of Energy

Carrion Flame Rifle of Energy rests on a sun-warmed table, its barrel a coil of charcoal-black metal veined with ember-orange cracks. The stock, carved from what looks like fossil bone, fits the hand with a surprising warmth, as if it still remembers the heat of its own birth. Glyphs along the receiver glow faintly, sigils of decay and renewal braided together in a script that only the patient can read. When you lift it, the weapon exhales a breath of heat, a tiny heatwave that shivers along your knuckles and leaves a trace of ash on your sleeve. Its finish is dull at first glance, but as you tilt it toward light you see a micro-sparks dance through the etched marrow of the metal, like embers trapped in a living lattice. The Carrion Flame is a story weapon as much as a fighting tool, born from a soil-dark tradition that believed energy could be coaxed from death and repurposed as a shield for the living. In battle, it does not simply shoot; it consumes a flicker of the wielder’s own energy to throw a bolt of copper-fire that sears the air and bites deeper than ordinary rounds. The projectile blooms into a small carrion-flame burst on impact, scorching enemies and leaving a residual heat that slows or cripples those who linger too long. The rifle favors precision and timing: a careful aim, a short wind-up, and a release that feels almost ceremonial, as if the weapon itself were reciting a litany while the fuse burns. For a strategist who uses poison-parries and timing, the rifle becomes part of a larger ritual of control—you drain a pocket of your energy, endure a momentary vulnerability, and in exchange you grant your foes a memory of ash and heat. In the right hands, it becomes a way to shepherd battles toward a more deliberate pace. Market tales tell you the Carrion Flame is neither common nor cheap. Its price drifted through the wheels of the Saddlebag Exchange, where seasoned merchants haggle over rarity, condition, and the hidden stories a weapon carries. The exchange thrives on the wary glances of veterans who recognize the rifle not merely as metal and magic, but as a bet against chaos: a tool that turns your reserve into a disciplined flame. I watched an aspiring engineer trade a humming module for it, heart counting coins as a nurse counts heartbeats, each side hopeful that the exchange would tilt the battlefield in their favor. And so the rifle moves through the world—glimpsed in camp shadows, traded in markets, trusted by those who understand that power, well-managed, can be a quiet companion as lethal as any blade. On long patrols, I learned to pair it with a field-knife and a medic's patience, letting the rifle do the thinking when nerves fray. Its heat signature draws curious rumor-mongers, but true buyers hear only a promise of precision, discipline, and a torch when the night refuses to end. Power kept endures always.