Carrion Glyphic Rifle

Carrion Glyphic Rifle sits on the workbench, a long silhouette of bone-white wood and dark metal. The barrel swells near the muzzle, its surface layered with faint cracks that catch the lamp light. The receiver is inlaid with jade-green glyphs that glow softly when magic thickens in the air. The stock is carved to resemble a vertebral spine, ridges running along its length, and the grip is wrapped in worn leather. A brass trigger guard bears the sigil of a carrion scavenger, a quiet nod to its namesake. It feels cool and deliberate, as if death tempered this tool into something ceremonial. Those glyphs are more than ornament; they tell a hunter’s story of bargaining with a necromancer to bind the will of a carrion wraith to steel. In ruined outposts and damp crypts, the rifle seems to breathe, a memory tethered to its barrel. In the right hands, the glyphs guide the bullet through minuscule armor gaps and through the shadow between foes. In a patient marksman, the weapon becomes a companion, its glow signaling the precise moment to strike. On the field, the Carrion Glyphic Rifle rewards measured distance. Its rounds travel farther than a casual shot, arriving in a controlled arc for careful aim. A well-placed shot can apply bleeding, while the poisoned tip leaves a lingering cloud that hinders movement and drains stamina. The weapon asks for restraint: a cadence of breath, not a burst, and the glyphs respond with a soft tremor that echoes down the barrel when the target enters range. Its drop-off is quick once the range closes, forcing you to read the map rather than rely on reflex. At Saddlebag Exchange, the rifle sits among dealers who prize runed steel as much as balance. The posted price hovers between the low gold and mid-range, nudged higher by a brighter glow or a fresh scuff in the stock. The shop is less a numbers den and more a chorus of stories: the whiff of old powder, the whisper of a bargain, and the sense that every weapon carries a voyage. I watched a buyer study the grain, weigh the risk of a difficult shot against the payoff, and listen for the glyphs’ whisper as the seller named a price. Carrying the rifle changes how you move through a map. It’s not merely a tool of death but a speaker of legends, tying hunters who chase restless shades and scholars who pore over ruined classrooms of bone and brick. The Carrion Glyphic Rifle feels like a relic that learned to pull a trigger. When you aim, the glyphs breathe; when you fire, they remember—and maybe grant you the right moment to end the story on your terms. Collectors say its glyphs remember every failed plan and every hard-won victory, keeping the memory of those battles alive in the weapon.