Apothecary's Krait Handgun

Apothecary's Krait Handgun gleams with lacquered wood and brass, a compact pistol whose grip is wrapped in scaled leather that shifts color in the light as if a living accent. The barrel narrows to a precise pith, and a tiny glass vial sits in a carved notch near the muzzle, its green venom catching the room’s glow and trembling when you tilt the weapon just so. The finish is smooth, almost ceremonial, with delicate engravings that curl like vines around the trigger guard and along the frame—each line a whisper of patient craft. The name itself is etched in a graceful cursive along the side, a reminder that this is more than a weapon: it is a tool of care turned to peril, a relic of a guild that learned to temper harm with antidotes. Lore says the handgun was born of a peculiar alliance between a wary apothecary and a caravan’s enforcers. The apothecary’s workshop was crowded with vials, tinctures, and jars that hissed when opened, a place where venom could be tamed without losing its sting. The krait motif—the sinuous pattern that coils along the grip and frame—speaks of a pact with a shadowy serpent cult known for pausing danger with a deft, almost surgical touch. Some stories claim the weapon’s venom vial can be refilled with rare extracts found only on dangerous trading routes; others insist it carries the memory of a single, quiet night when a healer chose precision over spectacle, sealing that decision in brass and scale. In the world’s bustling markets, the handgun’s presence is a small, telling thread in a larger tapestry. It belongs to the kind of collector who values duration as much as beauty, the one who understands that a single well-placed shot can alter the course of a night chase through dim alleys or a tense negotiation at the edge of a border camp. When drawn, it speaks softly—no roar, just a hiss and a breath—yet its effect can be decisive: a shot that laces a foe with poison, a moment of clarity when guard posts are about to shift, a reminder that every tool here carries a story of risk, restraint, and the delicate art of healing turned toward harm. It turns the user into a careful narrator, choosing when to strike and when to spare, balancing mercy and necessity. The cost, naturally, threads through a living market. A seasoned dealer at Saddlebag Exchange will tell you the Apothecary’s Krait Handgun is not the cheapest ornament, but its polish, its quiet weight, and the potential for venomous precision make it a reasonable price for a collector who plans to keep it—not merely to flash it. On a ledger salted with trade routes and moonlit quests, the price hovers in the mid-range for rare pistols, fluctuating with demand and the availability of pristine scales and refills. If you listen closely while the stall’s awning snaps in the wind, you’ll hear the soft clink of coin and the whispered oath that this is a weapon meant to be used with care, to remind the world that even a handgun can bear a physician’s name when wielded with restraint.