Magi's Steam Speargun

Magi's Steam Speargun rests on the market stall, brass barrel gleaming under the oil-lamp glow, engravings curling like tidal currents along its length. The wood stock is warm and lacquered, dark as wet stone, with copper fittings that catch every flicker of light. A slender vent at the side sighs out little puffs of steam, and a tiny pressure gauge ticks in measured patience. Inside the muzzle, a harpoon tip curls like a silver fang, sharpened and ready. The grip is wrapped in worn leather, comfortable as an old friend’s handshake, while a short length of chain clinks quietly from the trigger guard, a reminder that this is not mere ornament but a machine meant to be coaxed into action. It feels alive, as if the past itself is coaxing steam from a pressurized heart. This is not simply a weapon; it is a bridge between craft and myth. The Magi who lent their name to this relic fused rune-work with piston and valve, a lineage of engineers who believed that steam could sing with a chorus of runes and fire. They called themselves the Magi, not sorcerers but troubleshooters of the impossible: devices that could bite through chaos and keep their bearers one step ahead of the river’s hungry tides. The Speargun carries that history in its weight, a reminder that some wars are fought with patience, some with pressure, and some with the stubborn will to make metal listen. In the field, the Magi's Steam Speargun feels like a conversation you’re having with a storm. It fires a harpoon with a sharp, straight arc, skimming over rocks and reed beds to pierce stubborn armor or snag a foe hiding behind cover. Its two modes reward different temperaments: rapid-fire harpoons that chew through space and nuisance targets, and a charged shot that takes a breath and then anchors itself in the world, pulling an enemy into the open as if dragging them into a held breath. Each discharge drinks a measure of steam and heat; you learn to regulate the gauge as you would a temperamental companion, letting the weapon dictate your rhythm rather than forcing your own. When aimed at the right moment, the Speargun can turn a skirmish in one decisive beat, like a line drawn in brass that refuses to smear. The gun’s role in the wider world is stitched into the everyday stories of river towns and harbor markets. Sailors swap tall tales of salvagers who patched hulls with Magi’s devices, crews that used the Speargun to clear nets clogged with debris and driftwood, or to quiet a charging maw of kelp beasts beneath the waves. The artifact has travelled from workshop to warehouse, a prized catch for those who bargain with junkyard poets and cartwrights. Saddlebag Exchange—the caravans, the backroom haggles, the ledger ticking in the candlelight—becomes part of the gun’s provenance. There, the price moves with the day’s mood and the gun’s glow, a thing measured in coins and stories, often enough a few gold pieces that could keep a crew fed for a week or more, depending on luck and the wind. Holding Magi's Steam Speargun is to hold a fragment of a world where ingenuity and the stubborn river meet. It is not merely a tool of damage—it’s a beacon of perseverance, a reminder that with steam, rune, and will, people can fashion order from the chaos of a flooded, restless world. The gun remains, for those who listen, a steady heartbeat in the loud, glimmering present.