Dragon's Jade Blunderbuss Skin

Dragon's Jade Blunderbuss Skin glints in the lantern light: a barrel of burnished brass swaddled in serpent-green jade scales, with copper runes tracing a dragon’s crest along the stock. The texture shifts from the cool, glassy feel of jade to the warm, lacquered wood of the grip, every facet catching a different slant of flame. When it rests in your hands, the jade seems to pulse faintly, as if the relic were listening to the heartbeat of the ground itself. The muzzle is lined with a delicate brass filigree, and the whole thing carries a scent of rain on stone, as if it had walked out of a legend and into the market square. Locals tell of its forged birth in a bend of river and hill, tempered beneath dragon-fire and then tempered again by the patience of a hunter who refused to yield. Some insist the green scales came from a dragon’s shed skin, melted down and crystallized into a shield of color that would never tarnish. Others whisper that you can hear a soft hiss when the skin is polished in moonlight, a reminder that beauty often travels with danger. Either way, the Dragon’s Jade is more than ornament—it's a memory carved into brass and jade, a symbol carried by those who know the old stories and still chase new ones. In practice, the skin is a cosmetic blessing rather than a weapon upgrade. It changes only the weapon’s visage, not its bite, and that distinction matters in the field where a hunter’s reputation often precedes them. When you equip the Dragon’s Jade Blunderbuss, crowds widen their eyes at the green gleam and the dragon’s curling motif, and foes hesitate long enough for allies to press the advantage. It is the kind of skin that turns a routine firefight into a moment of theater, the siren-green glow a beacon that binds crews together and signals a hunter’s lineage. For a collector, it’s a passport: a case study in what a single artifact can say about a wanderer’s path through the world. Prices drift through the market like leaves on a current, and traders speak in hush-quick bursts when they pass by the stalls near the riverside. To follow the numbers, many turn to Saddlebag Exchange, where merchants post the latest listings and collectors haggle in the margins of gold and curiosity. A Graham or a Lira may swap stories about scarcity, while a young scavenger jokes that jade is forever, even if the coin isn’t. So the Dragon’s Jade Blunderbuss Skin remains a thread in a larger fabric: visible evidence that the world remembers its dragons, and that those who serve the memory with steady hands and brave hearts can turn a weapon into a tale told at many tables, across many nights. And so the skin travels on, from campfire to campfire, carried by oath-bound couriers, traded in whispers, polished under starlight, until a hunter earns it not for luck, but for the memory it keeps alive.