rikos' flintlock pistol
The frizzen, pan and barrel of this weapon softly glow as if packed with smoldering coals, yet it is freezing to the touch.
This weapon emanates immense evil and any player holding the stock will hear faint whispers and the din of war.
nowhere attempted to fire this weapon and, when she did so…
your spirit is torn from your body and, as if by an unseen hand, plunged into the bowels of feywin. with increasing speed, you are dragged through the prime planes, before crashing into the jagged face of pazunia, plain of infinite portals, palace of 1,001 closets. as your soul’s eyes gaze, they is met with windswept barrens and jagged tors. twisted fortresses climb skyward and, as you trace their spires, you notice the sky flickering with teeming swarms of winged demons. an oppressive red sun, heavy with infinite age, bathes the land in sweltering heat and harsh light, while angry shadows curtain the rubble, concealing hidden menace. as you climb to your feet, you realize that there are massive pits everywhere, sinkholes, plunging into deeper layers of terror. desperately searching for even meager shelter, you feel increasingly lonely as this demonic war rages around you. realizing your complete exposure, you spot a small rocky outcrop and, without thinking, you make a break for its protection. not even five feet into your journey, a mammoth tanar’ri crashes into the pitted ground before you. as it rights itself and prepares to re-engage the fray, it pauses, snorts and licks the air. turning its great horned head towards you, its eyes connect with yours. its brief confusion is quickly drowned in an ocean of hatred. as it kneels and prepares to charge, you feel six fingers, spider through your spirits hair and grab hold. the tanar’ri’s eyes narrow and focus past you as it throats, obyrith. i shall dine on your children’s, children. as it sprints forward, you feel the fingers tighten and you are ripped from the face of pazunia and flung backwards through the abyss, the demon takes flight and follows, quickly supported by a thousand of his brethren. reaching towards your feet, their eyes explode into a collective fire and each time your movement accelerates, so does theirs. just as the leaders hand reaches for you, planar layers are crossed and your soul is slammed back into your body with such force that the rest of the party just sees you explode from your original position, to a smoking, soot covered pile on the ground. as you blink and choke on the sulfur that surrounds you, find yourself gripping the barrel of the pistol, promising yourself to never let it go.