Item class - blunderbuss
Jon stopped sweeping the floor for a minute and rested against the handle of his broom. He tried, as subtly as possible, to look over at the dark stranger who had been sitting in the corner all afternoon. He must be here for some reason, thought Jon, and why was his rucksack so large? The bell above the door rang as someone came inside and Jon hurried to look busy as he chased thoughts around his head. It was Ned, a travelling merchant who frequented the area. His prices were quite cheap, but then so was his merchandise. Jon did not like him as he always seemed quite slimy and devious, and his wares simply broke so often, but in his small village they just didn't have many options. Ned went right up to Jon's father and slammed a case down on the counter.
"I know you have trouble here sometimes, Frank, when people get a few too many drinks in them. I have the perfect solution." He rattles on as if he'd written down what he wanted to say the night before. "This here's a genuine Dwarven leadspitter. The Dwarves made them special to make sure they could shoot fast enough to hit us tall folk." A silly chuckle came out of his mouth, everyone else was silent. "You'll get two good shots before it overheats, you can hold it in one hand, and it's small enough to fit below the bar. If my wife found out about the price I'm going to sell it to you for, she'd kill me, as you know I have seven children now, and two more on the way."
Jon's father wasn't too interested. He needed a new gun but only because he bought his last one from Ned. "You told me the last one was a leadspitter and it turned out to be a muzzle loader. I didn't even get one shot off, though after I tried one of them drunks sure did. Luckily I think he bought his gun from you too, as his shot went wild and I only had a damaged inn instead of a damaged lung. I'm mighty keen on damaging your lungs, or other organs, if truth be told."
Ned was obsequious, shaking his head in protest, offering different, conflicting excuses at the same time, blessing Frank for his health. "Frank I came here by way of an apology about what happened, I feel honestly bad about all of it, though you know I got ripped off same as you, I paid top gold for that gun. Look, I thought you wanted a smaller, one-handed gun, but I have something really special, take a look at this," and out of his bag he pulled a long-barreled gun. "This, my friend, is an arquebus. I have brought it specially for you. You'll have two shots but one will take his head clean off, and it hits exactly what you aim at-"
"Mister, you wouldn't know a hook-gun from a thunder-box." This came out in a low voice from the corner of the room, but it carried across the tavern and no one could say they didn't hear it. "An arquebus, is it? I should mind my own business I should..." The man moved quick as lightning and slipped a long, gleaming barrel over his head. "This is an arquebus. You have a common blunderbuss, not even a very good one. Notice the difference? Besides the dirt. They're similar, it's true, and to the untrained layman, you could understand mixing the two up. This one," he points to Ned, "does clearly look untrained. My arquebus is made of smoother parts. It gives the shot more power, and it shoots quicker. A big gun like this and still you could get off two shots before anyone moved their hands. After this, the main weapons you'll find will be muskets, or long muskets. They both are more accurate, and more powerful, but that power is a trade off for speed. The quickest shot is rarely the most powerful, and the most powerful rarely the quickest. Though there are exceptions."
The two men stood a bit dumbfounded, staring at the man while he made short, quick movements of his hand while he talked. It was left to Jon to say what they both were thinking. "Exceptions? What do you mean?" The man looked quickly at Jon, almost before he even began to speak. He had kind eyes, but they were piercing him like an eagle's.
"Well there are things you can add to most any gun." He counted off different methods on his fingers.
"You can add a strip of ammunition down the side, in order to shoot faster. The gun will lose some power, and it will take you longer to shoot, but you won't have to spend as much time loading shots.
"You can reinforce the barrel so it doesn't overheat so easily. You spoke of your muzzle loader getting too hot in a firefight. Of course this is not an ideal situation," his hands flew wildly about his head as he gesticulated while he spoke, "but one which is easily solved by having a barrel reinforced for such an occasion.
"Or you can add a scope to the top." He took out a scope and clipped it on to the top of his arquebus. "Just like mine here. This will allow you to see people from far away, and increase your aim." As he spoke, Ned, the travelling merchant, seemed to get a hold of himself and tried to take back control of the situation.
"Well I'd say your clientele," he emphasised this word, as if it were foreign, "has gotten decidedly more educated Frank. You listen to me, Frank, I'm a man like you, not some," he jabbed a finger at the stranger, "city boy off for a jaunt in the countryside. Thinks he can teach us honest working folk a thing or two. But I still know everything he's said so far, no news to me. Of course you can buy all those fancy gadgets if yer rich like him. I brought you the best cheap gun money can buy in these parts."
The stranger laughed, "City boy, huh? I learned these things in the mountains with the Dwarves. I watched them perform the rituals to inscribe my gun with a rune to make me shoot more accurately. I've seen other runes to make people shoot faster, or even shoot fire. But that's not the half of it."
Ned talked quickly now, positioning himself between Frank and the stranger, facing Frank. "Fancy talk about guns of fire? That's a tall tale if I ever heard one. I wouldn't let him cut up my gun if I were you Frank, not even to make me 'faster', however that would work. Next he's going to be telling moonstone tales!"
The man slowed down a bit now, clearly remembering something. "Moonstone tales. Tell me," he lifted his shirtsleeve to show an arm marked with tattoos, but marked more recently, by veins of burns going through them, "does this look like a tale?" He paused for a minute, then continued. "Moonstone guns are real, make no mistake, and their bullets burn like fire. See this picture? I had this put under my skin at a young age. I thought it would last forever. I never considered being hit by shot from a moonstone arquebus. The tales are real, and other rumors you probably haven't heard. Prototype guns being made in the hills. Miniature guns you can shoot many times without reloading. Cannons you can rest on your shoulder. Then there's the Dragon Arquebus of Drachibal, the very gun I'm on my way to find."
"Are you on your way then?" Ned looked up in hope.
"Not before I do this," he said as he took a small, sparkling gun out of his coat. Jon never even saw the bulge. The stranger placed the gun on the counter and turned to his father, "You have been kind and your wife cooks amazing food, plus the barrels of Ayienkoberry wine you keep in the cellar would make any thinking man happy. Made me feel weak this morning but I do feel more refreshed and awake. This man here is a charlatan, pure and simple. This gun is from me to you by way of payment."
Jon's father was a proud man and began to push the gun away, but before he could even touch the gun the stranger's hand came from nowhere and grabbed his, "Do not be so proud, so quick. I can be reasonably sure you will not get this chance again. This is a gun that actually is made by the Dwarves, this rune on the side, that makes you shoot true. And in case you're worried about pagan magic, I've had it blessed by the gods. This gun will last your life, much as you will need it, and you will nearly always hit your mark. Good day."
The man left quickly, while Frank, Ned, and Jon all had something to say on the tips of their tongues. Gone and not coming back, most likely. Frank picked up and stared at the gun, then noticed Ned staring at it as well, covetously. "You best be going Ned," said Frank, not putting the gun down, "I can still remember what happened last time I bought something from you."
Ned smiled, "What are you going to do Frank, you think he just gave you a loaded gun? Why I bet that's a replica. Thing is my eldest son has the damnedest fascination with replicas, why I would buy that off you for far more than it's worth ..."
"Best be going Ned, before we find out the loud way whether it is, or isn't, a replica."
