Ravaging Steam Scepter sits in the lantern glow, a slender shaft of copper and brass that hums with latent heat. Its body is wrapped in weathered leather, interrupted by beadlike rivets that catch the light with every curve. A glass globe near the top holds a violent amber mist that swirls when the weapon tilts, as if a tiny furnace breathes inside. Steam escapes through vent slits along the length, hiss joining the workshop’s night sounds. Sigils etched in soot run the scepter's length, and when a stray flame touches the runes they glow pale orange-blue—proof the metal remembers more than metalwork. The texture shifts from cool metal to a gritty, well-used grip, a balance born of hands that wielded it in many campaigns. When drawn in combat, the Ravaging Steam Scepter feels almost alive. The globe seems to draw a breath, and with a measured swing it releases a torrent of vapor that steams the air and scalds armor. The weapon doesn't merely pierce; it disassembles, turning into a spray that cleaves momentum and leaves the air tasting of copper and oil. In capable hands it becomes a conductor, guiding bursts of energy into allies: a shield of condensed steam that deflects bolts, a boiling mist that blinds, and a swift strike that funnels heat into the earth. It is less a weapon and more a tool for storytelling on the battlefield. Legends tie the Ravaging Steam Scepter to a line of artificers who bargained with air spirits beneath the boiling caverns of the Far Shiverpeaks. They believed steam carries memory as surely as heat, so each scepter was tempered with a memory—of raids, rescues, watchfires. When a wielder taps its core, the scepter seems to whisper the geography of battles past and the possibilities to come, turning a skirmish into a chapter. Markets in the city squares carry word of relics, and the Saddlebag Exchange becomes the quiet stage where they pass from rumor to possession. Traders lay parchment prices on wooden counters, the air perfumed with hot brass and coffee, and the stall owner names the condition and sigil stamps as if they were weather reports. A good Ravaging Steam Scepter—Masterwork, with sigils aligned—might rise into high gold, while a tempered example wanders the aisles at a bargain. The Exchange makes value feel real: a story with figures. Back at the forge where the sun never quite reaches, the scepter finds its place among other steam-driven oddities. It reminds us that technology and tradition can dance—oil and brass become a language of strategy. For veterans and hopeful tinkers alike, it promises more than power; it offers a way to turn heat into history, turning every swish of steel and mist into a thread in the fabric of the world. Thus the Ravaging Steam Scepter remains not just a tool of battle but a quiet witness to the steam-driven craft powering this world. Its scent of oil and brass lingers long after the clash, inviting the next flame.