DARKWATCH INVESTIGATION REPORT: OBJECT C-512 (SWIVEL GUN)
*This is a detailed telling of the investigation and acquisition of an anomalous Swivel Gun, reported to be active since the days of the pirate wars. This report is to be made public as per Darkwatch transparency and trust policies.*
DARKWATCH INVESTIGATION REPORT: OBJECT C-512 (SWIVEL GUN)
\- Date/Location: 06/15/30187 CY - Northeast Triyev, Cotton-Eye Beach
\- Operative: Caul of Belagrad, Forgemaster of the Darkwatch
***- Begin transcript:***
The rain drizzled on Caul’s hood and cloak as he walked through the battlefield, the grim aftermath of one of many skirmishes from the pirate war. For once, he was thankful for his mask and lack of an olfactory system; the stench of charred, maimed, and decaying corpses mixed with rotting debris would have been revolting. Even amid the chaos, his mind automatically mapped the clash: the mages, knights, and allies had held the inland hills, while the pirates fought from the shores, camps, and boats. Now, most of their fleet was nothing more than wreckage; torn masts, splinters, and ragged sails. He identified the remains of three sloops, five schooners, and a brigantine, alongside dozens of shattered transport boats.
He had received intel from the Vigils regarding a magic artifact still active on the site. Reports claimed a small, bright red light was emitting from one of the destroyed vessels, accompanied by the distinctive thunder of a firing cannon, though no crew, pillager, or scavenger remained to speak of it.
Finding it, however, was proving harder than expected. With every step, his left metal foot sank deep into the wet shoreline, lacking a wide enough base to distribute his weight. He stumbled, his knee locking.
“Who was the physics-illiterate simpleton who forged this needle-heeled monstrosity?” Caul hissed, swinging himself onto a nearby rock. He unlatched the prosthetic and hauled it up to examine the joint. “A child playing with blocks understands kinetic displacement better than…”
His voice died. There, etched into the brass casing of the ankle, was his own personal master-sigil.
Caul stared at the mark. The rain tapped rhythmically against his mask as his mind drifted into a quiet, foggy void for a solid minute, the connection refusing to form. When his awareness suddenly snapped back to the gray beach, the irritation was gone, replaced by a blank slate.
He blinked down at his hands. “What is going on? Why am I holding my foot? No matter... have to find that blasted piece before dark.”
While searching the camps, he began mumbling to himself: “What is the deal with all these crazy powerful evil necromancer overlords? Why can’t we have some peace, quiet, and moderation for...”
He was abruptly startled by the caw of a lone crow atop a fallen mast. Quickly bringing his Blast Rifle to his shoulder, he fired. A beam of blue energy turned the bird to smoking ash, accompanied by the heavy, bassy horn sound of the rifle’s discharge. Caul sighed as he reloaded, his body tired and his mind frustrated. “Cursed fiend.”
Shortly after, the distinctive thunder of a cannon shot echoed across the water. He gripped his rifle again, scanning the shores and hills for movement. *All dead, as they should be...* he thought. Tracing the sound to the brigantine crashed against the rocks on the northeastern edge of the beach, he abandoned his search in the camp and made his way toward the water. He peeled off his hood, cloak, and robes, tucking them safely inside his pocket-dimension bag. Then, fighting against the dragging weight of his iron leg, he swam out toward the crashed vessel, relieved to find the hull still possessed enough integrity for him to scale it.
Upon reaching the main deck, he spotted roughly a dozen cannons. Calmly sitting on a crate, he waited for the anomaly to trigger again so he could isolate the source. He looked up at the sky, where dark gray clouds loomed menacingly overhead as the downpour intensified. Had he remembered the bag contained his still-semi-dry cloak, he would have pulled it out, but his focus was entirely consumed by the hunt.
After what felt like eons, but in reality was no more than twenty minutes, he spotted a sharp red glow emitting from one of the swivel guns attached to the hull's railing. Right on cue, it fired, remaining entirely unmanned. Caul grabbed his tools and approached the piece to examine it.
There was no powder charge in its barrel, nor any physical shot. More curiously, the breech was completely fused shut, unable to open. As he poked at the metal, it began glowing crimson again, blasting another ghost-shot at the rocks.
“So, the interval between events is irregular... quite interesting. I can't find any traces of inscriptions or runes, either. This suggests it isn't deliberately enchanted. It must have come into contact with a highly concentrated source of magic, possibly Primal in nature, potent enough to leave residual properties. I must take it back to the workshop to study it properly.”
Caul produced a pair of tongs, an adjustable wrench, and lubricant, alongside the magic-dampening seals provided by his colleagues. He enveloped the gun in the seals, dismounted it from the railing, and slipped it into the same pocket-dimension bag where his clothes rested. Since objects inside the bag technically did not exist on this plane, the weight was a non-factor.
Stepping back onto the shore, he began the trek back to his workshop. As the rain continued to pour, he wished he had something to cover his head; he was getting quite irritated with the water constantly running into his eyes.
***- Summary:***
Artifact retrieved without complications. Item placed in storage, still covered in anti-magic seals, pending approval of paperwork to begin study and experimentation.
Must iterate on left foot, design found lacking on unstable terrain.
**The Watch endures.**