Flare Pistol

This inlaid Flare Pistol glints brilliantly in the magnesium rays of its discharge. A small detail, appreciated by connoisseurs of the night.

Against a dark sky, this Flare Pistol blazes its foreboding message to Death, marking the next place from which souls need be collected, and graves dug.

Greedy and ambitious, European shipping merchants relied on this Flare Pistol’s golden light in dire situations. But in Louisiana, its light failed in the hands of a landbound corpse, to rise again over the Bayou waters in the hands of a Hunter.

Mist lies thick upon the moors of Albion. This flare pistol cuts through cloud cover and reveals The Moorhound’s prey. Though it betrays his position, seeing the light of Snarling Dawn means it’s already too late for you.

Hand in hand, blindfolded conjurers dance around skeletons lashed to a stinking pyre. The earth beneath their feet is soaked with blood. None may look until a Bruja sets the sacrifice aflame with this Flare Pistol, then all will partake of its fire.

After shedding his old skin, The Disciple of Death started burning every Hunter he downed, too experienced to turn his back without eliminating all possible risks. This Flare Pistol helps seal the deal with its damning hiss of death.

The symbols carved into this Flare Pistol by one of the doomed soldiers of the 26th Regiment never held power anywhere else but inside his head. How many men had died? Whose ghosts were haunting him? Could they burn? Did he dare to find out?