Rampager's Iron Pistol of Ogre Slaying rests in the palm of a market-part vendor, its iron barrel pitted like battered armor, the grip wrapped in cracked brown leather stitched with tiny sigils that catch the lamplight and smoke the imagination. A relief on the barrel flank shows a small ogre being felled by a hunter's steady aim, a story carved into steel by hands that learned the land as a partner in combat. The finish is a stubborn, matte blue-black, flecked with rust and ringed by a simple clamp that seals the chamber. When you cradle it, you can feel the weight of a long winter's campaigns, the texture a warm drag of history through your grip, the smell of oil and smoke clinging to the metal as if it had just finished a night watch. Lore has it forged by a smith who survived an ogre siege, the runes along the grip whispering a pact between hunter and tool: never waste a shot, never turn away from the roar, and let the ogre's menace be measured in precise lines of lead. In gameplay terms, the pistol is the kind of thing that turns a skirmish into a short, brutal exchange. Its shot carries a crisp bite that claps against leather and scales, rewarding seekers who read distance and angle. A skilled wielder can chain together quick, purposeful shots, then step off to reload with a breath of movement that keeps pressure on a stubborn foe. The ogre-slaying lineage isn’t just window-dressing; it feels like a thread in the fabric of the world, a reminder that every relic has a battlefield backstory and every backstory wields an edge. In the days when the plains were thick with heavy footsteps and the clamor of war, pistols like this one turned ambush into art, turning fear into a chance to strike first and finish cleanly. Market talk slides into the narrative as you pass through the stalls. At Saddlebag Exchange, the pistol sits among brass frames and weathered pistols, a price tag dancing in copper and silver, with the clerk muttering about wear and the weight of history. It’s not just about the gold; it’s about the story you’re willing to carry when you lift the weapon again. A bid lands somewhere around two gold pieces with a handful of silver as a cushion for repairs and powder, though a seasoned buyer can barter for less if the engraving nudges the heart and the grip fits the palm just so. The mark of ogre slaying remains legible, a small reminder that a tool is only as sharp as the mercy the wielder brings to the next encounter. When you slip Rampager's Iron Pistol of Ogre Slaying into your belt, you aren’t simply equipping a weapon. You’re threading a line through the tapestry of hunts, a narrative that stretches from the glimmer of a lamplight in a dusty bazaar to the echo of a hunter’s last, necessary shot against a towering, furred horizon.