[ WP ] You run an RPG pawn shop . You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they 've acquired .

He was 6'8'' if my height chart by the door was anything to go by. Dressed in what I call'ranger classic': full leathers brushed in shades of charcoal and greens, a bow that looks like it needs a team to string, a beard that looked it was kept trimmed with a machete and a wolf-hound that looks like it had tiger somewhere in its ancestry. 
 
 He had a sack that stank of animal parts and clanked with metal when he put it on the table. 
 
 `` Hello sir,'' I tried to say while not breathing through my nose. If there was n't a dead skunk in that bag I was going to have to revise my stance on my service sign outside:'No shoes, no shirt, no *bath*, no service'. 
 
 He said nothing, but handed out what appeared to be a business card. It was hand-written and I reread it twice; There was no punctuation or capitalization of any kind. 
 
'ranger dan and his big dog dick' 
 
 I subvocalized a supplication to the gods of profanity. It was going to be one of *these* days. 
 
 `` Alright, Ranger, what do you have for me?'' 
 
 He opened the bag and my eyes stung a little. He pulled out the usual trash, old armor which was dangling more by hard-packed mold than leather. a couple of daggers and one gauntlet. Who the hell pawns *one* gauntlet? It did resemble one that had been brought in yesterday bound for the middens, so I might be able to salvage a pair. There were also freshly skinned pelts, a large container of what I can only surmise was rendered fat. There was a word there... Tollfet? Oh wait, it's Troll Fat... They'll let anyone be a ranger these days. 
 
 To my surprise he had a few apparently valuable things in the bag: A bow-case with an actual bow inside that looked far better than the one he was carrying and three jeweled rings that glowed faintly with magic. He looked kind of smug as he laid these out. 
 
 I lugged out my Official Tomes of Magical Identification to look out for maker's marks and thieve's hexes common to most contemporary magical items of the day. The markings on the bow indicated this was an old familial bow of Elven ancestry. A good sum on resale if the line is dead. Swift death or a princely sum at ransom if alive. If I'd wager anything, this bow was indeed leagues better than the large old thing on his back. It would outlast him and his grandkids, if he were smart enough to have them. 
 
 I was suspicious. Did he rob some elven family and mixed it in with the junk to fool me? Was he undercover for the King rooting out crooked laundering operations? Was he just an idiot who got lucky scavenging? Why was n't he talking? What the hell is going on here? 
 
 Ranger Dan merely shifted from one leg to another, same expression on his face. Big dog Dick... or was it Big *dog* dick... merely yawned. 
 
 Not wanting to tip my hand of what I knew just yet, I went about looking at the rings. Mostly I was hoping to get a more clear picture of his intentions, but he was about as emotive as a stone. 
 
 It took a bit of searching but I finally located their entry. It was quadrilogy of rings, made to project illusions for a specific stage play about the riddle of the sphinx. The three stages of man and the monster itself... Let's see, there's the Swaddling Ring for the Baby... The Wizened ring for the old man... there's the monster... where-... Another supplication to the profanity gods. 
 
 `` Timothy Weedle D'uvala... I know it's you under that warrior illusion ring. What the hell are you doing wasting my time?'' 
 
 The man began to sweat, still not saying anything, he shrugged his shoulders at me. You could pour the tension in the air on flapjacks as we both knew the game was up. 
 
 The next events took place over the course of about 10 seconds. Another customer entered the shop, ringing the bell. The giant wolf-hound yelped 
 in an entirely high-pitched un-wolf-hound-like manner. The man vanished, in his place was little Timmy Weedle: The half-elf son of a deposed former Tu'athan lord and the bane of my existence. He grabbed what I now knew must be his father's bow-case, yelled `` BIG DOG DICK!'' and ran out with what I could only surmise was his new puppy. 
 
 I yelled yet more vocal supplications to the profanity gods as he dashed by a rather surprised guardsman and disappeared down the street. Kids and their stupid pranks. 
 

