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

Today, on All-Rings Considered, we hear from a local shop-keep who shares his unique experiences in buying and selling weapons, potions, and everything else imaginable to adventurers. Meet Holdgard McFreedy, a level 60 Gnoll: 
 
 It's a tough gig working in retail, much less catering to every lousy adventurer, evil-sorcerer, and smelly dwarf, but somebody gots to do it. And that somebody is me. Holgard McFreedy, owner and proprietor of the Little Shop At the End of the Realm, purveyor of anything and everything you need to kill a dragon, weave a spell, or embark on never-ending radiant quests. You want it, I gots it. But I did n't choose this life, I twere n't no adventurer who took an arrow to the knee and I did n't save any unfortunate princesses from ogres. I was a scabber, an orphan, and a dungeon-rat. I worked my way up from the gutter, selling two-bit potions in caves, crafting my own boar-skin boxers, surviving on troll dung and mushrooms. I started at the bottom and slowly but surely I worked my way up to where I am now. 
 
 But the story do n't end there. Like I said, it's a tough gig, you know how many licenses and inspections I got ta get to sell on of them'meteora' spells? The wait list and background checks to purchase a possessed blunderbuss can take weeks. And the taxes on oil have just about put them cat-eyed weirdos right out of business. Sometimes I barely make enough to keep the doors open what with every shouting dragon-brain peddling their dozens of iron daggers and leather helmets. But, truth be told, and what they do n't tell you at the merchants' guild, is you can donate all that unwanted trash to destitute monsters in need, get some tax breaks, and the cycle continues. 
 
 But the hardest part, and the most rewardin' part, is dealin' with the customers. Even with all my perks, my level 99 in mercantile, and more than enough enchanted baubles and robes to raise my intelligence and charisma to tolerable levels, I have to take precautions. There are wards and buffs all over this place, in the walls, on the doors, in the ceiling. Hell, half the items on display are cursed. That do n't stop them thieves guild wannabes from trying to palm a poisoned necklace or make off with every last spoiled potion. Sometimes, you just got ta pretend to look the other way. Nine times out of ten they'll come running back. Especially when they ca n't remove that unholy helm that hits for one-point each step they take, heh heh. 
 
 And then there are the master thieves, they usually strike at night. It's cuz of them I employ my night-crew. I have ole Fred, he's a level 30 specter, he mostly comes out after dark, works for free, loves to spook. Then there's Lubnub, he's that Orc skeleton over there in the corner, hates fey-folk somethin' fierce. If one of them pointy-ears tries to sneak in here... well just look out. And then there's Ixnixichilix, a demented half-demon pixie sprite from the Realm of Tiny Evil. She, heh heh heh, she's a little tightly wound, you would n't want to cross her path when she's free. It's probably cuz she's eternally bound to this uncomfortable little honey jar for all eternity for some atrocities and horrors that I wo n't bore you with... long story short she is only released for a short time when wizards try to cast a muffle spell. The messes I have seen when I open up this shop some mornin's would drive normal shop-keeps to the brink of insanity, heh heh. 
 
 That is All-Rings Considered. Stay-tuned for This Numenorean Life.
