[ WP ] A wandering adventurer visits your shop and tries to sell you his inventory of junk .

`` First of all, this is n't a grocery store, it's a general store. I sell grain, barrels, saddles, linens, candles, lanterns, oil, rope, hard-tack, nails, tools, and *occasionally* small knives and daggers, if one of the townsfolk put in an order for one. Second of all, *why are you carrying around four-hundred fifty-eight apples in the first place??? *'' 
 
 The adventurer shifted uncomfortably and nudged the overflowing sack a little more onto the counter, as though that'd persuade me to buy the bag of fruit. `` I found them,'' he muttered after a moment. `` What was I supposed to do, just leave them behind in all the dungeons I go through? They do n't really... weigh anything.'' 
 
 I pinched the bridge of my nose. `` I'm going to ignore the fact that you've been carrying around nearly a hundred and fifty pounds of apples and move on to my third point. This bag *reeks. * How long have you *had* these things, man?'' The adventurer, in true adventurer fashion, froze and looked off in the distance for a few seconds. Then, just like that, his gaze snapped back to me. 
 
 `` Three-hundred and forty-nine hours of active time,'' she said confidently. I delicately ignored asking what he meant by'active time'. 
 
 `` They're *rotten*. You're leaking rancid apple... excrement... all over my counter. I'm not buying them.'' I crossed my arms, but the adventurer did n't seem done yet. 
 
 `` Alright then, what about... uh...'' He shuffled through his pack, which was bulging with such intensity I could see the seams stretching. `` I've got an axe. Orc barbarian, high quality.'' It was truly an impressive battle axe, judging solely by how it dug a gouge out of my counter where he dropped it. 
 
 `` What the hell, man?!'' I picked fruitlessly at the chunk taken out of my counter while the adventurer watched on wordlessly. `` I'm a *general goods* store. In a village of maybe *forty* people. How could you ever expect me to sell an eighty-pound orcish battle-axe for a profit? We do n't even have a blacksmith!'' 
 
 The adventurer shrugged. `` I dunno. You're a general goods store, so that means you'll buy and sell anything.'' 
 
 `` That,'' I replied, jabbing my finger in his direction, `` is *not* what that means. Fuck, man, I'll give you twenty copper for it. Morrison had to buy a new axe handle last week, maybe I can sell him this piece of junk the next time he comes in.'' 
 
 `` Twenty copper?! I fought through a warcamp of Orcish Deathlords for this thing! I pried it from the Warchief's hands myself and hacked his head from his shoulders with it! It's worth a hundred gold, at the *very* least.'' 
 
 I shrugged impassively. `` Then keep it. It's not worth a hundred gold to me, and I ca n't sell it for more than twenty five copper in a town like this anyways.'' He glared at me for a solid moment, and I had an uncanny sensation of having my intestines spread across my beloved countertop in an alternate dimension. 
 
 But then the moment passed and he gave a surprisingly gentle sigh. `` Fine. Twenty it is.'' 
 
 I spent the next half-hour mopping up rancid applejuice off the counter when I heard the familiar jingle of the door. A groan escaped my lips when I looked up. 
 
 `` Hi, I heard you buy orcish battle-axes...?''
