Gaff's Pawn & Fence
Est. 2025 • Human Rogue
Gaff's Pawn & Fence
The shop sits on a crooked lane behind a tavern and smells of oil, smoke, and old paper. By day it acts like any pawn shop: a cluttered front room, haggling, an...
Shopkeeper
Marla "Gaff" Voss, a Human Rogue (Lvl 7)
Keeper's Species
Human
Shop Inventory
(19)A squat glass vial corked with wax, contains a bright red liquid. Heals minor wounds.
A heavier crystal phial with a deeper red liquid. For when a bandage is not enough.
A long, serviceable blade with a faint wavy pattern on the steel. Feels keener than a common sword.
A dagger with a blackened blade and a chip near the tip. Comfortable to grip.
A shortbow with a few notches in the riser. Still more than serviceable for hunting or combat.
Dark studded leather that fits snugly. Looks expensive for a used piece of armor.
A worn but surprisingly well-kept cloak that seems to settle comfortingly around the shoulders.
A battered-looking sack with a pair of reinforced straps. Its mouth seems deeper than it should be.
A pair of supple leather boots that mute footsteps and grip slick stone.
A fashionable hat that looks ordinary until you watch the wearer shift their features.
A rolled parchment sealed with black wax and a sigil indicating concealment.
The parchment smells faintly of brimstone. The ink glitters when the light hits it.
A compact leather roll of picks, files, and tension wrenches with an oddly familiar smell.
A small wooden box containing a whetstone and basic repair implements.
An ostentatious silver necklace with an obsidian pendant; worth more than most villagers earn in a year.
A battered account book with coded entries and a subtle scent of ink and ale. The fence keeps it behind the counter.
A crude, thumb-sized glass tube filled with a powder that smokes when ignited.
A hand-carved idol, its face worn smooth by time. The seller swears it was 'liberated' from a temple.
A tray of cheap everyday items a traveler might need: candles, chalk, spare rope pieces.
Marla "Gaff" Voss
Shop Atmosphere
“The shop sits on a crooked lane behind a tavern and smells of oil, smoke, and old paper. By day it acts like any pawn shop: a cluttered front room, haggling, and piles of gear assigned tags. By night the backroom glows amber and the window shutters close; whispered trade happens there. The owner speaks in a clipped, friendly manner and keeps a ledger of 'useful friends.' If a customer wants to buy particularly questionable goods, they must mention the phrase "The moon owes me" and be willing to leave a small, anonymized cut. A carved wooden cat with glass eyes watches the counter; locals believe it marks goods that are too hot to resell openly.”
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