ENTRY 013: THE ANCIENT ARTIFACT THAT WASN’T

Dear Diary,

It’s not every day someone walks into the shop clutching an ancient artifact, but this week, my luck—or lack of it—delivered just that. The man had an air of desperation, the kind that makes pawnbrokers like me perk up.

He shuffled in, sweating despite the crisp weather, and plopped a burlap-wrapped bundle onto the counter. “This,” he said dramatically, “is an ancient relic. Priceless.”

Naturally, I was intrigued.

He unwrapped the bundle to reveal a goblet. Heavy. Metal. A bit chipped and tarnished, with what he insisted were ancient runes etched into the bottom.

They read, MA DE INAL KEF.

I held the goblet up to the light, studying the markings. The runes did look legitimate—ornate, angular, and a bit faded with age. Perfect for impressing any collector with too much gold and not enough sense.

“How much?” I asked, already imagining the profit margins.

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“Twenty-five gold,” he said. I haggled him down to fifteen just for sport, and he reluctantly agreed.

I was beyond ecstatic. This was the kind of item that could fetch a fortune from the right buyer. Or so I thought.

A few days later, my excitement came crashing down.

An older dwarf wandered into the shop, inspecting the shelves with the kind of intensity that made me nervous. He had the look of someone who knew what he was talking about, and when his gaze fell on the goblet, he stopped.

“Where’d you get this?” he asked, picking it up and turning it over.

I puffed up a little. “An ancient artifact. See the runes?”

He squinted at the markings on the bottom. After a moment, he let out a loud, wheezing laugh that echoed through the shop.

“Ancient artifact, huh?” he said, wiping a tear from his eye.

He tapped the markings with one thick finger. “These ‘ancient runes’ don’t say anything mystical. They say MADE IN ALKEF. It’s a cheap dwarven knockoff from the forges down south, in the Alkef province.”

I stared at him, then at the goblet, then back at him, hoping he was joking. He wasn’t.

“It’s a nice piece, I’ll give you that,” he added, setting it back down. “I hope you didn't pay anything over twenty copper pieces.”

"Fifteen," I managed. It was partly true.

The dwarf left, chuckling to himself, while I stood there in stunned silence, staring at my supposed treasure. Fifteen gold. Fifteen gold for something that might’ve been part of a tavern’s starter set.

I’d like to think I’m a shrewd businessman, but every now and then, I’m reminded that desperate sellers aren’t always desperate—and “ancient runes” sometimes spell sucker.

Yours in profit,

Garren