ENTRY 022: THE INSPECTION

Dear Diary,

There are days when the shop feels like it’s running itself, and then there are days like today.

A guild inspector showed up unannounced this morning. She was a wiry elf with sharp eyes, a sharper quill, and a ledger so big it probably required a strength enchantment to carry. The name on her badge read “Auditor First Class Veraniel Lightweaver,” which translates to “Professional Nightmare.”

“I’m here to ensure compliance with Guild Regulations,” she said, snapping open her ledger. “Every magical item must be documented, catalogued, and properly labeled according to Guild Regulation 743-B. Failure to comply will result in penalties.”

(Penalties? I hate that word.)

“Of course,” I said with my best shopkeeper’s grin. “Everything here is properly accounted for.”

That was my second lie of the day. The first was me saying "Nice to meet you."

She started with the display shelves, picking up a set of glowing dice labeled “Guaranteed Luck” and rolling a perfect one. “Is this… defective?” she asked, her tone dripping with judgment.

“It’s, uh, situational luck,” I stammered. Her quill scratched furiously in the ledger.

Next, she moved on to a potion labeled “Potion of Strength.” After scrutinizing the label, she turned to me with a raised eyebrow. “The fine print says, ‘Results may vary.’ Is this documented anywhere?”

“Absolutely!” I said. Another lie.

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Things got worse when she tested the Boots of Swift Evasion. They worked perfectly at first—until they sent her crashing headfirst into the cursed items bin. She emerged, covered in fairy dust, furiously scribbling in her ledger.

“This shop is a disaster,” she snapped. “I have seen poorly run establishments before, but this… this is chaos incarnate!”

That’s when Korgath stepped in. “You no like shop?” he asked innocently. Well, I say “innocently,” but his voice sounds like two boulders grinding together, so it’s always hard to tell.

“It’s a mess,” Veraniel spat, looking like someone who was regretting every career choice they’ve ever made.

Korgath grunted, turned to the nearest greatsword on the rack, and grabbed it. He held it out toward her—point first.

“Here,” he said.

Veraniel froze, her eyes darting between the blade and Korgath’s massive frame. “Wh-what are you doing?”

I’m pretty sure Korgath was trying to bribe her, but between his size, his gravelly tone, and the fact that he was holding the sword like he was about to impale her, it looked a lot more like a threat.

“It very sharp,” Korgath said, swinging the sword with one massive arm. “See?”

He swung it through the air in a wide arc to demonstrate its sharpness. Unfortunately, Korgath is not what you’d call “delicate.” The blade passed so close to Veraniel’s head, she ducked on pure instinct.

I’ve never seen an elf go pale, red, and green at the same time. Her face looked like some kingdom's flag.

“This sword, and you’re silent, okay?” Korgath said, his usual bluntness turning the “offer” into something that sounded like it came straight from a dungeon boss’s handbook.

Veraniel stumbled back, clutching her ledger to her chest like a magical shield. “This… you... I... you can't!” she stammered, her voice pitching higher with every syllable. She took three rapid steps toward the door, then bolted without so much as a backward glance.

Korgath watched her leave, then turned to me, still holding the sword with a look of genuine confusion. “She didn’t want it?”

“No,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose as the headache from this ordeal started to settle in. “She thought you were going to use it on her.”

Korgath frowned, glancing at the blade like it had betrayed him. “Why would Korgath do that? She so small. No experience.”

I'm starting to think it wasn't such a hot idea to hire Korgath. A part of me wants to run after the inspector.

Yours in profit,

Garren