Sipping on his morning coffee, the realtor thumbs through his ledgers and is suddenly startled when the door swings open, crashing nearly off its hinges.
"I need a place to lay low, nice an private loike. no questions asked," grumbles the sullen one-eyed dwarf through a long black matted beard. The stench on his breath a sickening sweet mix of rye and bloodlust.
"That will be a hefty order sir... for on such as you? Fifty-Thousand." the realtor chortles, expecting this ill-kept vagabond to be priced out of the market. "And we don\t offer lines of credit"
"Fifty Thousand? That all?" the dwarf casually pulls open a loop from his enchanted bag and digs through its contents as a prospector of many things. "Ye take coin, emerald, mithral, ruby or skulls?"
"Just the coin, thank you." The merchant simmers.
With a jingle, a single burlap sack, stained with the blood of countless giants, ogres, trollocs and various other beasties lands with a crack on the table, which creaks and buckles under its weight.
"You could have just had a bank note issued... it's two doors down you know"
"Yeah, I know! Now get to counting, I ain't got all day!"
And with that, the dwarven pirate chortled and marches off to his new home overlooking the lake of bountiful carp. The lawn soon begins to clutter with the skulls of various exotic monsters, artfully placed as any garden gnome.
A new reign of terror begins.
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