Heavy feet plod down the hall toward the door; you hear a sailor's voice rumbling along and getting closer.
… as I said this here potato's from me dear ‘ol gram-mammy's farm n'Andor — special grown 'n all — last one left.
The footsteps halt. While the clerics in your room chatter on, the voice in the hallway wheedles, Here now, sir. You go ahead 'n hold this fine specimen. Go ahead I said — don't be shy now! There you go. Take a good long look at those fine warts. Gaze at those first-rate dimples and divots, the lovely splotches of gray and brown! And the tasty An'dran dirt, best in Golarion if I do say so myself… and I knows my dirt, bein’ raised on my gram-mammy's farm as a potato cowboy 'n all. Lovely dirt straight from the potato ranch itself, sir, settled into the skin here like a right-fine pepper!
This, sir — this here's a tuber for the ages. Best of the batch too, last one left. And a fine gentle… man? fish? — beg pardon, such as yourself, I'm sure you recg'nize how only 3 gold pieces for this magnifferous tuber's 'the deal of a voyage. Oh yes… y'see, normally this one potato here'd be ten gold, but you sir, you caught me at the start of this journey and I'm in a generous mood, seein' as that three gold is all you have left and I can tell you're an admirer of fine things.
Me, I'm cuttin' me own throat on this deal here, my dear ol’ grammy would roll over in her grave but were she here to see this, but a man's got to unload his provisions before they spoil, so the saying goes.
What say you, friend?
