What, you doubt me? Have we met? You don’t become trade prince by making empty threats. The spot ain’t hereditary like that cushy king job those pink-skinned humans get. If I told you thirty-two spies were watching you lick your lips nervously right now, you’d better believe it, pal.
Don’t bother looking around. You won’t see them. Stop wasting my time and risking your life. Twenty thousand gold is a cheap price to pay for my life story. And if you read past this sentence without buying the book, I’ll devote every inch of my empire to destroying you. Do you understand me?
Good. Now, pay the damn salesman.
Done? You sure? Great. Well, thanks for buying my book, sucker. You wanna be a trade prince? I want an army of fel reavers with my face painted over their fists, but negotiations with the Burning Legion fell through, so I guess neither one of us is gonna get what we want.
Why can’t you be a trade prince? Because all the slots are filled by goblins better than you, that’s why. You ain’t ready yet, but don’t worry. You came to the right goblin for help.
A cadre of enormous, elegantly robed ogres tromped toward her, moving with surprising quickness. The tallest and largest among them (clearly hurrying to be first on the scene) was near in seconds, reeling to a stop like a downhill pushcart regaining control. He reeked of grease and animal fat mixed with perfume, though his straw-colored, sleeveless robes were immaculate. (They had been cleaned more recently than his body.) The ogre’s huge belly hung out of his clothing, and he hefted it with one hand to scrub beneath, not breaking eye contact with the messenger.
His voice was silken. “I am High Councilor Vareg. I speak for the king. You may share your message until I am through with my meal, and then you may depart Highmaul with your soft bones intact.”
Hey, pal. Trade Prince Gallywix here. You’re holding this book in your hands because you wanna be like me. Who wouldn’t? There ain’t a goblin alive more powerful and dangerous than me. I can give you everything you need to succeed.
But first, a friendly legally binding warning just for you.
If you’re reading this and haven’t bought the book yet, that’s stealing. You think that browsing is a victimless crime? You think it’s your right as a customer? You’d be dead wrong, deadbeat! It’s freeloaders like you who drove down my profit margin last year and kept me from adding an edible furniture wing onto my mansion. Now, instead of the chocolate couches with funnel cake pillows I deserve, I have furniture made of silk. Have you ever tried to eat silk? You even know where that stuff comes from? A worm’s cakehole, that’s where! You need to fix this. Buy my book, or my exploding assassins will hunt you down like the thieving bilge rat you are.