Scamming is not a job just anyone can do; despite what most people believe, it takes a lot of patience and just the right amount of talking. Too much chatter can have the opposite effect on people, making them feel as though you are trying to take advantage of them. You need to make them feel like they still hold the reins.
Most people would agree that scamming isn't a profession; they might even see anyone scamming as no less than scum. I try to view it as a delicate craft like any other—a craft I find myself far from mastering, but one that earns me enough to survive, so like any craft, I try to hone my skills when I can.
I wander from town to town with no real goal in mind; I just try to make enough money to put food on the table for myself. I sell products mostly, so I consider my scams less malicious than most. I sell colored water pawned off as herbal remedies, magical trinkets devoid of real magic, charms made of paper, and a few other wards and blessings.
I haven't always made my living this way. When I left my home of Greyton Village with nothing but a cart and a dream, the road was a lot harder than I expected. My father always wanted me to take over our farm in the village ever since Mom died, but living there always felt claustrophobic.
The only thing my mom passed down to me was her green eyes, messy blonde hair, and pointed ears. I was grateful for what my father did for me; he supported me himself since my full elf mother died when I was very young. However, when I left home a year ago, I felt a sense of freedom. I needed to explore the rest of Tetra. I had an entire planet to see, and being a farmer was not what I had in mind for my future.
I was only 18 when I left a year ago, but I was trying to sell fruits, animal furs, and other products. Given I was a half-elf, however, people tended not to want to buy from me. Appearance can make a big difference when selling products, especially when humans are wary of elves.
That has to do with the numerous wars that have taken place all over Tetra between humans and elves over the years. The wars took place decades ago, but their scars have never fully faded from the local townsfolk. That was when I turned to scamming—it wasn't something I was proud of at first, but I quickly noticed that people were more willing to buy something extraordinary than mundane.
It's hard to gain trust from the townsfolk at first given my race, but I lean on my abilities to talk my way into getting a quick sale. I started small, with harmless little tricks, like selling a potion that I claimed could cure the common cold. It was nothing more than a mix of herbs and water, but I spun a tale about how it was crafted using ancient elven techniques passed down through generations.
People were skeptical at first, but my convincing words and the allure of elven magic eventually won them over. They saw me as a bridge to a mystical world they didn't fully understand, and that curiosity made them more open to my pitch.
It worked better than I had expected. The potions sold out, and I made more money in a day than I had in weeks selling legitimate goods. The key was the enchantment of the story, the allure of the unknown, and the promise of something beyond the ordinary. The exotic nature of elven lore, even diluted by my human half, gave my products an edge that mundane goods could never have.
The price I paid for my scams was that I had to keep moving; I worried about pissing off the wrong people should they discover my schemes. That brings us to today—a fresh new start in a small town called Edgefield.
I stop my horses at a good location in the market district; it was around noon, a good time to start my sales. The market was already ripe with customers looking around for goods and other services us travelling salesmen provide. I begin by unloading my small, easy-to-set-up stall in some nearby shade.
I had to pay a small fee to set up shop for a few hours, which I did earlier at the Merchants Guild. I happened to make a good new product last night that I was happy with; I figured it would sell well in a bigger town like Edgefield and was excited to see the results. I was able to make another fake elixir last night, one that I was especially proud of.
I had used a bunch of regular herbs, some fruit, honey, some roots, and my red-colored water to make something really good. I called it the Elixir of Vitality; it would taste like medicine and was made with real herbs to give it an authentic feel. I intended to sell it as a sort of cure-all, something that could boost energy and potentially extend life.
In a sense, this was a harmless scam; hell, it might even have some sort of placebo effect on the people here. I began taking out my red vials right away and placing them on the wooden stall table. I hummed to myself happily; today would be a good day to make money.
I never put out price tags as a scammer; this was one of my biggest rules. You needed to sniff out what someone was willing to pay first in this line of business. You could swindle someone for more if they looked wealthier, and for lower-income customers, you needed to drop the price. If you can't even afford bread, are you really going to buy a mystery cure-all? Hell no.
That being said, the average price for one of these vials would be around 50 bronze coins, which, given I sold 10 or so, would buy me a night in an inn and a simple meal. I had made about 20 vials' worth of this stuff; I would meet my personal quota if I even sold half of that.
With that being said, it shouldn't be too hard; I chose this town for a reason—it is suffering from a disease right now. I learned about the disease a few days ago; word travels among merchants pretty quickly. I decided this was my best spot to sell something like the Elixir of Vitality.
I decided to take precautions and put on gloves and kept up a small cardboard shield between me and customers. I needed to have my face shown, so masks were out of the question; I wished I could use magic. I could cast some sort of protection on myself, but alas, I wasn't born gifted in magic, so I relied mostly on natural means.
I spotted a man browsing stalls near me; he was older, I would say about 70 if I were to guess, so he would make for a good first target. I noticed he was coughing a lot, which meant he was likely suffering from the local disease. His clothes were in tatters; he looked skinny and had bags under his eyes.
His hair had faded with age, and he wore simple winter clothes with a small hat crowning his head. I overheard his conversation, "B-but we need medicine today! My wife is very sick, sir; please, don't you have anything you can sell me?"
The shop owner, a young man with black hair and an apron, looked at the older man awkwardly, "I wish I could help; I really do, but White Iris disease is untreatable. I can provide some herbs that can dull the pain, but I don't have anything to treat it outright."
The man grunted and began to hack and cough again, "Dammit!" He looked down to the ground defeated; honestly, it made me feel a little bad, but in this line of work, I can't afford to get caught up in emotions. At the very least, my remedy wouldn't cure him, but I could at least offer some peace of mind.
I called out to him as he wandered closer to my stall; I tried to keep my voice down as I called to him. Should another merchant hear my offer, they would know I was up to no good. In my earlier days, I made more of a show out of selling my fake goods, but I was run out of a few towns that way.
Other merchants don't take kindly to scammers, and most of them don't get along with half-elves either. I said somewhat reserved, "Sir, I couldn't help but notice your cough; are you perhaps suffering from White Iris disease?" The man approached my strategically isolated stall, a curious look on his face as he scanned my stall.
He coughed a little before asking, "Y-yes, it's very painful; my wife Lily and I contracted it about a week ago. She is bedridden; I am only a little better than her. The squeeze in my neck won't go away, and she's started getting the typical White Iris symptoms. I am worried she might d-" He stopped for a moment; he seemed to notice my pointed ears and backed away a bit.
This was a typical reaction to seeing a half-elf, but I was adept at this by now. I quickly followed up, "Die? Well, my friend, you are in luck; I have a special product for you, something my mother passed down to me. My mother passed down to me a recipe that has helped many in dire situations like yours," I continued, keeping my tone gentle and reassuring.
"This here is the Elixir of Vitality. It's not a cure, but it can ease the symptoms and give your body the strength it needs to fight the disease. It's made with rare herbs and infused with ancient elven techniques." I held up a bottle filled with red liquid, and the man's eyes went wide with a glimmer of hope.
Quickly, I realized that with that small hope, my path to profit had been set.