Welcome to Eldar‘s Junk Emporium, traveler! I’ll take any junk you’ve found on your travels, for a nominal fee.

Hello, I’m Eldar, owner of Eldar’s Junk Emporium at Whitewatch Tower.  See me at my store if you want to leave any junk you find on your travels.

Wait, you want me to pay you to take my junk?
That’s right, a flat fee of 20 gold for taking your junk off your hands.  I also take any items of acceptable value.
You can hand any items over to me or leave them in the chest. It’s all on the honor system.
So drop what you can, and take what you must. That’s our motto at Eldar’s Junk Emporium.

You can hand any items over to me or leave them in the chest at Whitewatch Tower. It’s all on the honor system.

Aren’t you worried people will just steal your inventory?
Worried? (Laughs) You must be mad if you think someone is going to risk the ire of the guard to steal a bunch of dirty bowls and forks.

A shrewd business plan. I wish I’d thought of it.
It may be shrewd, but it takes a long time to bear fruit.  I have to play the market right, or else the only person I’ll make rich is Belethor.

The last one who called me mad, I sewed his mouth shut. Now he calls me “mmm.”
Oh, I meant no offense, traveler. But if you’d like to leave your needle and thread in the box, I’d be willing to waive the fee.

Not by themselves, but a thousand forks and knives would be valuable.
But only if you had the patience to move them. Even Belethor wouldn’t buy all the junk in my inventory. I have to wait until his stock runs low.
Once market demand is high and supply is low, then I make my move. That’s the only way this junk has any value. This can take months, even years.
No thief has the patience to wait this long, not when there are plenty of other things he can steal, and not when his stomach growls for food.

Washing them clean could triple their value.
Indeed. I wash them at the Drunken Huntsmen before I take them to Belethor.  I keep them dirty for now to lower their value and dissuade thieves.

What do you plan to do with all that junk?
Why, sell it of course. The idea came to me when I was shopping at Belethor’s General Goods Store.
It was about a year ago, after Nazeem had fired me from Chillfurrow Farm for sleeping on the job.
Anyway, I was desperate for coin, and I decided to sell a set of antique silverware that I had kept packed away in an old sack.
It was a family heirloom, and I was loathe to part with it, but it was the only thing in my possession worth a bloody septim.

So what did you do?
I rolled them up in an old cloth, and went to Belethor to get it appraised.
Only when I placed the set on the counter, I noticed there was an old wooden spoon lumped in with the silverware.
I chuckled, of course, and was about to slide the spoon into my tunic when Belethor asked me, “How much?”  I asked him, “For the silverware?”
And the fool said, “No!  No, the spoon!”

Some people call this junk…
Indeed. I rushed home and picked up every worthless trinket, every old rag, piece of lint, and loaf of moldy old bread I could find.
Now he didn’t buy everything of course, but he bought enough to where I didn’t have to sell the silverware.
More importantly, I had stumbled upon an idea.
If people willing to buy all the crap most of us throw away, then imagine the profits to be had in collecting it.

Would there be any? Profits?
Oh yes. I’ve found people are willing to pay you gold to take their junk off their hands.
Most of ’em are adventurers who come out of a cave with more loot than they can carry, only to find it’s still a three hour walk back to Whiterun.
I’m in the business of greed and fatigue, traveler.  The greed makes ’em pick up the junk, and the fatigue makes ’em drop it.
And that’s where I come in. I turn their junk around and sell it to Belethor. Divines only know who purchases it from him.

So now you hoard other people’s junk as well?
That’s right. I’ve found people are willing to pay you gold to take their junk off their hands.

I’ve met broomsticks with more business sense.
Ha! Brooms happen to be some of my most popular pieces. Lots of death means lots of empty rooms and piles of dust.
While you’re slaving in some mine trying to pluck a flawless diamond, I’ll have traded my brooms for seven.

It’s mad enough to work, but stupid enough to fail.
That is music to my ears friend, for a truly great idea is often mistaken for madness.
Such ideas are separated from us like the farms surrounding the city. The great thinkers are mocked for trying to see them through walls of stone.
When an idea is a success, everyone assumes he actually did it. See through walls of stone. When all he really did was stand on his toes.

What sort of junk do you collect?
Why? Are you trying to muscle in on my business?

Impossible. You already own a premium location.
That’s right. Guards stationed day and night, and all the weary adventurers an Elf could ask for.

Yes, you got me. It was my plan all along to copy the worst idea ever.
Oh, ha-ha. Laugh it up stranger, but we’ll see who’s laughing when I’m in the cloud district, dining with the other lords.

I’m an adventurer, not some lowly shopkeep.
Is that what you call yourselves? I like to call you my pack mules. Now do you have any questions, or are we done here?

How do you determine what’s junk? You must have some value system.
You’re a clever one to see that. As you might expect, I can’t put anything too valuable in the chest, or it’d be too difficult to guard.
Now the guards here will stop the occasional thief so long as I wet their beaks.
But if my business attracts hordes of bandits and other unmentionables, then suddenly my coin ain’t worth the price of me being here.
With the money I’ve earned, I suppose I could open a separate stall in Whiterun for more valuable goods.
But the overhead doesn’t justify the profits, especially with the Jarl’s taxes and everyone else undercutting my prices.

Are there any items of no value to anyone?
Burned books. I found that out the hard way when even Belethor refused to buy them. Not even good for kindling, he said.
Now I’ve got enough worthless books to fill the library in Winterhold, but I’m still holding out hope the market will turn.

What if I replaced the college books with your burned ones and you sold them?
Not a good idea. The books would be way too valuable, and the evidence would point right to me.

I was, but I changed my mind now that you’re on to me.
Good, you saved yourself a lot of heartache. I’ve surveyed the land around here, and this is the best location for a business of this type.

You invested poorly. Ruined books are where the profit is.
Ah, so you’re a junk man as well. I know the value of a ruined book. Especially in the winter, they’ll work just as good as firewood.
Especially the thick volumes, like “The Wolf Queen,” or one of Barenziah’s 900 biographies.
But some of the rarer books I save for more discerning buyers.  Even with half the pages ruined, they’re still worth something to collectors.

You forgot basic knives and forks. Worthless.
Maybe now, but unlike burned books, they still have utility.
In fact, the market may change soon, with blacksmiths too busy forging swords to bother with common dinnerware.

Why set up at Whitewatch Tower?
It’s a prime location. To the north is empty tundra and Giant camps, and the guard station is too close to Fort Greymoor for my liking.
To the west, you have Riverwood, where most travelers have already unloaded their wares at Lucan’s shop.
The mountains loom over the south, peaks which no mortal dare climb, and to the southeast lay the Valtheim Towers, which bandits often occupy.

True, those roads are certainly notorious.
Yes, but travelers from the east face no peril other than the occasional divot in the road, and the stare of Vantus’ wife.
There are no bandits to alleviate them of their burdens, or any shops to do the same.
Their only foe is a shallow incline, but to an over-encumbered soul, it can seem larger than any dragon.
Yet it’s only when they conquer the hill that they truly accept defeat. For when they reach the apex, they find Dragonsreach tantalizingly close.
The entrance, however, is all the way on the other side.

Is this your long term business plan?
Depends on what you mean. But no, I don’t plan on being here forever.
My goal is to buy a house in Whiterun, and run my own business in the Market District.
But my motivation is to get a seat at the Jarl’s table, right across from Nazeem.

Why Nazeem?
Well, when he fired me, I thought of ways to get back at him.
Poison his food, bed his wife, burn his crops.  In the end though, it wasn’t worth it.
None of those things mattered to him, and when all accounts were settled he’d still be rich and I’d still be poor.
But if a poor farmer somehow managed to worm his way to the Cloud District…
Well, people would think he was the Skyforge the way the steam would come out of his ears.

Real estate is not something you can just buy. Someone has to sell.
Unfortunately, you’re right about that.  And you have to be a resident to get a seat at the Jarl’s table.
I was hoping to save up for a place like Breezehome, but I don’t have the coin just yet.
Then there’s the politics. Don’t know whose spear you have to polish to get on top of the waiting list, but I imagine it tastes foul going down.

Some polish spears. Others slay dragons.
Do I look like a dragon slayer? Wait, that came out wrong. Makes it sound like I look like a spear polisher.

I have a house in Whiterun. It’s quaint.
What? You? What did you do, save the city? Oh wait, you did, didn’t you. I bet the greedy bastards still didn’t give you a discount.

I’m telling Nazeem right now of your plans. You’re ruined.
Go ahead. That high-minded fool will laugh in your face, right before he spits in it.
There’s no one in all of Tamriel who has a lower opinion of what I collect, and the man who collects them.

Good. I hate that guy.
Smarmy fetcher has lots of enemies. Says stuff like, “Do you get to the cloud district often?  Of course you don’t, because you’re a filthy beggar.”
Well, this beggar’s going to own all of Dragonsreach by the time he’s done.

Nazeem’s already dead.
What? You lie. There’s no way anyone would let him off so easy.

Really? Then who was that smarmy Redguard I bumped into in the Market District the other day? His brother?

I don’t know if revenge is worth living in a troll den like Whiterun.
Oh, and where would you rather live? Solitude? An entire city full of people like Nazeem. Riften? You’ll lose your home before you get the door open.
Markarth?  Who wants to live near a prison? And there’s no way a Dark Elf like me is moving to Windhelm.

Eldar/Iria scene

Iria, if you tend to any over-encumbered soldiers, let them know about my store.

Sure, but there’d be no point. The burdens of the dead aren’t things that can be sold.

Well, then let their families know.  Someone has to inherit all their junk.

Belethor scene

Some people call this junk, me I call it treasure.

Oh, I’m quite aware of that. In fact, I’ve based my entire business model on that very statement.

scene 2

I’ve got a few broken brooms I need to move.
I realize you can’t use them to sweep, but what do you think about buying them in bulk and selling them as kindling?

I assure you, I’m prepared to make any deal.

That’s what I love about you Belethor. You are nothing if not flexible.

Hellos/Goodbyes

Until next time.

All right, then.

Be seeing you.

Please, do come back. Ha, sorry, I couldn’t help myself.

Remember traveler, pick up everything that isn’t nailed to the floor. And maybe those things too if you can manage.

Satchel feeling a bit heavy? Come see me at my store at Whitewatch Tower.

One day I’ll take my place at the Jarl’s table. And when I do, the look on Nazeem’s face will have made all the struggle worth it.

Too much junk weighing you down? For twenty gold I can take it off your hands for you.

You don’t happen to have any spare brooms, do you?

Greetings.

Need something?