Molly's Pawnshop.

  After a time visiting, the Colonel departed to resume his duties in town. While his impression of the National Guard was somewhat dulled by the rather lacking training, he was still obligated to see to his charge of protecting the town.

  Which left Sylvia and Molly behind to continue discussing the elven former-whore's work at the pawnshop. From what little Molly told her, it wasn't all that difficult. It was basically haggling for the best offer. Buy low, sell high. Which wasn't so different from her former occupation to be honest.

  The only difference was now she was negotiating over items and antiques rather than herself. Of course she was also informed about payment. That not only would she be dealing with coinage but the strange green paper money Molly showed her. Which, while strange, wasn't as strange as one would think. She herself was offered some rather... unique forms of payment back in her former life.

  She shivered when she recalled some fishfolk wanting to buy her services and offered her the "glorious opportunity" of birthing their god's offspring. Suffice it to say, neither she nor Barnaby were interested.

  Good thing too, she heard a rumor from one of the other girls who was with a guard say that they were deployed up the river to wipe out the cult of fishfolk. What they found was supposedly some sort of sacrificial cult that killed their captives in the name of their god. Baahl, or Boaal, or something like that. She couldn't remember what strange name it was, only that she was glad monetary payment was the standard.

  Which, according to Molly, would persist in this new world she found herself in. About the only thing she was having any sort of issue wrapping her mind around was this "credit" she spoke of. She knew the concept from customers familiar with the banking clan. But the way Molly put it, it was both physical and not!

  To better show her, Molly produced some sort of worn reddish brown piece of lightweight... something. It wasn't metal, wood, or stone. It wasn't glass either. She wasn't sure what to make of it other than apparently this is what most humans of this world used to purchase things with.

  She was more than a little confused. Especially since she couldn't even begin to figure how her former profession would handle such a thing. When she asked Molly all she got was the pawnbroker wheezing with laughter!

  Sylvia didn't know what was so funny though, the paper money she could understand. She could hold it. Count it. Stash it. But this "credit card" as she was told, held money in some sort of place that she could only access at certain places during certain days? That one had money but it wasn't something one could hold, count, and actually feel?

  She was confused, and Molly's explanations alongside some books she had gotten, weren't making it any better. If anything it just confused her more! Apparently there was taxes. Not a surprise. But one didn't know how much the taxes were. At least not obviously.

  Molly helped her down the steps and into the pawnshop to better help her understand. It just confused her more. If there was a tax on things why not just price things that they were actually priced at? She was told that was because the tax was actually handled by a "machine". When her confusion was made apparent to Molly, she showed her the register. Which would not only hold the physical money, but also tally the tax needed to be paid by the customer.

  She still didn't get it. Sure she got giving a cut to local guards to look the other way when they needed something less-than-legal done. But from what she gathered this wasn't that. It was a town farther away than even some of the villages she knew about, getting a percentage of their profits. Which was then sent further away to a city bigger than Daele was! To THEN be spread out across a country bigger than she ever thought possible!

  Her head was spinning, and not just from the information overload. The potions and little alchemical pellets she was given by the healers made her head feel fuzzy on top of dulling her aches and bruises.

  Molly, having pity on her, just had her sit down on a chair nearby and had her watch as Molly worked the counter. She went over and flipped the sign on the door from CLOSED to OPEN before taking her place once more behind the counter.

  It got rather busy faster than even the brothel did! Within minutes of the shop being open was it soon filled with people! Most of them were locals like Molly that came in and wanted to exchange metal coinage for paper money.

  But a few people from Daele also trickled in. Some glanced at the weapons in glass cabinets, which she didn't understand, if someone wanted to steal something a glass case wouldn't stop them. Wouldn't it simply be more practical to keep the weapon out, and within reach, so as to deal with thieves or robbers?

  But it was Molly's store, not hers. Which meant she just watched, sipped some water from a clear mug made from the same material as the credit card was and a clear reed thing called a "straw". Again, she wasn't sure why it was called that since it didn't resemble straw in the slightest.

  But back to the customers. Sylvia watched as the Daelish folk browsed weapons and even some furniture. More than a few eyeballed the weapons in cases to the point that Molly had to give them the hint that either they buy something or leave.

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  Most did with a grumble. A couple got rather vocal but nothing more. About the only real trouble came when one of them tried to steal a knife from a case! Only to be stunned by their hand hitting a solid surface. Then stunned by a couple of those strange goblins like the Colonel rushing in and tackling them.

  Molly was more unfazed about than she was. Someone came close to pulling a knife on her! If not for the, surprisingly strong, glass case and the guards, she might've been robbed! When Sylvia had stated such, she was met by a knowing smirk from Molly, who then pulled out one of the weapons from her boot.

  It was small. Tiny even. It just barely fit in one hand. Which wasn't all impressive. But she had seen similar weapons on the hips of both the local humans and the Red Caps. From the way many acted when a weapon was spotted, she could only imagine that it's size wasn't what people were worried about.

  Time wore on and Sylvia felt she was starting to understand. The taxes was something the people from Daele had to adjust to because it was something new and strange. But the locals didn't seem to give it any thought at all. Molly typed in the amount, the machine added up the tax, the customer paid, then left.

  Despite the strangeness of it, it was so deceptively simple to the point that several "swiped" their cards with barely a glance when a couple of the strange humans in green wandered in and bought some things.

  Which led to the product of the pawnshop. It was... everything. Weapons that ranged from the strange "guns" that Molly and some of the local humans carried, to knives, hatchets, and even some swords and spears! Then a bunch of clothing. Some of it looked like what Molly wore while others were seemingly older. But no armor. There was even a couple of strange bright machines that offered "soda" and candy!

  That was about all she was familiar with though. The rest made her head hurt. Machines that warmed or cooled the air. Machines that showed plays and performances on glass. Machines that did everything! It seemed like the tidbits about artificery she heard about now and again back in Daele wasn't some mad fever dream of gnomes, but something that was actually put into practice here in this world!

  What a wondrous, if fairly confusing, world she found herself in, Sylvia thought as she continued to watch Molly work as she haggled and bartered with customers new and old.

  -----

  Sheriff's Station.

  Sheriff Steinburg sighed as he sat down within his office. He had thought, and partly hoped, that with the National Guard coming that he and his two deputies wouldn't need to be ran quite so ragged now.

  But he was wrong. While they and the feds had taken the brunt of the hassle, he was still the local law. Which meant that any sort of Nine-One-One call was sent his way. Most of the time it was to file a complaint, one that he's already heard from another dozen others. Usually a mix between the Duval's private military or the newcomers causing a fuss.

  Marc and Davey had their hands full as well. There were only the three of them after all. Which meant that any complaint or call had to be handed to one of them. Most of the time it was simply complaints. What few serious calls they had, they were forwarded to the National Guard or the feds to handle since they had the manpower to deal with them.

  Which left the three of them doing "house calls". Which basically go to some old man or lady's house and spend at least half an hour telling them that no, there aren't creatures living in the sewers. Or that no, the newcomers did not eat her cat and it had merely ran off... again.

  On one hand, Miles was glad to be dealing with simple things again. Even if it was tedious and frustrating. It was either that or step into the powder keg that is things happening just east of town. Which none of them were in any hurry to do.

  On the other, it seemed like he was missing out. Like he was stuck doing grunt work while big things were happening around them. Hell, it got to the point where that fella that came into town looking for his missing sister that worked at the Duval Estate had washed his hands of them and was, from what he was told, seeking assistance from the National Guard or even possibly the feds.

  He couldn't blame him though. They were dangerously short-staffed at the best of times. Which now was not one such time. There wasn't much he could do even if it wasn't. They simply didn't have the manpower or resources for a missing persons. They'd do some basic field work before sending it out to the feds with what little they could gather and hope they found something.

  Which they never did. Usually whenever someone around here goes missing, the feds show up, follow the trail towards the mountains, then promptly shrug and depart. Usually saying they were the victim of being lost in the mountains like countless others through the ages. It'd be a waste of time and resources combing every gulch and gully, every ridge and rise looking for one person that for all they know could've wander into an old mine shaft. Which wasn't even counting the animosity with the locals that would make such a Herculean affair all the more challenging.

  So none of ten, they did the bare minimum and little else. Because that was all they could do. It sucked. But Miles was just one man. Even if he had a dozen deputies under him, it'd still be a situation that he no matter what he did, it'd just not turn out the way anyone wants.

  He was startled out of his dark thoughts by his phone ringing. He sighed and rubbed his eyes before picking it up.

  "Hello?"

  "Boss? Mrs. Cormorant is on the line for you." Davey's voice came over the line.

  "Right. Patch her through." Miles said and waited for the line to be switched as he sifted through his mind for the name.

  Mrs. Cormorant, older lady who lives with her husband along the Greenbrier. Wonder what she wants, Miles thought as he picked up the phone again and heard the voice of said woman on the other side.

  "Sheriff? Sheriff?! Are ya there?!"

  "Yes Mrs. Cormorant, it is. How can I help you?"

  "Well first off you can fire that nitwit you call a deputy! He's hung up on me four times tryin' to get a hold of you!"

  "I'm sorry for that Ma'am. We've been slogged here at the station and it's startin' to wear on us. But that's no excuse. What seems to be the problem?"

  "Thieves that's what the problem is!"

  Miles bit back a sigh. This was how a great many of his latest emergency calls started.

  "And what was taken?"

  "My husband's laundry!"

  Miles paused at that.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "You heard me! Some shitbird stole my husband's clothes right off the line! Normally I don't put 'em out this late in the winter, but my husband likes the chill in his drawers. Says it helps his hemorrhoids."

  "I get the picture ma'am. Though I really wish I didn't. Anythin' else taken?"

  "Well hell yeah! They also stole my good fryin' pan too!"

  -----

  Along the Blackbrier.

  The murlocs hoisted their new banner up high up the pole. The yellowed fabric with small red fish on it fluttered in the cool breeze as they sailed back up the river with the swag from their latest, and farthest, raid yet! They were tempted to raid those strange ones that back up river, but decided against it. They looked too big and armed for them. So they used their gathered loot of mud and sticks to make their boat appear like river refuse and pass by without being noticed.

  Once past, they sailed along further in search of fresh prey to raid! Their first target was some kind of dwelling along the river. Their river! But they saw no-one and nothing immediately worth taking. What traps or rods they had must've been locked up. Something they'll have to worry about another time. BUT, they didn't come all this way for nothing! They would show the other bands who brought the better offerings! So they took the fabric hanging from a line like a banner, and the flat mace on the wooden table before departing back to port!

  Yes, today was a good haul, the lead murloc thought as it stared it's glassy dull eyes at their new standard flapping in the brisk cold river wind. But not before being knocked overboard by one of the crew swinging the flat mace around! It gurgled and paddled as fast as it could. It had to climb back aboard the boat and reclaim what was its before they got to the spot in the river where those strangers were and had to cloak their boat once more!