They spent the rest of the afternoon discussing the town and its inhabitants with Igrin, Rory asking after the various races, the merchants, what types of goods were available and which were prized by the town, where their food came from, and what they exported to the capitol. Igrin was surprisingly knowledgeable about a number of things, but she came up short when the conversation ranged outside the commodities and services necessary to run a successful inn. Eventually, the sound of three bells carried across the town, and the four headed out to the Bureau to file their work papers.

The Bureau of Letters itself was an unassuming building, though sturdily and exactingly constructed. It was made of the same white stone as most of the buildings in the plaza, and as the guardhouses and other civic structures. Inside, half a dozen clerks seemed busy with sheaves of paperwork, all of it on precisely cut cream-colored paper. Here and there they heard the sound of a seal being stamped onto a form, and one of the clerks seemed to be occupied solely with placing completed paperwork into thick envelopes and sealing them closed with wax and yet another imperial stamp. All in all, it was a cross between a mailroom and a DMV.

“Good evening, we’re here to request work papers,” Rory smiled at the clerk.

“Very well. Names. Places of birth. Occupations. Length of stay,” the clerk responded.

After collecting their answers, the clerk began to fill out four small booklets, using a metal stylus engraved with a few runes near the end. The crisp scent of singed paper wafted toward the group, and after a few minutes, the clerk placed the booklets inside a set of four leather covers, obviously made to preserve the papers against the weather. Finally, she pulled from one of the drawers of her desk a small pyramid the size of a fist, which bore a bright red, quite sharp-looking spike at the apex.

“Twelve silvers. Please prick your thumb on the obalis and place a droplet of your blood here in the rune circle on the permit,” she recited.

“What does that do?” Layla interrupted the other four.

“It verifies that you have given this information truthfully, and that you are the person you claim to be,” she recited again, seemingly used to such questions.

“That’s all?” Layla persisted.

“Yes. Why? Do you have something to hide?” the clerk finally narrowed her eyes.

“No. Not at all. See?” Jack poked his finger on the spike and smashed his thumb onto the opened page of the booklet.

The runic circle immediately began to shine, changing slowly from a white glow to a subtle red glimmer.

“Thank you. The rest of you?” the clerk pushed the booklets forward a bit.

“Are you gonna clean that thing?” Rory grimaced.

She sighed, “The obalis drinks any remaining blood in order to continue powering its enchantment. It is both clean and perfectly safe.”

Erin went next, then Rory. Finally, Layla screwed her eyes shut and stabbed her thumb onto the crimson spike. She gingerly set her thumb down on the paperwork, which dutifully changed from white to a dull red.

They thanked the clerk and headed outside.

“I can’t believe we didn’t get outed there,” Layla sighed.

“Me either, actually,” Jack replied.

Rory had been silent since they left the office, “I think it just tells them if we’re lying, and we haven’t lied yet. By just letting them assume we’re from some fucked off place in the arse of nowhere, we can tell them our actual birthplaces and just seem eccentric.”

“Well, I’m ready to do some shopping. How bout you?” Erin smiled.

-----

The four made their way to the plaza, where Rory spent the better part of the afternoon simply walking from stall to stall and speaking to the owners at length. ‘What did they sell?' 'What were they interested in buying?' 'Who should he be careful doing business with?' 'Who did they recommend for this or that service or good?'

The other three rapidly bored of this endless chit-chat, but Rory assured them the result would be well worth the effort. He did, though, recommend they grab some snacks and maybe do some window shopping for things they’d be interested in buying later in the day. He made a quick sale of one of their slime crystals, grimacing when he got only twelve silvers, but handed over most of it for the group’s meals and drinks.

“What do you think he’s doing, just moseying around all those different stalls?” Jack said between bites of some kind of seared meat.

“Dunno. Maybe he’s price comparing?” Erin replied around her biscuit.

“I swear to me, you two never do read the manual, do you? Rory’s Appraise skill has an upgrade that lets him learn everything about the goods and values in a given market by spending an afternoon just wandering it and talking to the merchants. Not sure if it nudges him about what to ask or if he can just make small talk and it downloads all the info into his brain, but that’s clearly what he’s doing. We’ll all get the best deals on everything and the highest sell prices for our stuff if we just let him finish,” Layla threw her hands into the air and huffed, slinging wine into the square behind her.

“Oh,” the other two grunted sheepishly, before returning to their food.

Around sunset, Rory found them in the plaza, eating dinner at another stall. He had been carrying most of the high-end goods, such as the slime crystals and the vargr’s rare claws, but most of the goods and skins were divided between Erin and Jack’s backpacks.

“Evening mates, I’ve got us a line on the best buyer of monster pelts in Isenmar, but his shop closes in about…” Rory looked at his bare wrist, “... ten minutes. So we need to run.”

After cursing him roundly, the three stuffed their faces with what they could and Rory dropped a handful of coin on the table to settle their bill. They ran up the main street, halfway across town, and hooked a sharp left just inside the North Gate. There on the edge of town, the acrid scent of a tanner’s shop assaulted their noses.

“Oh-my-god, what is that smell?” Erin held her nose and huffed small breaths through her mouth.

“Probably brains or piss. That’s usually what they tanned hides with. Though monster pelts seem to treat themselves once you harvest them. I watched the fat and a bit of muscle I missed on one evaporate into mist. It was wild,” Jack mused.

“Regardless, my loves, this fellow pays best rates on pelts. So shut it about the smell, and let me do the talking,” Rory grinned and pushed the door open.

“We’re closed,” a gruff voice issued from within.

“Sorry mate, we’ll just be a moment. Got some pelts, claws, and a crystal from the Fyrwood. Heard you’re the best shop in town,” Rory called into the dim interior.

A grizzled man appeared from behind a curtain in the back of the store, “Oh did you? From who?”

“Habart Yourkin, down at the tailor’s shop. Said you were the man to see about our wares. Came highly recommended,” Rory flashed the man his million-watt smile.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The old man grinned warmly, “Yourkin’s a good lad. His pa was a good friend. I’ll have a look at what you’ve got, son.”

Jack and Layla began to unload their packs, laying out over a dozen hides, a handful of claws, and a single vyrkolak crystal that pulsed a ruddy earthen red.

“Quite the haul. Vyrkolak is good for winter mountain gear. I typically hold them till then. Vargr claws are in high demand with the Hunter’s Guild. Good for melding quality bows and armor. Vyrkolak crystals though, they’re not much worth. Typically used to enchant tools to make em bite into wood or stone easier,” the shop owner mused.

He ‘hmm’d’ and ‘mmm’d’ for a few minutes, pulling out a worn piece of chalk and a slab of slate, then marking about ten times on the surface, erasing the contents, then marking again.

“Give ya three crowns for the lot,” he offered and tossed he slate on the countertop.

“Oh, come now. The crystal alone is worth three crowns, and what you said isn’t entirely true. Vyrkolak crystals are also used in gear that penetrates the armor of creatures with thick hide, aren’t they?” Rory grinned at the old man.

The other three sat there, mouths open, as Rory and the grizzled shopkeep fussed and tittered, discussing market rates, summer demand, and the difficulty of melding rat-beaver parts into respectable gear.

“Fine boy! Fine! Fifty-five silvers, and not a copper more. You’re robbing me. Might as well hold me up with that dirk, you bandit,” the old man groused, but his eyes sparkled and the corner of his mouth turned up the slightest bit.

“You have a deal, my friend. Can we count on you to buy anything else we come across? My friend here is a passable skinner,” Rory thumbed in Jack’s direction.

“Yeah, yeah. But don’t bring me any more of this shit from the Fyrwood. Head south into the Augrvein Forest, but stick to the outskirts. No more than a mile in, understand? I can tell by the vargr’s hide that you had quite a tussle with it. There are things deep in the Augrvein that will eat you up and leave turds larger than that one,” he pointed at Layla.

“Noted, and thank you again,” Rory nodded and swept the coin off the counter, dumping it in Erin’s larger hands. “Time to go, mates.”

“Is this a lot of money, Rory?” Erin cupped the coins and jiggled them, listening to the clink.

“It’s enough that we could live and eat modestly at the Cask for over a month, if that tells you anything. But yes, it’s a good bit compared to what we’d have gotten if we went in blind. He pays about ten to fifteen percent premium specifically on monstrous beast parts. Seems he’s quite the craftsman, and the adventurers in the city will pay extra for equipment made by him,” Rory explained as they strolled back toward the center of town.

“Should we buy some gear from him?” she replied.

“Oh, god no. His markup is absolutely barkin’ mad,” Rory laughed.

“Soooooo… where should we shop?” she grumbled.

“Well, I’ve got you and Jack an appointment with an armorer tomorrow ‘round tenth bell in the morning, then to the weaponsmith’s, and then off to a place called Arlen’s Arcane Amphora, to fetch up a magical focus for Layla,” he recited.

Layla squinted at him, “A what? Like, a wand?”

“Apparently staves are much more common. Wands are seen as a dueling weapon,” he laughed.

“You learned… all of this… in an afternoon?” Jack put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him up short.

“Well, an evening, but yeah. Neat, right?” Rory laughed again and turned to march toward the Cask.

As he walked away, Layla stuck her head between the two armored front-liners and grumbled, “This keeps up, he’s gonna get the fuckin’ big head.”

-----

They settled their tab with Belgryn, and didn’t drink or eat nearly as much as the night before. Though, any of the four of them would’ve considered the night a feast in their previous lives. Layla mentioned as much, but Jack insisted that all portions in Texas were dwarven-sized by default.

They whiled the night away, eating, drinking, and laughing with Belgryn and the old dwarves that had warmed up to the four. The younger crowd seemed to openly embrace the foreigners that spoke perfect dwarvish and were not only willing, but overjoyed, to get smashed and sing dwarven drinking songs. A few of the elderly curmudgeons broke out the ancient mining songs in an attempt to put a stop to all this nonsense, but even the grumps were won over when the newcomers spoke the High Mountain Tongue just as fluently as the newer, imperial Dwarven.

And thus, the four spent the night in song and merriment, perhaps not as deep in their cups as last night, but nevertheless, mead and ale flowed and wine was poured until the bottles under the bar were entirely gone. The chosen didn’t wait until the sun came up this time, making their apologies and drifting up to bed.

Layla picked out one of the burly dwarven adventurers, steel and silver rings in his beard and hair and smelling of whiskey, smoke, and pine. She licked her lips and curled her fingers toward him as she swayed up the stairs.

His reply surprised her, “I cannae, lass. I’ve seen how much yeh had ta’ drink, and I wouldn’ want ta’ take advantage.”

“Oh, boy, have you got it the wrong way around,” she grinned and licked her lips again. “I’m just fine, handsome. Or you scared of a girl with a little leg on her?”

The bar erupted, jeering and taunting the powerfully-built dwarf. He jumped off the stool and held up his hands for the bar to quiet down, “Let no lord nor lady say Brahgin Stormfist shies away from powerful women. Let us be off, lass, and see if your hips are as strong as your tongue.”

Her eyes sparkled in the golden light, “Oh, sugar, I’ma wear you out.”

-----

"Papers," the weary guard called out to the riders as they neared the light of the Isenmar gates. His shock was written on his face, as well as his fear, as the lead horseman rode into the light wearing the white greatcoat of the Inquisition. The other riders approached behind him, revealing more inquisitors, a dozen at least.

"My deepest apologies, your lordship. The dim light, I couldn't see you," the guard trembled.

Inquisitor Seiger Weiss called back to him as his warhorse trotted to the gate, "Nonsense, my good man. Only doing your job. A credit to the Empire. Here are my travel papers, as well as the Order's seal, showing I am on official business. Should my men present their papers as well, or is the seal of the Inquisition verification enough?" Weiss' eyes glittered in the glowlamp's light, hooded and dangerous, cast into shadow like the eyes of a serpent or the black, doll-like eyes of a great shark.

"I trust your seal, your lordship. Please, go ahead," the guard bowed.

"Tell me, have you seen four foreigners, two of them near two stride and two shorter? The vanguard were in heavy armor, one of them some kind of berserker that fights without a weapon? Accompanied by a merchant in light armor and a spellcaster wearing an evening dress?" the inquisitor reined his horse in, quite close to the guardsman.

"Yes, your lordship. They arrived yesterday. The sergeant told me to be on the lookout for them, to notify him in case they decided to leave instead of seeking work papers,” he offered.

“And did they leave?” the inquisitor leaned in a bit.

“No, Inquisitor, at least they hadn’t left before my shift began at sixth bell,” he replied and looked into the town.

“Very good,” Weiss replied, and his eyes began to glow with a haunting, spectral white light.

“And warden?” he stopped his horse again.

“Y-yes, your lordship?” the guard startled.

“Confessor Ebrahim, from the capital, is just behind us. Make sure you address him by his proper title, and do not ask him for his papers. Call him ‘your grace’, understood?” the inquisitor’s gaze was as hard as cold iron.

“Yes, sir, I understand. And thank you,” the guard released a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding.

“We all serve, some more diligently than others. Safe passage, warden,” Weiss snapped his reins and the great charger obediently trotted forward.