Duval Estate.

To say Morty was less than pleased with the goblin's progress towards the deposits would be... not inaccurate as a swift, and expensive, boot found itself planted into the back of a drague that wasn't quite as enthusiastically working as he thought it should.

"Work faster you lazy fucks!" Morty shouted. If they were human they would've been there already... then again, if they were human then he would have to pay them and they would've bitched and moaned the whole time.

Oh the dragues did plenty of the later, not in his presence and nothing more than low grumbling when they were. He needed access to those deposits NOW! With the new squatters in his home he was now no longer treading water above profit and was now firmly losing money.

Cheap greasy pizza might not cost much, until you have to feed a bunch of stuck-up nobles that declare that it is the food of nobility and desired it in bulk. Was it too much to hope that the greasy cheese killed them sooner rather than later, Morty thought as he took out his frustration on another drague that lingered a second too long for Morty's liking.

"I don't care if you bastards work night and day! You will get to those deposits!"

One of the Red Cap overseers saluted as he marched over.

"General! We work them as much as we can! But they are such lowly and pitiful creatures that even though they are quick to replace, it will still take time to reach our destination!"

If only they were more competent with machinery then this would've been much easier, Morty thought. However, casualties among the dragues were equal parts exhaustion, work related accidents, and intentional killings. Even when at the bottom of the barrel and treated only slightly better than shit they still took a sadistic glee in offing their fellow menial dregs, and giving them chainsaws would only exacerbate the issue.

Case in point, Morty thought as the drague he just kicked showed enough weakness that an exaggerated swing of an axe that wasn't at all accidental cleaved its way through the thin little neck of the pitiful thing. Earning both quick joy from the surrounding dragues and the annoyance from Morty and the Red Cap.

But that was the cost of free labor, Morty thought as the body was replaced by a trio of new, and just as pitiful, dragues. This was still taking too long for Morty and he turned to the Red Cap.

"Don't worry about the rest of the forest, work them into focusing on a single path towards the deposits. We'll clear cut the rest afterwards."

The Red Cap saluted and marched over to the line of dragues, barking out orders as he freed a truncheon and cracked it across the back of a nearby drague. Morty had to hope that by concentrating them on a single section of forest that they'll reach their destination sooner rather than never.

"Erm? Master?" Morty turned to look at the voice, it was one of the noble goblins. He's been using the name as a catch-all for any of the goblins that weren't the grunts for his army or the tribalistic hedge goblins. This one was wearing a flour sack that was stained black from soot save for around the collar, and he was holding the bible that Morty gave the goblins some time ago.

Morty cocked a questioning brow at the pseudo-priest goblin.

"Mayhaps they will work faster with a blessing from the Lord?"

Morty sighed, greatly, and rubbed his eyes. Fuck it, he thought. What's the worse that could happen?

"Sure, go for it."

The priestly goblin smiled fanatically and waved over a few others that were also dressed in sooty flour sacks. Morty doubt the Catholic Church would give him some priest robes for the goblins, maybe a Halloween store.

He watched the blessed goblins as they dragged over what looked like a lamppost light with a single pane of glass removed and held by a thick cord of rope and several brass bed poles with slits in them. He wasn't sure where the lamppost came from but he hoped that those bed poles didn't damn well come from anything of his!

The lamppost was smoking and was apparently supposed to be an incense burner if the thick cloud of perfume that hit him smack in the face was anything to go by. They better not be burning anything expensive, he thought as they walked along the line of dragues in an apparent procession. The lead goblin opened the bible and spoke various, and horribly butchered, Latin chants that were seemingly taken at random while those behind him smacked the dragues with the brass bed poles, spraying them in "holy" water while the incense burner threw a handful of ash on them. Earning coughs and glares in equal measure from them.

Morty wasn't sure if this was considered blasphemy or if they would get credit for trying.

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While the dragues weren't any quicker, he did notice the Red Cap overseer bow his head reverently at the procession, and even kneeled for the priestly goblin as said goblin did a crisscross sign rather than the actual sign of the cross. The holy water goblins were far more gentler in splashing the overseer and he only got a pinch of ash rather than a whole handful.

On one hand, it meant that the goblin's were getting along better with the Red Caps. On the other, his goblins were turning to religion and Morty wasn't sure how to take that. But given that the Red Cap returned to his duties more motivated, and more liberal with the truncheon, he wasn't entirely against it. If a few more dragues died then what of it, he thought. What's the point of expendables if they weren't expended?

In the meantime he looked at the progress that was actually made. The lumber yard was coming along nicely, and the workforge was now nothing but scrap, ready to be repurposed into whatever it was he would need it for.

Leeching nobles, lazy workforce, bible thumping goblins, and now government agents spying on him. He might not have noticed them if not for his scouts spotting them during their last trip. That and the totally-not-suspicious black van that was now parked just down the road from the manor.

But that was fine by him, he thought. He wasn't doing anything OBVIOUSLY illegal. Can't get busted for labor abuses when the labor he was abusing wasn't human, nor citizens. Part of the reason that he wasn't trying to get his Red Caps some more modern armaments, they were painfully undermanned in town and some 12-guage incentive might make their lives easier. But ordering that many guns was just asking him to get Waco'd and his goblins weren't really into gunsmithing outside of muskets and crude pepperboxes. He tried, but the complexity of modern rifles compared to flintlocks was something they were having trouble breaking through to.

So it looked like he'll have to stick to the Napoleon theme in more than just aesthetics for the time being. Once the National Guard and the Feds leave then he'll see about getting them better kitted. He was initially worried that they were here for him, but his scouts have seen other Suits around town and even over by the halflings.

Something he didn't have to worry about, at least not yet and not to the degree he was already, he thought as he waved off the priestly goblins. The ever present sisters also dismissed the non-Canonical blessings and the goblins scampered off to preform more of their "holy" work.

Would it be heretical or blasphemy if he built them a church, Morty thought as he made his way back to the manor once he grew bored watching the inefficient progress of the dragues.

He wasn't through the doors when a Red Cap marched up to him and saluted as several grunts manhandled a rather unhappy person behind him.

"General! We apprehended another lawbreaker!"

Another, Morty thought as he tried to recall how many they arrested already.

"How many does that make?"

The Red Cap got a distant look and muttered as he did a tally in his head.

"23, General! Er... 24 now."

Jesus! It's bad enough trying to feed himself, his army, and the nobles, who's supposed influence among the populace was questionable at best. Now he had a whole other group of mouths to feed!

"What's the most common crimes?"

"Theft and assault."

"Take a digit or a hand, I don't care which, and send the thieves back out. For assault, give them a good beating and cut them loose as well." Morty declared. The prisoners were already taking up space in one of his rooms that he didn't want them in, and he was more focused on getting to the deposits to really make a jail for them. The sheriff's office wasn't doing much better if the reports from the Colonel was anything to go on.

"What about murderers?"

"What?" Morty asked, the others he expected but murder seemed a bit quick for how short of a time they've been here.

"We apprehended several ner-do-wells attempting to murder others."

"But none that have succeeded?"

"None that we have been able to confirm, General."

Morty thought for a moment as he tried to process what he was just told. For once he was actually wishing the National Guard would show up so it would be their problem to deal with. In the mean time.

"Execute them. Put a bullet in them and string them up as warnings."

The Red Cap and other goblins smiled wicked smiles before saluting and marching off to fulfil his orders. Their captive was even less than thrilled hearing his own soon to be fate.

"We are just hungry! We deserve food and protection!"

Morty wasn't listening anymore though. He had better things to worry about than every little complaint from the newcomers about food and safety. Can't they see he was TRYING, he thought as he made his way over to his liquor stash and poured himself a glass of bourbon.

While he was enjoying his drink he heard the door ring. He sighed, wondering which pissant it will be this time. A duo of rough voices sounded as the door cracked open.

"Is this tha... Duvel Residence?"

"DuvAL!" Came the sharp voice of his head butler, though he was quickly becoming more and more the leader of the noble goblins and less his butler.

Morty groaned as he marched into the foyer and towards the door before shit could hit the fan already. He saw two short, blond, and heavily bearded, gentlemen eyeballing his place, and the goblinoid guards he had.

"What can I do you for gentlemen?"

The lead noble goblin stepped aside for Morty to greet the newcomers, who both bowed and made their introductions.

"We are Allwin and Alwin! Sons o' Ulrin! Son o' Elrin! O' tha Olrin Bankin' Clan!"

"Don't want any." Morty replied bluntly.

"Any o' what?"

"Bullshit you're selling." Morty stated as he made to close the door.

"We're not here ta sell! We're here ta purchase!" Came the quick answer from one of the dwarves.

Morty cracked open the door.

"Buying what?"

"We are aware you are sellin' lumber. Is that still true?"

Sure the lumbermill will still take some time to get up and running, but he still had some made before the workforge went up in flames.

"Yeah."

"Well, we are lookin' ta purchase yer entire inventory!"

Holy shit, Morty thought as he may have just gotten a windfall!

"Uhm, yeah sure! What are we talking about exactly? You need them within a certain time? Length or width? Bulk or single?"

"Anythin' and everythin' you can produce!"

"And! We are willin' ta forward a generous donation ta increase production!" One of them said as they handed Morty a heavy bag that jingled as it moved.

He opened it and stared at the assortment of gold and silver coins and even a few gems!

"Where'd all this come from?!"

"Our family's mines! Minted them ourselves!"

Minted them? As they said that Morty pulled a few coins out and examined them more closely. Sure enough, the coins most certainly did not have Honest Abe or Washington on any of them.

"Where are these mines?"

"Well, it's back home in the Korgaz Mountains!"

"Which would be?"

"In tha Dwarven Kingdom of Harkuun!"

Great, Morty thought. Coins that weren't minted in the US that came from a mine that for all he knew didn't actually exist. Though he could tell these were real gold and gems, the last thing he needed was MORE of the government sniffing about his dealings.

"Sorry then Bofur and Bombur. Can't accept this. Come back when you have cold hard AMERICAN cash."

The dwarves stammered as the hefty sack was given back and the door closed. Morty scoffed.

"Outside minted coins and gems from mines no-ones heard of. I'll have the IRS up my ass before I could make it through the bank doors!"

If they were Spanish doubloons or old Confederate coins or something of historical value than sure, he could accept them. But brand new coins minted elsewhere? Gems that would take time, money, and scrutiny, to get verified? Yeah, that was a big fat red flag he was going to avoid like it was the plague!