As Ozzy walked the silent streets of post-midnight Last Flag, he found himself challenged by an odd sensation. He thought he heard something akin to a low and constant hiss or a muffled whistle, yet when stopped in his tracks and tried to listen for it, it was gone. One would think his mind was merely playing tricks on him. The simple man wasn’t going to deny the possibility that this strange world was probably doing his head in. However, the notion that he imagined that noise quickly lost traction when it started coming back every ten minutes or so, always in the same way. He’d be walking along and letting his mind wander when he felt that barely audible hissing, only to have it disappear the instant he acknowledged.
It was clear by the fourth time this happened that this anomaly wasn’t going to go away on its own, so Ozzy gave up on trying to ignore it and actively searched his surroundings. He looked and listened as hard as he could, even going so far as to scan the area for creatures and people by invoking one of his lesser magical techniques. The ability to detect life was a basic skill that all druids were taught early on in their training, and also a vital one. Aspiring druids had to master this power if they hoped to hear the spirits of nature that suffused their surroundings and glean the mystical secrets within their quietest whispers. That was the source of Ozzy’s powers, and though he hadn’t reached the pinnacle of druidism yet, he could still feel anything larger than a cockroach within fifty paces on a whim.
Or at least that was how it used to be. The majority of his natural magic failed to manifest no matter how hard or often he tried, and what little he could invoke required significantly more effort to achieve the desired effects. Detecting life fell squarely into the latter category. Ozzy had to focus purely on that and nothing else, not even walking. This both puzzled and concerned him greatly, as he had never experienced anything quite like it before. Then again, he’d never been transported to another world by a mad lich, either. As far as he could tell, the most likely reason for his magical impotence was that this realm had a different ‘voice’ from the one he knew. His hope was that he could regain his former strength once he learned how to commune and bond with this alien land.
That was a matter for later, however. At the moment the man needed to pinpoint the source of that elusive hissing. He sensed the rats in the sewers underneath his feet and the sleeping citizens in the tall building to his right, but nothing that could reasonably produce that noise. Could its source be some creature that possessed a mockery of life, perhaps? Things like undead and golems could evade the druid’s supernatural senses since they weren’t alive in the same way as men and beasts. That seemed unlikely since Ozzy hadn’t seen anything that would indicate that Last Flag was home to either type of abomination. It did have plenty of machines, however.
Now that the druid thought about it, he had been walking by a whole lot of cars that were parked on the side of the street. Maybe whatever artificial innards made them move were responsible for that annoying hissing. The man certainly wouldn’t put it past those strange contraptions. They were unlike anything he’d seen back in Einhan, and he’d seen a lot. The only reason he called them ‘carriages’ when he first arrived was because that was the closest thing he could think of, but even then the two vehicles had more differences than similarities.
The automobiles of this world were, for the most part, long and tubular like metal slugs on wheels. Each vehicle boasted a wardrobe-sized boiler hooked up to a compact steam engine that was still as big as a barrel. These parts alone took up most of the front and middle thirds of the chassis, leaving the rear as the only place with enough space for the driver, passengers, and luggage. As a result, the seats looked incredibly cramped and tight from Ozzy’s point of view. Some models had more legroom than others, of course, but the druid imagined that stepping into any of those would make him feel like a hermit crab that had outgrown its borrowed shell.
Still, even though he was largely ignorant as to these machines’ inner workings, Ozzy had seen enough of them move around to conclude that these ones were completely inert. Their metal innards didn’t churn and chug like a crate of pans falling down stairs and the pipes poking out of the sides and rear weren’t spewing out a mix of smoke and steam. The druid lifted a few of the parked vehicles’ front ends to check if any of the parts in their undercarriages were moving or leaking, which they weren’t. Last but not least, none of them felt even remotely warm to the touch, suggesting they hadn’t been used in hours.
So, long story short, these machines couldn’t have been the source of that hissing unless they could move around of their own volition. Ozzy hadn’t completely ruled out that possibility just yet, but he’d seen nothing to suggest this was the case. Having little other choice and lacking way too much information, the druid resumed his walk at a brisker pace. If something was indeed following him and waiting to jump at him from the shadows, then he’d deal with it when and if it reared its ugly head. Until then he stayed on guard as much as possible. Sure enough, the hissing came and went as before, keeping him constantly on edge.
Ozzy was significantly high-strung by the time he finally made it to the pawnshop he was looking for. The buildings in this part of town were more in line with what the man was used to in terms of height. True, they were still four or five stories high, but at least he could see them in their entirety from the ground. The pawnshop in particular seemed to occupy the bottom two floors of a relatively narrow residential building. The lights were on and a big glowing sign that read ‘Rizby’s 24/10 Pawn and Bonds’ hung over the main entrance. This left absolutely no doubt that this was the place the snippy haberdasher had told Ozzy about. They were indeed open as well, judging by the sign hanging from the glass front door.
The man approached the shop and went inside without further delay. It was immediately apparent at first glance that this establishment was more reputable than the druid expected. Pawnbrokers in Einhar usually served as little more than fronts for thieves’ guilds that sold stolen property. However, this shop’s interior didn’t have that same seedy feeling. It was clean, warm, well-lit, and gave off a feeling of class and style not unlike the Huxley & Smith outlet. A colorful variety of goods rested on sturdy wooden shelves, with the most valuable articles placed in secure display cases of glass and iron. A counter was built into an archway in the back, with a wooden sign that read ‘Cashier’ dangling directly above it. There was nobody attending it at the moment.
Ozzy strolled up to it while marvelling at the curious things on offer. Some were old hat, like rings, knives, and old hats, but most were things he’d never seen before today. He reigned in his curiosity, though. He was here to turn his solars, lunars, and gems into sprockets. Based on the credit collateral that tailor took for his bill of five and a half thousand, his coins were probably worth about fifty thousand in total and twice as much for the jewels. Ozzy had no idea how accurate this estimate was, but it gave him a rough notion of what sum to expect. But first, he needed to get an employee’s attention. Just shouting for someone to come didn’t seem appropriate, so he looked around for alternatives. Glancing down at the strangely low counter, he noticed a small steel hemisphere with a button on top and a matching placard that said ‘Ring bell for service.’ Putting two and two together, he pressed the switch and a crisp, clear ‘ding’ filled the shop.
“…”
Ozzy waited patiently for a minute or two before he realized nobody was coming. He took a moment to feel things out and sensed there were definitely people on the other side of that door behind the counter. Four large ones and one small one, to be precise. None of them were making his way towards him. Feeling a bit cross about getting ignored, he leaned forward and rapidly dinged the little bell.
“Shaddap!” a hoarse voice emanated from inside. “I heard youse the first time, damnit!”
The employee that finally appeared was… not quite what Ozzy expected. Standing no taller than a ten-year-old, with clawed hands, pointy ears, green skin, long nose, and a head far too big for his little body, was a goblin. Granted, he was far more civilized than the ones the druid was familiar with. He had a shirt, a vest, a bowtie, and glasses that made him look very similar to Richard’s attire, not to mention the small red fez that rested atop his bald scalp. His pointy-toothed smile was pearly white instead of yellow and rotting, and he didn’t carry the usual stench that accompanied his kind.
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However, he was a goblin nonetheless, and Ozzy absolutely despised goblins. He’d fought the wretched vermin whenever they tried to raid his clan’s ancestral mountain home. This happened a lot. So much so that the druid had to clench his fists hard just to resist the urge to flatten this thing then and there, and couldn’t keep the disgust from showing on his face. The diminutive cashier didn’t fail to notice this hostile attitude, but kept his cool and maintained his business smile. The goblin dealt with equally scary muscle-brains on the regular, and wasn’t going to let some misplaced grudge get between him and profits.
“Welcome to Rizby’s, fella. I’m Rizby,” he curtly introduced himself. “What can I do ya for?”
Those words snapped Ozzy out of it. He calmed himself as best he could. The wonders he’d seen while travelling at Cassie’s side ranged from breathtaking to unbelievable, yet not once had he encountered anything even remotely approaching a ‘good goblin.’ Still, this was another world, with its own history and culture, not to mention Richard had recommended this shop. Or at least that was the impression Ozzy got. In actuality, the haberdasher had done no such thing. He simply didn’t know any other pawnbrokers that worked around the clock, otherwise he would’ve pointed the druid to those instead.
Regardless, the druid had taken Richard’s words as an endorsement and tried his best to give this greenskin scum the benefit of the doubt.
“Yeah. I have some shinies for you.”
He… wasn’t off to a great start.
“Lookie ‘ere, buster,” the goblin took offense to that. “I don't know who ya think ya are or where da hell yer from, but ya need ta watch yer trap ‘fore I get security to toss ya out. Now, show me what ya’ve got ‘n let’s pipe this over with.”
Ozzy took off the duffel bag with all his stuff and dropped it on the ground with a heavy thud. He rummaged through it for a few seconds before producing his money pouch, then tossed it onto the counter, all while trading stink-eyes with the goblin. Rizby whistled sharply towards the back, prompting one of his goons to emerge. It was another sharply dressed greenskin, although this one was more olive than cucumber, and boasted a physique that dwarfed Ozzy’s. He also had a massive underbite, ridiculously broad shoulders, beady eyes, pointy tusks, and seemed to lack a neck altogether. He was an orc no matter how one looked at him, though the druid had far less beef with his people. The barrel-chested bouncer stood firmly by Rizby’s side with his arms crossed, ready to intervene should the blond man try something stupid.
Now with his security present, the goblin carefully emptied the pouch’s contents onto his counter. Ozzy’s wealth startled him just as much as it did Richard, but Rizby did a much better job at hiding it. He fished a small magnifying glass from his pocket that he clipped onto his spectacles and got a delicate merchant’s scale from underneath the counter. He proceeded to carefully inspect and weigh both the coins and the gemstones in absolute silence. Rizby knew his antiques, and those gold and silver pieces were unlike any he had seen. Best as he could figure based on the apparent lack of wear and tarnish, they were made very recently. That meant they didn’t have any value beyond the precious metals themselves, which had their fair share of impurities. He’d probably just have them melted down, then resell the gold and silver to his cousin.
The gemstones were also a mixed bag. There were two emeralds, three diamonds, a sapphire, eight pearls, and five rubies. They were in relatively good condition aside from two of the rubies and one of the emeralds. Whatever amateurs tried to cut those three gems managed to chip them rather badly. Furthermore, the clarity, size, and cut of each stone varied wildly. They clearly weren’t part of the same set, which meant they were gathered from different places over a long period of time. In Rizby’s experience that meant one of two things. This guy was either a thief or an explorer, and his all-around burliness and lack of subtlety heavily implied the latter. It didn’t matter much where he got them from, though. The law required that he run the gems through the authorities to make sure they weren’t stolen property. If they were, they’d question him about the seller and reimburse the goblin once the culprit was apprehended. If they were clean he’d get them back in a few weeks along with a certificate of ownership.
All in all, Rizby stood to make a lot of money with very little risk involved. He’d already decided to buy the lot, but pretended to inspect the valuables for several minutes longer while he thought about how to best handle this guy. Normally he’d lowball these explorer types to the point of it being robbery, but this guy didn’t strike him as the average globe-trotting moron. His impeccable Huxley & Smith wardrobe implied he had excellent taste under that rough exterior, yet paired it with heavy boots made it clear he was ready to throw down anywhere and anytime. Trying to haggle too aggressively would not work out well, in the goblin’s professional opinion. That said, this ruffian was also desperate to get his hands on some cash. Otherwise he would’ve sold his spoils through the League instead of showing up at a pawn shop at two in the morning.
After careful consideration, Rizby decided to settle for a moderate fifty percent of these items’ estimated market price.
“Alright, fella,” he put his tools down. “I can tell ya’d rather be on yer way quick-like so I’ll skip the sweet talk. Forty five thousand for da lot.”
“You can’t be serious!”
While entirely fair from the goblin’s perspective, this amount was over three times less than what the druid’s guesstimated value. Even though he expected to be off by a significant margin, that offer felt like the goblin was trying to rip him off. Which he was, although not to the absurd degree that Ozzy was imagining.
“These coins are brand new solars and lunars!” he forgot himself. “And the gems hail from the legendary treasure hoard of Khan Chagadai! They’re older than your entire misbegotten race!”
“Mhm, mhm, mhm,” the goblin nodded mockingly. “Tell ya what. I’ll give ya forty thousand.”
“Th-! You little-!”
“Oi!” the orc piped up. “Watch it, ‘umie. Don't make me come ova ‘der an’ knock yer teef out.”
Ozzy replied with a sharp glare daring him to try, but managed to reign in his outrage. He remembered that, whether he liked it or not, this was the goblin’s place of business. Rizby had the right to field whatever offer he damn well pleased, and the druid could either take it or shove off. Besides, forty thousand were probably more than enough to finance Ozzy’s needs for a few weeks at the least. That and he was making a scene even though he told himself not to.
“Fine,” he spat out. “Just hand it over so I can get out of here.”
Rizby grabbed the valuables and placed them in the safe behind the counter, then slammed four stacks of hundred-sprock bills in front of the druid. He quickly scribbled out a receipt detailing the transaction and demanded that Ozzy sign it to confirm he had received the payment in full. The bitter druid refused to do so until he carefully counted all four hundred of the vibrant orange notes he was presented with. This process took a while since he wasn’t used to handling paper money, but neither the orc nor the goblin said anything. Once Ozzy was done he stuffed the bills in his bag, messily signed the receipt, and stormed out into the night.
When the druid cooled off a few minutes later, he realized just how stupid he’d been. It wasn’t like him to blow his top like that. Then again, it wasn’t usual for him to forget his belongings, or to obsess over a barely audible hiss that may or may not have been there. Perhaps this whole situation had put him under more stress than he cared to admit. He’d just barely survived a confrontation with a powerful madman called Mezzo only to then find himself separated from his friends in this strange, foul-smelling world. Thinking back on everything that’s happened over the past half a day, it was frankly a miracle he managed to keep it together as long as he did. He also had to begrudgingly admit that the filthy little ver- that Rizby had been exceptionally patient and tolerant of the druid’s behavior. Perhaps the goblins here really were better than the ones back home. He even contemplated going back and apologizing, but decided not to for fear of letting his temper get the better of him.
Little did Ozzy know, the goblin he met was every bit as conniving and spiteful as the ones he knew.
“Hey, Zurk.”
“Ye, boss?”
“Gather some boys ‘n go teach that pink-skin some manners. Nobody talks ta me like that in mah own house!”
Rizby was just much better at hiding it.