Newly Broke Heroine! [Book One Complete, Cozy Fantasy Adventure]

Fiona found herself surprised by the volume of sales she was processing through her kiosk. Even on a fast day, she wouldn't be moving merchandise quite like this if she were back in Fiefdala.

"Lani, can you ring up two potions of healing, two potions of cure poison, two potions of cure disease for me? Which I don't get because I don't know how medicine works in this world, and then... " she trailed off–modern medicine seemed a fuzzy concept in a world of magical healing, but at least they had a working knowledge of modern medicine. Mostly.

"Yes, miss, right away!" Lani worked industriously to tally up the receipts. Fiona pondered that juxtaposition: Lani did not seem to grasp that she was basically in a revolving door prison industry, in practice if not in name, and yet she was fast with numbers and running the till.

Wingding, I need a second opinion. What's up with this? Lani keeps up with us, even though this is brand new to her.

[Knowledge in many forms.] Fiona felt like that was a hint. Wingding always seemed to have a subtle understanding of things. But was Wingding just an externalization of her own subconscious, a superpowered gut instinct? Or...something else?

Wingding stayed very quiet as she pondered that thought.

Doug cleared his throat to get her attention, and she turned to see him holding a few papers. "Fiona, we have two people bidding on the electric plate armor–" he started to say, but she was already on it.

"Have them both submit bids. They have until the end of the business day to provide a price matching market value, with proof of funding that they can indeed pay the amount." Fiona allowed a soft smile--she didn't get bidding wars often, but she did act to keep it fair. Doug scribbled on his pad as fast as he could, dexterous kobold fingers flying, and he submitted a simple form to interested buyers, eager to acquire this particular item.

While Lani rang up customers, Fiona donned her little mini-kiosk belt Bonnie had made to ring up transactions herself. She kept checking the weight of the gold coins as money changed hands. Luckily for her, all these gold coins were legit, since they didn't weigh a thing to her. She couldn't guarantee that the silvers weren't fake, but that was another issue, and a far smaller one. No one would fake silver--it just wouldn't be economical.

Business was booming, and more worriedly, Fiona wondered where all this wealth came from. Her morbid guess was the contract labor houses–because, of course, she couldn't call them slaver houses in an official capacity–were likely desiring to spend their ill-gotten gains.

With the traffic coming to their little shop away from home, Fiona moved swiftly to keep the sales going and keep the line short. People revolved in, examining the displays with great eagerness. On more than one occasion, she had to keep customers from taking merchandise before gold changed hands. Meanwhile, Doug kept up with sales of a few smaller decorative items.

"Derek, what's the last time you saw somebody sell paintings this fast?"

"Never. If our shop is any indication, it moves very slowly, almost like stationary," he admitted. "I'm also relatively new to this facet, mind you." The hint was subtle enough for her.

"I've never…appreciated art as much as some. Not that I don't, but I see a painting, and I think of that scene, and how it might remind me of something in my life. Maybe that makes me simple." She'd kept a few paintings in her home...for a time.

It wasn't that she fell out of favor with them. It was that she fell out of favor with those who made them.

She rang out an eager desert-colored kitsune with larger ears than Bonnie with a flourish of coins. He nodded politely before taking the care package and rejoining his escort of two stout dwarves wearing dark suits. She didn't see weapons, but dwarves could be blunt force instruments of their own.

"Art's subjective. Just like history," Doug shrugged. "Ah, thank you, miss, that's a fine choice for a basic defensive charm," he juxtaposed as he, too, attended to customers. "That it relates to something you know, and makes you feel something, means the work has accomplished one of its goals."

"Just one?" She echoed. "What other goals could there be?"

"Hmm. It's not what you see. But what the artist creates. What they intended, versus how it is perceived, are often two very different things," he answered, while Lani scribbled down notes after a quick back and forth of the sales numbers. Doug looked proud of their efforts so far, and let out a soft pant. "You know something, even though it's not that far away, Vale has a significantly warmer temperature than even in the swamp, and Cepalune. I'm not a fan of warmer weather."

"You like the cozy months?" she asked. She noted he didn't sweat–neither did Lani nor Kali. He flexed his scales a little bit, and he almost poofed outward a little bit. It was a bit funny, and she tried to fight back a giggle.

"Well, I do like the cooler months, yes. Galahein Lake has a cooling effect on the city and the surrounding areas," Doug added observantly. "Also, yes, I like the festivities at the end of the year. Even dragons and kobolds have wintry festivities."

"Nothing like having the ability to keep a cup of hot cocoa hot on even a chilly day!" She beamed, letting out a contented sigh. Doug raised an eyebrow at this.

"Well, I suppose that is an advantage," he added, with just the hint of a smirk.

"We don't have that here," Lani admitted. "Though a few travel with their overseers, and occasionally get things like that, up north! Some people also get lucky and their overseer breaks the contract! I wish mine were so generous."

"You poor, deprived child," Fiona sighed. Hot cocoa and freedom should be for everyone, not just the jerks in the gilded seats and smoking lounge jackets.

She missed the greatest monster-bashing of all time against eldritch horrors by a good seven thousand years or so. But maybe, she could reenact a fight for freedom of her own in Vale. She even looked the part.

She just hoped she didn't play the part the last time around, and had a goddess sized case of amnesia. That would suck.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

After a few moments, there was a temporary lull, and Fiona grabbed a small packed lunch that they'd been willing to provide at the palace. Mostly, it meant she grabbed the catered food and stuffed it away in a dimensional bag for safekeeping. She offered a sandwich to Lani, who grabbed the wrapped food eagerly and took a big, beak-shaped bite before swallowing it in two or three gulps. She stared at this spectacle, and Lani wiped her beak clean. "Oh I'm sorry, I should have shared–"

"Lani, I had extras," she assured her and handed one sandwich to Doug, who gave a thoughtful munching to it while grabbing a water skin a moment later. The lightly enchanted water repository kept it cold, even in this modest heat, and he let out a throaty growl.

"Ugh. I don't miss the heat. It might surprise you that even fire-aligned creatures don't like the heat that much."

"So, how do you keep cool?" she asked. He pointed at the water skin.

"Well, this, and we respire faster. You see a dragon panting–or other avian-based species, they're not out of breath. Why the curiosity?"

"Oh, you know. I want to learn things I wouldn't have learned otherwise. Not that I haven't studied before, but there's a lot," she replied. "I didn't become a merchant overnight. I had my share of trial and error. A lot of errors, actually," she added with a puff of frustration.

"Such as?" he inquired. A small group of what appeared to be adventurers examined her sample of lightly enchanted rings–mostly to protect against noxious fumes, and minor irritants, or provide insulation against harsh weather conditions. She easily made the sale, and they departed happily. Doug caught onto a strange quirk. "You rang them out at more than the price tag. They paid more?"

"They must have wanted it badly. The coins' legit," she responded, though she did trace her fingers across the coin with suspicion. Doug held one wing out like he was curious about the hanging question from earlier. "Long story short, Derek? I inherited a store from an old lady. I busted my butt working that place after I couldn't figure out what to do with my life. I was in a stint in the military. I was decent at it…but it wasn't what I wanted for a career."

"You were drifting?" Doug had that tendency to hit the nail on the head. Greg would be proud.

Fiona nodded after a second, wiping down a counter of the faint dust that had layered on. "You could say that. I remember working there…oh, two years? No one else wanted to work there, but I helped transform the place. A premium general store. I risked a little money, and the people there loved it. The products, the atmosphere it brought, the whole deal! It became a hangout spot."

She smiled faintly and felt a caressing and welcome breeze flit through their portable shop. "There were tough moments where I thought we'd go broke. But we didn't, we always endured. She told me she wanted to retire from it…and left me the store, thinking it was in good hands."

"Was it in good hands?" he asked, a glint of amusement in his golden eyes.

"What's your angle, Derek?" she asked. His wings canted to the side. It was almost like Bonnie's ear 'tells' she noticed sometimes.

"I'd be a poor historian if I didn't account for the history of the people of the world. Many things get lost in the churn of so many other bigger events," he answered, in a subtle 'because I'm curious' moment.

"Well…I ran the place for another…" she trailed off, and winced. "Seven years? No, almost eight. Sometimes I'd have to do a training stint with the military now and then, I'd hand off the store to someone I trusted for a bit. But uh…sometimes, in the grand scheme of things, not everything works out so well, no matter how you plan. No matter how much effort you throw into wanting something to work."

His wings drooped slightly. "It failed?"

"Despite my best efforts. Bonnie and Greg know that, and Darla," she answered calmly. "You can't plan for everything. Whether that's a poor economy, or my desire to have that one little thing I wanted, but could never have. Like a vacation. Or a new pair of shoes that wasn't from a bargain bin store." She clenched her jaw lightly, stress lines appearing even on her smooth skin. "I was a little different back then."

"Strange how people change, huh?" he asked, a hint of a smirk on his snout. "Some, more than others."

"...Yeah." She felt that phantom metal band on her finger, even though that person was long gone, now. "Or, how some change for the better."

"So, which camp are you?" Gone was that smirk, but a more inquisitive one, with rounded eyes and relaxed angles on his face.

"I don't know. I hope for the better. Someone better tell me if I'm not," she added with a chuckle. She fingered one of the coins from the sales, and with the late afternoon sun, most of the merchants were departing. She frowned as she realized something.

If she let go of that faint trace of a connection to the gold, she could, indeed, feel the weight of it again. That slight discovery surprised her. Maybe could toggle it on and off, so she wouldn't be in danger of accidentally causing collateral damage with high-speed gold. But the drain on her stamina was so low that she'd never even noticed it. Hmm…what else can we do, Wingding?

[Find gold?]

Yeah, but how?

[Smell.]

Fiona's nose twitched at this morse code message, with Doug giving her an amused look. "I've seen you looking at your mark. It tells you things, doesn't it? I've seen it flapping its wings in a pattern."

"Hang on. Why can I see it?" Lani asked, her eyes brightening at this. Fiona glanced at them after the customers departed, and there was another lull. "Almost everyone hides their mark in Vale. Some people have marks that are…desirable."

"Yeah, that didn't sound ominous in the slightest," Fiona replied. Her urge for violent revolution notched upward. She needed anger therapy for this problem, she could be a little hotheaded, now that she was in a constant situation of tension lately. "Okay, you two? My mark's a little weird. I also seem to have this subconscious thing where I don't mind if people see it. So it's always on display."

"So peculiar," Doug commented. "How did you find a way to…talk to it?"

"Okay, so it's not much of a secret, I'm not from around here," she added with a subtle nod to Lani. "We had a code message system back where I grew up. Kind of a novelty these days with arcane relays, but it was a simple way to pass info over distances. They called it Morse code, with short and long bursts of light, sound, or other signals to give word messages. Wingding here learned it."

"Fiona, marks aren't alive," Doug sighed. But then, he frowned. "Why does this one look so familiar? This looks like something my mother had on display once."

"She did?" This got her attention immediately. "What do you mean?"

"Well, besides her skills of being a historian, minus the mark, she was a cleric. One who aligned with dead or forgotten gods. People made fun of her when she got here," he added with clenched claws and tensed wings. "I think this mark looks a bit like…oh hells, I forget the name."

"Feo'thari?" she proposed.

"Might be. That one's old, very old," he answered. "The elven tribes throughout Cepalune still hold onto her faith. But, it's not taught much anymore, with the world growing up and moving from its past. People asked them, what is the point of believing in a god who isn't there anymore?"

The question, Fiona realized, sounded quite astute. And maybe it wasn't just limited to omnipotent beings.

"Derek, hey. Was there anything of your mom's in that…deposit you talked about?" she asked suddenly. Almost as if this meeting with Doug wasn't a coincidence.

"One or two things. You're curious now, aren't you?"

"I am. Alright, I've got a feel for Salipol's needs," she said, after looking through the receipts. "They need…sheesh, a lot that Cepalune could offer. But who's buying this? Certainly not the locals. This feels like the labor contract houses buying up everything, then reselling them at a marked-up value, almost." She narrowed her eyes. "Derek, let's go to the bank before Barry's men reconvene with us. I'm amazed they aren't sending me with an escort."

"Why would you need an escort?" he asked with an edge to his tone.

"To keep me from triggering an inter-kingdom war that I'd probably win," she responded with a crooked smile. His eyes went wide at this proposal.

"Yeah, we should go do this quickly. I think the bank closes soon," he answered hastily. "What about Lani?"

"She can come!" Fiona answered as they packed up, which only took seconds. "C'mon, I'm curious to see what you have stashed away! Also, Lani, this is a…sensitive topic for Derek here. Eyes and lips sealed?"

"Unless it's illegal, then yes, you have my silence," she said, putting a finger to her beak.

"Wonderful! On we go!"