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

Fiona regarded the kobold with curiosity. "You've made mistakes?"

Doug chuckled softly. "Does it surprise you?"

"Well, no. I mean, yes, sort of? I think in my head, dragons are these larger-than-life figures that are super intelligent, unimaginably powerful, and fierce. You currently fit about one of those criteria." She couldn't stop a slight smile from emerging. It might be the first time she realized that Doug cared about what she had to say, and was not necessarily annoyed or immediately dismissive. "So Doug, what is your story, anyway?" she continued.

"You mean, how'd I go from a fertilizer salesman, to a broken mini-dragon?" he asked casually, giving her just a hint of a furrowed brow.

She let out a soft sigh. "I uh…might bear some responsibility for that last one, to be fair. but I am interested in the history of a historian."

"Do you care about me in that way?" he scoffed.

"As a current work partner in our emporium…Yeah, I do. We're past the hating each other phase," she declared.

Doug eyed her with skepticism, before looking down at his tankard. She could almost see the tension fade in his claws, over several seconds. "Let's make this a bit of a thought experiment then. What can you infer about me, so far?" Doug leaned into his academic presenter side, while she mentally indexed everything she knew.

This academic wanted to test her? Maybe she wouldn't have cared not long ago...but now, with the entirety of Cepalune's history and people still a large blank spot on the map, she did have a longing curiosity to learn more.

"I know that you dress tastefully. You treat everything professionally, and you have some empathy for others–Kali, in particular. Know how I know that?" He shook his head. "You speak in a softer tone with him, slower, too. Even when he annoys you, you don't scowl at him. I've seen you give him pointers numerous times when talking to customers. He takes it to heart, too."

"I mean, I do that when necessary," he deflected.

"But you do help him make the sale," Fiona insisted. "And he listens. Of course, I think he had that potential before. But since you entered the fold, he's doubled down on doing the job well. Anyway, what else?"

She paused for a moment, a finger to her lips, and she let out an amused hum, smiling politely. "You don't strike me as overly arrogant or prideful. Those are things I associate with...hang on." She took a deep breath. "I mean, that's how I used to believe, when I read about dragons, back on Earth. At least, in the fictional sense: They were vain, easily roused, irritable, greedy, sometimes destructive."

"Or, benevolent advisers to smaller Folk." He sipped from his tankard, looking smug. "You know, a few books have transmigrated along the way, too."

She laughed out loud about this. It was too funny. "Dragons reading about fictional dragons?"

"What, I'm not allowed to read fiction, just because I'm a historian, who searches for facts buried in time?" It almost sounded like a taunt. "Have you known many dragons?"

She shook her head. "On Cepalune? There was one guy in the Guild, named Liam. He was all right; he was good with a joke, but bad at avoiding spider web traps. On Earth, though..." she trailed off, and tapped a finger errantly on one ear. "Well, probably not, unless they were hiding and couldn't tell me. That said, though, I'm pretty sure the answer is still no." She waited a few seconds before asking asking one more question. "So, what do they get right about dragons in fiction?"

"Pissing off a dragon anywhere, is a lethally stupid idea," he chuckled. "Alright, back on track, what else have you noticed? I want a deep dive from the woman who knows value."

"Okay, then. How about this: you cared greatly for your collection. My guildmates commented that the items in your stash should have been rusted, from residing in a swamp cave. But yet, they were pristine. Many of the items were beyond what you could protect against the ravages of time. A lot of collectors don't give such due diligence. Even some of the minor items...like chairs."

"You caused me to break a chair of the first King of Avonia. It was well cared for." She felt the grimace of bad memories on her face.

"Sorry, for the record. How did you keep all that stuff preserved, if you don't mind me asking?"

Doug tapped his wrist softly with one claw. "It's one of the powers I have, through my mark. Dragons have natural elemental and magical powers, even on Earth. but on Cepalune? We can also pick up the powers of the marks. Anyway, I can preserve items of historical value, or great empathetic value to someone. Sort of like statis, but less energy intense."

"That sounds...handy," she murmured. "Could you...preserve things that aren't historical?"

"No, Fiona, you can't save granny's freshly baked cookies in that way," Doug pushed back, and ignored her disapproving scowl. "I know you well enough by now, I can predict some of your less zany moves."

She pouted and gave him a disgruntled, evil eye when a toothy grin emerged on his snout. "Lame! Well, okay, I guess fresh-baked cookies tossed in a time capsule are out, but can you keep a sword from getting rusty. Handy for sensitive documents and other fragile items," she concluded.

"True. Okay, what else have you got, long ears?" he asked, sounding smug.

"You really do live your class, as a historian. It's not just a job for you, it's a passion." He let out a low sound of surprise, as she continued. "When you're making that sale, getting all emotional about dead kings leaving their sons and daughters precious gifts to better their futures? Or an abstract painting granted as a gift between two kingdoms on the edge of war, and that artist stopped a lot of bloodshed with a work of love? You're not making a sales pitch. You're chronicling the history of what you're parting with."

"Guilty as charged." He bowed proudly at that. "Its...there's something about it, when I use the words to describe items of culture. I relive the history of that item, just for a single moment. I can see it with perfect clarity, those small moments with big impacts as weapons and armor both save life, and take life. Or a single invention puts a kingdom on a map with an economic surge. I don't know what to call it. It might be some subclass of divination or a premonition--technical details I'm sure Bonnie would love, but...I call it a living history."

She nodded thoughtfully at that. She steepled her fingers and leaned in. "Okay, this last one is a stretch, but here it goes. Despite your motivation for revenge against your brother, I think you care more about righting things with those he hurt," she proposed.

He didn't answer right away, and looked down at his tankard as if deep in thought. "He's done this a long time. I don't even know why. I mean, not in any logical way of understanding why. Maybe because he thought he could? Some academics call it 'the draconic superiority'. It's a cultural thing for some of the dragon clans, a teaching that has fallen to the wayside over the decades. Our father believed in it. I don't." He peered at her with curiosity. "You are paying attention, aren't you?"

She nodded politely. "Given how blindly I was going about the world before this? Yeah, I am now." She glanced at her surroundings for a few seconds, as a silence temporarily settled between them.

She looked toward the evening sky visible out the window, and saw the soft glow of arcane street lights. Ultimately, curiosity got the better of her, as she took the plunge. "So, Doug…your mother grew up on Earth. That's how you know so much about it. I can't reconcile that yet. That magic and magical creatures–er, Folk, were there the whole time."

He rumbled softly at this mention. "Yes, she did. She grew up, sometime in the late nineteenth century She was young for a dragon then, as fate would have it. She was summoned by an excited wizard, who thought her rights didn't matter. He saw an opportunity for power, and he took it. It ended poorly for him." He took a sip of his drink, before continuing. "And then she met my father? Well, the rest, as they say, is history."

"What happened to your dad?"

She knew this question might be pushing too far. Fiona's own father was a piece of work that she didn't give much thought to--except, for one irrational moment that left her sobbing.

Doug grunted, but did eventually answer. "He didn't stick around long, sadly. I think my mother might have driven him away, with her dedication towards enlightenment and helping others. He had his flaws, too, as I mentioned. He believed that dragons should lead because we're stronger. Especially, in the later years. I grew up and left, after Karlin started using me as a scapegoat. My father turned up for my mother's funeral, but…he didn't stick around, then, to keep an eye on either of us. Maybe he blamed himself for the way it ended. Too little, too late," Doug said, his jaw clenched tightly, his words a throaty growl at the end.

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"That's rough." She didn't know what else to say to that. "You know, as a historian, I find this summary quite lacking from you. That's your whole deal, Doug?"

He considered the question for a moment before shaking his head. After a moment, he had his answer. "Alright, a few more details. As you noticed, my brother and I are twins, but not identical. We're just close fraternal twins, though he has taken to mimicking me. Karlin was born five minutes later than I. And yet, he felt slighted that I dared to be born first. As I sit here, thinking of where the trouble started, the answer is obvious. While I was reading books and enriching my knowledge, he was running around playing with friends, and scamming them out of their valuables in one-sided trade deals."

She almost laughed for a second. "Dragons have a childhood?"

"Yes, we do. We don't come out fully grown, you know. Just like elves don't, either." She was strangely, not offended by that. "Or any of the Folk, to be honest. Our maturity is on the order of, oh, say, thirty to forty years. I am currently about 84 years old. That makes me young."

"So, how long do dragons live anyway?"

He tipped back his tankard before answering. "A long time. Long enough that you might actually get bored with how long you've lived, but that's just me." He resumed his task of nursing his drink gently. "I grew up not that far from here. Before my mother was…hunted, she had prepared a magically warded lair. Then, when Fiefdala decided that there was a contest over the land and the will, a protective barrier was put up that even I couldn't break. I have the key here, but it only does so much until the court case is settled."

"Isn't it, though?" she questioned. "Greg told me the case is settled. You should be able to access it. Or, is there a mark that's powerful enough to keep me from going into your own lair?

"I think that dispute was my brother's doing. It was his way of buying time to spite me. He didn't like the fact that I was studious, and he was carefree. That mother always paid attention to me, not him. He always tried to get me in trouble for things or pass it off on me, and she would always know."

She could hear the tension in his voice, as he recounted these offenses. claws scraping lightly against the metal tankard. "I would like to say that I tried to help my brother see the light many times. But after enough rounds of taking a dunking from him? You stop trying." His last few words sounded bitter–or resigned. She couldn't rightly tell.

"You blame yourself for his rottenness?" It sounded like they both blamed each other for how each of them turned out--a toxic sibling relationship. Though she had more reason to believe Doug's version of events...but it didn't preclude that Karlin was telling the truth about some things.

Doug let out a soft sigh. "I was absorbed in my books and studies, learning culture and how the world worked. My brother wanted to exploit it. I told him no, repeatedly. I wouldn't participate in what silly games he was playing. Maybe if I'd given my brother more recognition…things would have been different? It's one thing to know history, Fiona. It's another, to use it to predict future events."

"He called your collections junk. That's far beyond siblings not getting along." She was still stuck on that biting prior commentary from Karlin. "Doug, how broken up was he when your mother was killed?"

Doug didn't answer. He dug a single claw into the table gently, head held low. Fiona shook her head. "He didn't feel anything?"

He didn't answer directly. but his drooped wings told her the answer. "He blamed me. That's when he started actively trying to tear my life down." Doug's words were little more than a murmur. "I mean, before that, yeah. I suppose there were some better moments."

"Such as?"

"He did help me acquire some things of historical value. Things we both agreed must withstand the test of time. There were...a few collaborative efforts of that." A weak smile emerged on his snout.

He spent a few more minutes talking about his childhood, how we would be chasing books wherever he could, and learning about the history of Cepalune, talking to artists, other historians, and working various jobs. He was also trying to acquire historical items from Earth. She was a bit surprised at that.

"So, how do things from Earth end up here?"

"Most of the time, they're held in the hands of the people who get summoned. There also used to be portals," Doug answered. Her eyes brightened at that.

"Could there be permanent gates back?" She knew of course, that if such solutions existed, people would have used them long ago, and wasn't hopeful.

He shook his head. "Not likely. None that I know of. Earth had to bury theirs, a few thousand years back. This is where my knowledge of Earth history get's a little fuzzy. There was something about some kind of invaders. My mother mentioned something about a civil war with the dragon clans, and then one side did something really stupid and brought in monsters they thought they could control to win their battles for them. Apparently their control was lacking. It didn't go well."

"You know something, Doug? It's never a lance or a sword that kills a dragon. It's pride, arrogance, and hubris. Summoning demons never ended well for anyone," she sighed. He tapped his tankard against her now partially refilled wine glass, in a small toast.

"You know what, Fiona? I don't disagree with that notion."

A burning question came to mind. "Would you want to visit Earth, if you could?"

"In my present state?" he laughed, as he looked down at himself. "Nah, I think I still marginally fit in here on Cepalune. Though I would like a healthy dose of revenge against a certain blonde tramp who did this to me. She must know her stuff for that magic to have successfully hit me with a polymorph into a dragon-related species. I doubt I'm stuck like this, but she might need persuading. Of the not-nice kind."

Fiona frowned. "You know, this has come up in discussion a bit. Her mark gives her the power of knowledge, but Bonnie doesn't know the exact specifics. I wonder if she knows I'm summoned."

"I think it's a reasonable assessment," Doug replied calmly. "You know, this is the part I don't quite get. You're free, Barry has no true power over you anymore…Why didn't you let that brat hang out to dry? You, of all people, could have killed him for what he did."

"Kill Rikkard's son? No way. No matter how much that brat deserves a beating, I at least understand why he did it. He's desperate, but not necessarily stupid. Not to say that at the end of this, I won't use him as a punching bag once he's dethroned and on his own," she added with a growl, gripping her wine glass tightly.

"What's the real reason?" Doug leaned in, wings canted at different angles.

She let out a measured exhale, trying to ward off the heated thoughts of indulgent revenge, and making Barry into a king-based jam. "I couldn't do that to Rikkard. Sitting by and watching his son self-destruct? Lucy would have never forgiven me for it, either. I might not have forgiven myself either, if I let spite win out."

It was a quiet admission she hadn't explicitly stated before. "I said this to Greg before. I want a place to call my own. I want friends to care about. I want a place to belong. I have small dreams and a big heart. The old me, all I cared about was quick riches that I never really attained. Not in the material sense, and the riches I did have, that mattered? I lost them through my own stupidity."

She glanced at her left hand again, and tapped the counter gently. "That's a hard thing to face down, Doug. Being broke, growing up, and acting my age? It's been the toughest thing I've had to do. If I don't solve this mess that Barry dumped on everyone's lap--and by proxy, his father? Then Bonnie, Greg, Darla, and the rest of you guys, might take the brunt of it. I still could fail here. We still don't have a backup plan if Vale is using this time to set further schemes in motion."

"Unlikely. Given what you managed with making sales that should have been impossible…and maybe a little luck? You've done well for yourself," he assured her with a pat on her arm.

She glanced at him, a retort on her lips that never came out. He gripped his tankard and took a swig. "Karlin cleaned me out three times in my life. This last one was pretty bad. Seeing him today? I came to the realization that I want to succeed, far more than I want him to fail. You know what I mean?"

She smiled lightly at this. "That's a…decent analog for the whole Barry situation. I'd rather see Fiefdala's future secured, than watch that brat get skewered for his misdeeds."

Doug chuckled softly at that. "We could still do that later."

"Yeah, but it's better to humiliate them and teach them a better way," she laughed, feeling the weight of the moment fade. "Hey, barkeep, I'll take one more glass of wine, then I'm cut off."

The conversation drifted again, while Doug laid out how he'd happened upon peat fertilizer in a book from Earth. Apparently, no one on Cepalune knew how good it was for priming the soil for optimal harvests.

"No way! An import from Earth that's useful?!" she exclaimed, feeling a little bolder than before. "And you decided, after Karlin cleaned you out the second time, to just bugger off to make a peat farm enterprise?"

Doug carried a little rosier color than usual on his scales, and gave a toothy grin. "You betcha! Here's the deal! No one has this market but me! Well, had, but once we've fully cleared my name–and believe me, Barry is going to deliver on that! Then, I'm just going to go back and rebuild it! Technically, the land still belongs to me."

"What about your kobold workers, though?"

He shrugged with his wings. "I treated them well, they were well compensated, they'd come back. That said, I might have to give them a knock on the head for being duped by my brother, even though I warned them he might show up someday."

"Just like that?" Fiona laughed. "Go back to farming? As a dragon?"

"Kobold," he corrected. "This hasn't been the worst experience, in retrospect. Even with the mess my brother stirred up…Fiefdala hasn't treated me poorly. They just assumed I was another refugee, blindsided by an arrogant dragon. Their words, not mine."

"You're not as arrogant as I would have thought," she leaned in, grinning as she poked his tie. "You put a lot of stock in it. Always tightly ironed and pressed. Do you wear casual clothes?"

"Does a dragon need to wear clothes?" he asked evilly. She opened her mouth to speak, and shuddered at what she might say in response. "Oh, have I rendered the flappable elf speechless?" that hint of laughter in his voice was almost adorkable.

"The answer to that one is after the next round of drinks!" she challenged. He wore an anxious smile.

"All due respect, Swiftheart? That's gonna end more badly for you than it is for me," he offered in a sincere voice. "Well, I think we need to retreat for the night and plan for tomorrow, yeah?"

"Oh, psssh, do we have to?" she asked in an exaggerated tone. Then it hit her, and she rubbed her forehead. "Oh, I am such a lightweight. Maybe it's better if we call it a night, then."

"You, being sensible? Now I've witnessed two miracles in a lifetime," he said with a toothy smile. "Barkeep, check please."

On the path to her bed, and with Doug resting on the couch, a thought hit her that instantly sobered her:

Did she actually like Doug? Sure, he could be prickly, and sure, he could be a square–like Greg.

But despite her eccentricity, he occasionally rolled with it a bit. And Doug was certainly the most unique person she'd met in a while.

She buried her face in the pillow and let out a groan.

She'd rather fight ten dragons at once, than entertain this notion any longer.