Ma'am, I just work here
Working in a pawn shop in Baldur's Gate sometimes means being privy to the most interesting items, even those that maybe you should have never put your hands on.
or: Raphael visits the most unfortunate little pawn shop worker
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
It's another quiet day at the "Brokering Gate", a little smarmy pawn office that lies between the recently collapsed Steel Watcher Foundry and the Guilt docks, a blocked-off area for incoming trade that remains just barely under the table. Ever since the rubble of that huge flying brain mass came down, there has been a weird rotting note to the air that borders on repugnant just barely. To keep the worst of it out, most of the "Gate's" shutters have been closed and enchanted with a shield-type spell – Yas doesn't care much for the details – due to their windows being blown to shittereens during the initial blast. It's a wonder, or curse depending on who you ask, that the shop still stands.
Yas hates, absolutely loathes working at the "Brokering Gate" on account of its weird customers and despicable owner, but she also hates not having anything to eat or a roof over her head, so in the end she just has to bite the bulette. And with the evasion of total annihilation comes some perks. People find the most interesting things to sell amidst the chaos coming to their silly little pawn shop, their competitors having mostly been wiped out or turned into ilithids.
One of those people had surprisingly been none other than THE hero, Tav, and their merry band of weirdos waltzing into the store, most of them heaving under the weight of overfilling pouches and backpacks, the jingle-jangle filling the air when the bags hit the ground. It had been a bad day for their accounts but a good one for stuffing the shop up the roof with items of varying usefulness.
One of these items had been a trilogy of diaries. As soon as Yas opened them during a lull in the shop she knew she had found her new obsession for the next weeks. Two of the three books were filled to the brim with mischief, silly little poems, intricate plans, or just daily developments, all written by some seemingly third-grade bard working hard to fill his made-up fantasy with lore. The third one however stopped halfway through, leaving an open end to the saga of the writer, a self-serving schemer hungering for power over the Nine Hells, and his assumed dalliance with the so-called hero, a tadpoled fool trapsing through the world the writer seemingly controlled.
Usually, Yas wouldn't go for such bottom-of-the-barrel fiction, but after skimming over them she had decided to fully embrace their weirdness.
Now it's deep into the afternoon and instead of having another go at the inventory she stands entranced at the counter ruffling through the pages, giggling to herself.
"Predilection. Who talks like that?", she quietly murmurs, although a part of her envies the artful usage of these special little words. With a grin, Yas comforts herself by imagining the fop with this kind of speech trying to order a beer at the bar she works her evening shifts at.
The soft little chime from the bell above their entrance takes her back to the store and she mentally readies her customer service personality. In walks an older man, a slight limp to his right leg, steadying himself on an intricate wooden cane with golden inlays, the soft tock of it accompanying the scraping of his "good" foot across the floor. Yet something about his demeanor stops her from emphasizing with him. His "warm" smile sends shivers down her spine, not the good kind, his left hand readies itself in the air for a grand gesture and his clothes look preened and faultless. She knows she probably can't hide it behind her fake smile, but all she feels is disdain.
Yet when the man starts to talk, she does notice that his voice has a deep rumble that resonates with her. Yas gets a good look at his sharp features and soft skin, since no matter what he says, he can't seem to stand still, instead opting for theatrical movement and emphasis on his words with every twitch of his face. "My dear bespackled attendant of this fine éstablissement, may I use some of your precious time to inquire about some items that might have found their way into your possession? Obviously, your help will be well compensated should you have any of these items at hand. I have had quite the adventure searching all over town and imagine my unbridled surprise upon finding out that there was still one last market to peruse. Resting amidst the-"
By this point Yas has already put two and two together, looking forward to the peacock finishing his exhausting monologue and confirming her suspicion. In the meantime she nods politely along, adding some "Uhuu's" and "no way's" here and there, nearly draining her affirmative vocabulary, until she finally has it and simply moves the diary she had been reading across the counter.
That shuts him up all right. As soon as his eyes spy the unassuming, worn-down cover, a wave of joy washes over his features, quickly hidden away just so, behind his noble mask.
She hopes that between his grandiose entrance and the following speech, he never realized that she was actively reading one of his diaries, before pushing it out of the way. When trying to glean his face for a reaction all she gets is the usual calm demeanor.
"I'm sorry for interrupting you, but from my colleagues' descriptions, this book and its siblings might be the item you're looking for. If you would like we can verify this by counter-checking the text with your description." Yas is trying everything not to let her face betray that she knows about the innards of this book or that she can't believe that the writer is the guy in front of her. It's never good to directly laugh at a customer.
A shadow crawls over the customer's face and suddenly her giddiness dissipates into fear. Unlike before, this time she feels like the show of emotion is meant for her. Yas quickly puts up her hands in defense: "I'm so sorry that my colleagues rustled around in your private property but they had to make sure none of the books were cursed or dangerous in a similar fashion. Obviously, I have no interest in further violating your privacy."
Now a toothy smile flashes across his features and instead of the cane he now leans onto the counter, somehow still being taller than Yas standing at full height. "My dear friend, I am so very grateful for your understanding. The loss of these precious memories has left me quite hurt and it would not do to add to this pain. There is no need for you to read more of the text, there should be a sigil on the blurp, simply lay it out here and I will show you."
With an unsure grin of her own, she does as he bids and lays down the book, blurp for both to see. A swift motion later he holds a dagger in his hand, much to the shock of Yas, yet before she can exclaim her bewilderment, he simply pokes himself in the finger and vanishes it just as quickly as he conjured it. A distinct smell of sulphur fills her nose and she gets a bit queasy looking at two drops of blood spilling on the page of the book.
A second ticks by and suddenly a fiery symbol burns itself into the book.
The silence afterward is palatable.
"Yeah. I guess this is yours, huh." Yas is sure that she is not getting paid enough to deal with what kind of fiery devil shit this might be, so she just shrugs and goes to the backroom to get the other books. She wants this man out of the shop as soon as possible.
As soon as she comes back into his view, he starts up again: "Thank you very much, dear. Say, you don't happen to have some hellishly delicious paintings lying around?"
Oh no.
She knows very well where they are, but considering what Cambrin, her boss, has done to them, she decides she won't be the one to bring this up.
"There might be some more in the personal vault of my employer, but he is unfortunately not in today and won't allow anyone else into his office." Before she finishes the sentence anger flashes into his eyes and his nose scrunches, but she has an idea to smoothe him over immediately. "I'm sure he will come in in the evening to make sure everything is up to speed. Considering how late it already is, it shouldn't be long now."
That somewhat appeases her customer and she allows herself a moment of respite.
He purses his lip, a hand to his chin as if to seriously consider what she just said. "Well, I think I can offer up some more of my precious time for your employer, even though it will certainly throw around my plans for the evening. Will some of your other colleagues be there tonight? Specifically, those that wanted to sate their curiosity with these books?" He is all smiles but there's a dangerous shine to his gaze, that renders his brown eyes almost black.
"The evening shift should be taking over then, yes. We usually stay open late into the night, so we have to change it up. Considering the work plan they might be there, but I can't make any promises."
He pushes himself further onto the counter to lean closer to her face as if to share a secret just between the two of them. "Surely you have heard of the little idiom of the fortunate rat, fleeing the ship before it tragically goes down with its captain. I suppose, there are certain situations in which one should adhere to that principle, saving one's skin before it is too late." He gifts Yas another smile, this time arguably more toothy than before, his canines growing before her eyes.
She can't stop herself from mumbling: "That would make me the rat I presume." They both lock eyes and all he does to acknowledge Yas is a slight tilt of the head.
Living in Baldur's Gate is hard enough as it is, with weird tentacle monsters, bandits, and bloody murders seeping into the daily survival. And now this… thing was making it very obvious that the shop was going to see his reckoning. Maybe it was finally time to leave the city for good.
With a deep inhale she takes a step back and fishes the key to the store out of her pocket, puts it on the counter with a soft clink and slips it over to the stranger.
"A very wise decision."
Without another word or acknowledgment, she steps out behind the bar and slowly makes her way to the exit. Before she can fully leave, however, the stranger has to get in another sentence:
"I do hope you remember to keep privacy matters a higher priority from now on, my dear. After all, you never know who might be watching."
She can only nod, locking eyes with him once again before she all but runs out of the store.
The next day she will walk past the store, finding it surrounded by Flaming Fists trying to put out the fires and talking about the charred corpses inside.
