by Kevin Murphy
The four looked uncertain. Adding another member to the group would make leveling easier, but might draw unwanted attention when the newcomers noticed their cart being refrigerated without the special ice which was now, known to all, a requirement of hunting krimmer. Having the knowledge that special ice isn’t necessary and failing to bring that information forward might prove to be just as damning as being connected to selling the fraudulent frost. Then again, they were in a thick forest with unknown dangers. If they could be careful and well informed, the four would certainly be able to move onward. It was their lack of knowledge about what they faced which amplified the potential for blunder.
“Do any of you know a good tight-lipped healer in the area?” asked Dakkon. No one did. Zelle came to mind, but she would be off working on her class and, despite her willingness to answer his questions, Dakkon barely knew her.
“Well then, let’s go get a drink,” said Finnegan. “The sensation of being bitten, lifted, coiled, and squished by a snake big enough to eat our rogue’s fat mom is something I’m not going to be able to shake off without a particularly fine bottle of scotch.”
“Didn’t you just—” began Ramses who was cut off by Damak.
“I could use a drink and a new shield,” agreed the stout warrior, stifling any argument after Finnegan’s jeer.
“Maybe we can find out something about these snakes to forewarn of their ambushes while we’re in town,” suggested Dakkon.
Before Ramses could dissent further, Finnegan spoke for him, “Ramses can have a Shirley Temple.”
Rameses looked terribly offended at first, before apparently deciding that he would, indeed, like one if the opportunity presented itself. The inner workings of this decision-making process painted clearly on his face caused the others to chuckle at the display.
The party wheeled their scantily-filled cart back in the direction of town, passing by several groups of players with carts containing sloshy, melting ice and little more krimmer meat than their own haul. When they arrived at the location of Letis’s stall, they found a mass of players surrounding it from all angles. The four approached cautiously.
“What’s taking so long!” one player demanded.
“When did they even leave?”
“Does anyone have them on their friends list? I need a refill!”
Dakkon tapped on a player’s shoulder near the outer edge of the throng of players and asked, “What’s going on?”
“The vendor ran out of that preserving ice,” said the player. “He said he was going to resupply about 15 minutes ago.”
“No way,” Dakkon said. He turned and whispered to the other three. “There’s no way he could have sold all of that ice that quickly. Something must be up.” Concern showed on the others’ faces. The physical exertion alone of selling that amount of ice shouldn’t have been possible over a couple of hours. Dakkon was worried for his partner.
The group walked into town, Ramses taking care to keep his marked cheek obscured within the hood of his cloak. Dakkon thought about Letis to establish a mental connection.
“Letis,” thought Dakkon. “Are you ok?”
Dakkon’s anticipation built as he waited for his partner’s reply.
“Oh, hey, what’s up?” asked Letis in an unconcerned tone, completely dispelling any tension.
“Don’t just say what’s up!” Dakkon mentally snapped. “There’s a huge mob of people looking for you.”
“Well, yeah,” replied Letis casually. “Wasn’t that the plan?”
“You seem pretty relaxed considering the situation,” thought Dakkon. “Are you at a tavern or something?”
“Just a little,” thought Letis. “I can have a drink while I lay low.” There was a brief pause before Letis said, “Yeah that’s why I’m here. Why’re you here?”
Dakkon was confused, then he had a troubling thought. “You aren’t speaking out loud to me are you—as in, with your mouth?” he added as an afterthought.
“Of course I’m speaking with my mouth. How else would I talk?” said Letis with sapient rhetoric.
“Damn! Where are you right now?” asked Dakkon.
“I’m at the Daze of Yore… War … are you’re?” thought Letis.
“What? Never mind. We’re on our way. Hang tight and do not,” Dakkon stressed these words, “wander off.”
“Ok. Nada problem,” replied Letis.
Dakkon severed the link.
“Finnegan, do you know where the Daze of Yore is?” asked Dakkon.
“I do. I take it that’s where we’ll find our esteemed colleague?”
“You’ve got it,” said Dakkon. “We need to get there as soon as possible.”
“It’s on the west end. Ramses, you should know the back alleys?” Finnegan raised an inquisitive eyebrow to make it a question.
“Yeah, follow me,” the rogue replied. “Try not to look at anyone.”
Under Ramses’s lead, the four left their cart of little krimmer loot and made quick time between alleyways, over two rooftops, and through one locals-only watering hole. When they found Letis, he was in the company of three rough-looking men who appeared to be in good spirits, drinking good spirits at Letis’s expense. Letis appeared happy to oblige them. The other three drinking looked to be the type to break skulls and bottles both should their ticket to free liquor be stolen from them.
Dakkon needed to extract his companion. Not wanting to cause an uproar, he hoped a little showmanship could grease the wheels. He approached the drinking men with an expression of extreme but familiar annoyance while Finnegan sat himself at the bar to order a strictly medicinal scotch.
“Letis,” Dakkon said in his best rustic accent while he walked up to the seated man with an air of exasperated familiarity. “Bridgette is a right mess. She sent me to scour the bars for you—again.” Without a lot of time to think, he had decided that a marital crisis would be the easiest way to pull a man from unfriendly-looking company.
Banter at the table fell silent as Letis looked up in confusion. “Oh, Dakkon…” Letis trailed off.
“Now this is the last time I’m missing work to come hunting for you! I don’t care if she is my sister!” Dakkon barked. He wasn’t nearly as convincing in his performance as he’d have liked, but the men Letis sat with cringed as though it were a scene they’d seen before.
Letis, in his drunken state, did not know how to respond to the sudden, fictitious intervention he was thrust into.
“Get your sorry hide up and let’s go,” said Dakkon, shaking his head in faux frustration. If the three gruff-looking individuals which Letis had been sitting with had any input on the situation, they kept it to themselves.
Once Letis was on his feet, steadying himself by holding onto the table, Dakkon gestured towards the drunk salesman. Without skipping a beat, Ramses and Damak strode to either side of the wobbling man and acted as his supports.
Though Damak was stoic in his role, Ramses playfully added, “So here we are again,” and shook his head as the three walked toward the door as one.
\\\
1,822 gold. An even five-way split yielded each group member an astounding 1,822 gold. Each one gold being worth approximately a credit, Dakkon now had on him 2,341 credits and some change.
He’d never had so much money simply… there, on his person. Dakkon found that, for once, the daunting payment of 1,000 credits for his monthly rent wouldn’t be causing him any real grief or stress. Dakkon felt a fleeting sense of elation and accomplishment which was quickly numbed by another feeling that his deeds might not go unpunished. Forget having such a sum of money simply on his person, it was on his person in a videogame world where he’d already been assaulted by bandits and muggers. He had to see about securing his money and do it quickly. Aside from Letis, who was laying asleep above covers on the bed of the inn room, the others’ expressions conveyed a similar internal dialogue. Finnegan was the first to snap out of his own muddled reverie. The bard’s lips curled into a broad smil
e.
“Boys,” said Finnegan. “That was truly exceptional. You have my sincerest gratitude. Should you ever need a bard in your nefarious misadventures, I insist you call upon me. Alas, after playing my songs last night, I have no intention of staying here an unnecessary moment. Adieu.” The bard gave a curt bow and then, without waiting for a response or giving any idea about where it was he might be headed, Finnegan left.
“I think our bard may have the right idea,” said Damak. “Unfortunately for me, I have regular training and work to attend to here, but I’ll see if I can get myself included in some caravan work or mission that takes me away from the city for a while.” Damak nodded at Dakkon and Ramses approvingly. “Providing we aren’t hunted down for this, feel free to look me up—with more legitimate work next time, preferably.”
Dakkon and Ramses shook the warrior’s hand in turn, then Damak gave a quick salute to the unconscious Letis by touching his forefinger to his forehead as he walked out the door.
“How about you,” Dakkon asked Ramses. “Will you be leaving town?”
“Nah, I’ve got a… sort of hierarchy to adhere to here,” said the rogue. “I could put in a good word for you, if you want. You’d probably do well as a thief.”
“Thanks for the offer, but despite the last few days I’m really not looking for any trouble,” Dakkon said.
“Hah. You could’ve fooled me,” said Ramses. “If you change your mind, I’ll make sure you miss out on some of the initiation rites that the newbies have to go through, seeing as I’m so well ingratiated and all.”
“I’ll hold you to it, then,” Dakkon said with a smirk. The two clasped forearms. Ramses gave a nod and turned to leave.
Dakkon was left alone with the inebriated Letis. His rent for the next month was taken care of. All he needed to do was have his in-game gold converted. He planned to stay with Letis until the man sobered up a bit, then he’d like to know how the ice had been sold so quickly. Dakkon invoked the command, Planeshift, summoning his large media console obelisk to do some research.
After an hour, Dakkon had learned a lot on the subject of currency transactions with regard to Chronicle. There was no way, to date, to store gold with a bank in order to withdraw later. Deposited gold, after confirmation, would be converted to credits and could only be transferred back and withdrawn into the game from a banking teller under the penalty of another fee. Currently, the value of a gold coin was slightly stronger than a credit. Banking organizations have been flocking to the game world en masse and the demand for in-game currency seemed to only be increasing. There were even speculation threads which suggested investing in gold while the player base was still new and growing. Dakkon didn’t have the luxury to gamble away his payday. He did, however, have a bit of padding for next month’s rent between his recent bounty and his upcoming, final paycheck.
Though banking tellers were handy for making withdraws, all Dakkon needed to do to transfer his funds out of the game was to link his credit account in the real world to his Chronicle account. His bank, Green Valley, had already created a simple tool to convert in-game currency to credits remotely. It could be used to set up a withdraw from a bank teller in advance, too, although there were limitations on the amount of credits one could convert into gold and platinum. While it seemed odd that he could remotely deposit money, but not withdraw it, Dakkon thought that perhaps forcing players to report to a banker after every successful hunt or business dealing might grow tiresome, and it might attract opportunists to hover around banks to try and make an easy profit from the hard work of others. If developers were making a profit from the banks’ transaction fees then it was smart business, but it could just as easily be a concession of convenience for the players’ sakes.
There was also the matter of his bank’s conversion fee. Green Valley charged one percent to convert from in-game currency into real-world credits, and seven percent in the other direction. Dakkon had learned that banks were competing to acquire more in-game currency at that time and were incentivizing players with low-to-no conversion fees when taking money out of Chronicle so that they could quickly turn around and collect more fees from those who wanted to pour their credits into the game. There were even rumors of companies using scores of employees to convert company credits into in-game currency to get a foothold on the burgeoning in-game economy.
Green Valley, Dakkon’s bank in the real world, may not have offered the best transfer rates out of the game, but he would have the peace of mind that comes from dealing with an organization he already used and trusted. The bank’s application, which he could access from his multimedia obelisk, was tidy, simple, and after only a single failed password input, Dakkon had 1,800 real, secure extra credits and a new two-step verification system set up for his online bank. After the paltry fee of 18 gold deducted by his bank, he had 523 gold available on his person. He had an urge to put the rest away, but the seven percent fee he’d have to pay to retrieve any money he’d need served as a considerable deterrent.
Letis stirred, drawing Dakkon’s attention. The man didn’t seem afflicted, but Dakkon pointed to a mug of water waiting on the bedside counter. Letis shrugged and drained the mug. He clearly wasn’t drunk, hung over, or light-headed despite his excessive, pre-nap drinking.
“How’re you feeling?” Dakkon asked.
“Great, actually. Except for a quickly growing dread that there are people looking for me,” Letis added with an air of resigned calm.
“So… you’re not going to run for the hills after today?” Dakkon asked carefully.
“I’ll leave for a while to be on the safe side,” Letis said with a shrug.
“So, tell me how you managed to sell that much ice in only enough time for us to get our asses kicked and limp back.”
Letis gave an uncharacteristic, mischievous grin. “I was selling half the amount from yesterday for 60 gold a pop. Within 30 minutes I was dead tired from the effort. Then, an entrepreneurial sort approached me and offered to buy the rest at a discount,” Letis said. “I couldn’t say yes fast enough, with how tired I was.”
“So, they bought the ice to resell it?” asked Dakkon, surprised by news.
“I assume so. Maybe they saw the demand and how exhausted I looked, then decided to take a chance…” Letis trailed off as though he was deliberately leaving out some information in his retelling of events.
“Who’s the guy you sold to?” asked Dakkon. “He must be pissed and wealthy. In my experience that’s not a good combination of traits.”
“It didn’t seem like it was entirely his own decision to make the offer. It was more like he was someone’s emissary,” said Letis.
Dakkon wasn’t sure what to think about the situation.
“There is another, minor detail…” Letis trailed off again, seeming reluctant to continue.
“What’s the detail?” Dakkon asked.
“He sort of… mentioned you. By name…” said Letis.
“He what!” exclaimed Dakkon.
“And he sort of…” Letis continued his evasive storytelling.
“He sort of what, exactly, Letis?” demanded Dakkon.
“He sort of made the purchase contingent on you meeting with him tomorrow,” Letis finally let out.
“That’s the sort of thing you might want to message me to chat about,” said Dakkon.
“I know, but I knew it was the best solution and assumed that you’d jump at the opportunity to distance ourselves from the ruse. Plus, there was a line of players growing angry and I really wanted to get out of there,” said Letis.
Dakkon wasn’t upset. Letis was right. Even if Dakkon died from the encounter, having his rent paid and then some would easily be worth the downtime. Still, he would have preferred to make the decision on his own.
Dakkon sighed. “Where exactly am I supposed to meet with him, and why me?”
“I don’t know why you, honestly. The location is the wind mage guild’s restricted area on the west side of town. When yo
u give the guards a passphrase, they’ll take you in,” said Letis.
“What sort of restricted area are we talking about here?” asked Dakkon.
Letis shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been here about as long as you have.”
“Fine then. What’s the passphrase?”
Letis opened his mouth to respond, then paused—eyes rolling up and to the right as he thought frantically. “Ehm… it was… something… esoteric sounding. Sort of jargony.”
Dakkon stared at Letis in disbelief. “You mean to tell me that you signed me up for some shady meeting and can’t even remember how to get me to it?” barked Dakkon.
“I was deep into my fourth or fifth cup of double ale when you walked in,” said Letis. “I forgot, but I’m sure jogging my memory will kick it to the surface.”
Dakkon simply shook his head. “The caravan heading north ought to be leaving soon. You should buy some local goods, travel somewhere, and peddle some wares in another city since you’re leaving town anyway,” suggested Dakkon.
Letis nodded, he had come to a similar conclusion.
“While you’re on our way—think—very—carefully about what the password could be. I’ll try and dig up some information on this restricted area.”
Letis nodded again, somewhat solemnly.
Dakkon’s lips spread into a broad smile. “Good job on the sale, buddy. You’ve really saved my ass with rent and whatnot.”
The traces of worry faded from Letis’s face.
“I think I might give this merchant thing a go,” said Letis. “I like it more than grinding faith points for the Goddess Daenara at any rate.”
“You seem well suited to it,” Dakkon said. “Even in Derrum you showed your knack for haggling.”
“It’s not much of an escape from a day job, but it’s been exciting,” Letis said.
“Maybe you can work on the black market,” joked Dakkon.
“I think I’ll try to keep my hands cleaner from now on. Then again, maybe if a good opportunity presents itself…” Letis trailed off once again.
The two chuckled at the thought of Letis smuggling and peddling ill-gotten goods, but on the other hand it seemed significantly less farfetched than the schemes he’d only recently been an integral part of.
