“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 Deposited gold, after confirmation, would be converted to credits and could only be transferred back and withdrawn into the game from a banking teller under the penalty of another fee.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.