Virtual economies and the shenanigans that go along with them have been on my radar recently. Not for any real reason – it’s just how the world goes. I find them interesting. They’re a nice blend of really old school psychology and economics, recent tech, and Internet sociology. What’s more, you can interact with them on a scale you can understand, unlike “real-world” economies. Continue reading “Virtual economies”
I discuss the latest with our RPG crew, and talk about roles in role-playing.
So there we were – a few weeks’ trek underground underneath the Silverstep mountains. We were on a mission to free a town of kobolds from their goblin and drow oppressors, mostly for our illustrious leader Jope’s prestige[1. It was his character arc quest.]. We didn’t have the firepower to take on an entire town of bad guys, so we were making our way across a massive chasm to seek an audience with a kobold elder and start an uprising. The direct route to the city, a thin bridge guarded by towers, was of no use to us. My character (a ranger named Rainor) had a pet half-celestial wolf (Rainin). Due to some shenanagins with interdimensional portals, my wolf had spent many years in the Elysium Fields, hunting celestial stags, even though he was only lost for a few minutes in my timeline. A pegasus is a celestial horse, more or less. A half-celestial wolf is a very large wolf with healing spells and the unusual ability to fly (sans wings).
To cross this chasm, we had to use Rainin to shuttle people across. We had to be quick because patrols were already on the prowl. We had gotten our fearless warrior-leader Jope (Andrew’s character) and our new cleric (Tim’s character) across. I was next with our mage-thief Switch (Paul’s character) waiting behind, literally invisible but with only a limited amount of protection. When Rainin and I were halfway across the chasm, some plucky drow had spotted the giant wolf and pinged us with a blazing light. In the dark depths of the goblin city, an illuminated flying wolf and rider was no less spectacular than a firework. Did I risk heading towards our leader and spoil the whole plan? Or our mage and risk both of us dying? I had two further options. The chasm rose at one end to some kind of bluff – the whole ascent allegedly the flight of an ancient and mountain-shaping dragon who, as it so happens, might have been sleeping at the bottom of the chasm. Up and away, or down into the inky depths? The party were panicking. We were split over a chasm, low on resources and truly outnumbered. So I plunged – down, deep down – hoping my betraying light would be swallowed up by the darkness. And hoping that I myself would not be swallowed as well.