Economy

My dreams of becoming a lighthouse keeper were shattered by my failure to pass the required lighthouse keeper examination, one I feel to be riddled with inaccuracies and false information. I refuse to acknowledge that the primary function of a lighthouse is for something other than aerial hot tub diving and a rooftop location for the consumption of libations. The lighthouse board tried to convince me it was related to the movement of freight. How preposterous, a lighthouse can’t move!

These misguided beliefs have forced me to file a stern grievance and to put forth a demand for a full refund related to the course materials that aren’t even useful for reading in the outhouse.

It was a stinging setback and took several hours of recovery at the tavern to realize my aspirations stood right before me. Thus, I have turned my attention to the noble profession of the inn keeper. I am intimately familiar with the ale distribution side of the business and there are no trifling edicts and dictates over their function or sanitation. So, I have begun construction of my very own lodgings.

It’s a shame that reliable, cheap and indeed sober construction labor is in short supply in this realm. Based on my previous construction projects, I sought to hire only the best and most skilled. With those lads unavailable and the prison system no longer sanctioning the use of inmates for work release, I felt the charitable thing was to let the Thugs have an opportunity to change their wicked ways and earn an honest living.

My trespass into their camp was met with the usual insults and threats of violence. It was necessary to incinerate the first few naysayers until I could instill calm and have them consider my proposal. I admit, this was done with my boot to the back of their leader’s neck, but hard times call for hard measures.

They seemed eager to forego stabbing adventurers in the back with their halberds in the hopes of eking out a few coins and took up the cause to construct an inn worthy of the town. We went over the plans of my grand vision multiple times and when the goal was firmly understood, they set to work.

The cornerstone was positioned in a prime location with a scenic view, easy access to local services and shaded by some old growth trees. After completion I will add touches of style and panache with the inclusion of a fence, plant decorations and the construction of a splendid tavern on the first level.

The troop worked to erect the edifice in record time, but some corners were shaved and some liberties taken with my design and layout, giving rise to alterations I’m not sure I agree with.

While I admire the robust aroma of wood, I feel the lashings of green trim and frilly dragon spine styled adornments are not quite to my fancy. These came at the behest of the foreman they call Gunther, a tall, strapping man, who sees fit to walk around in furs he’s stripped off the local wildlife and swings an oversized mallet with reckless abandon.

When questioned on these finer detail changes, he simply replied, “You will like.” Due to his tone and emphasizing his points with liberal use of the mallet, it seemed more of a command than question. In the end, he convinced me it was a minor detail and it was best to simply move on. I felt compelled to agree.

I also feel he possessed too much zest in regards to the number of floors and rooms. I felt two floors were more than adequate for an establishment of this kind. Gunther disagreed. Each time I brought up the topic, he would bellow, “The bigger the inn, the closer to Valhalla!”

I’m not familiar with Valhalla’s location, so the comparison was lost on me. Perhaps this is how construction is done in the northern part of the realm.

Nevertheless, the construction has been completed and without further means of employ, I had to  return the Thugs to the forest where they are no doubt making ready for some sort of late night raid. I encouraged Gunther to visit Braemar and to specifically seek out Halmar. He is always looking for someone to help with odd jobs.

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Now see here. Who’s responsible for all this frilly green nonsense? And for the love of moderation, who thought it would be a good idea to make is so blasted tall? I was going to charge outragous rates and pocket the spoils. Now I will have to charge outrageous rates just to recoup my expenditures.

I do like that smell of wood though…

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Oh no! There is fungus among us! I wonder if the green mushroom takes like lime. Let’s go find out.

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

With my abject failure as a courier for Anton, who was none too pleased when I returned to explain the loss of the horse, destruction of the cart and confiscation of the merchandise which lead to his subsequent chasing me out of town, I decided perhaps a calmer and more carefree occupation would be more to my liking. While out along the shores of Novia, contemplating my future endeavors, I spied Elad’s lighthouse in the distance and was struck with an idea.

My mind returned to my previous visit with him and the sound of the oceans waves crashing in steady rhythms against the rocks. The song of the gulls as they glided effortlessly overhead. The smell of the salt air and the gentle breeze across my face.

I blotted out the savage thrashing I took the last time Elad and I played chess and decided to pay him a call. Perhaps this part of the seafaring life was more my style and Elad could instruct me in the ways of the tranquil and stoic life of the keeper.

He greeted my warmly, but took great pride in reminding me of my deficiencies in the grand game of chess. Despite his commentary, I think my skills rank slightly higher than a stableboy.

Getting to the point, I sat with Elad over a cup of tea which I initially mistook for chowder.

“So tell me Elad, how is the life of a lighthouse keeper? How do you find yourself in this conundrum we call life?”

“Oh, it is a grand thing,” he said with a smile. “I take great satisfaction in keeping the harbor safe, even though there aren’t that many ships that come into port these days.”

“How many ships do you watch over?” I asked trying to get a sense of the weighty responsibility.

He pondered. “Haven’t seen a ship in years,” he said at last. “But no matter. The light will be on when they need it.”

“I see, so what are the duties of a keeper?” I inquired.

“They are few, but very important indeed,” he said with a tone of seriousness. “Keeping the light on is pivotal! Never let the light go out, regardless of the weather, regardless how rickety the stairs are, regardless of how much ale you’ve had after mistaking it for your herbal remedies.”

“Yes, I am all to familiar with that last one,” I chuckled. “So, how else do you occupy your time?”

“There are always little repairs to be done. I have to make sure all my supplies are well stocked. I fish from the dock. I wander the beach aimlessly on a regular basis. I have a wonderful shell and bottle collection going. Oh, and there is always my secret little pleasure.”

“Do I dare ask what that is?” I said with hesitancy.

“Are you sure you won’t tell on me?” he said with a giggle.

“I’m quite sure I will never discuss this conversation with anyone.”

“Well, from time to time, I’ve been known to go to the top of the lighthouse,” he began to snicker. “And when I know there aren’t any ships, which is all the time, and when I’m sure no one is looking, which is all the time,” again he giggled in a childish manner. “I stand in front of the light,” he had to stop his laughter with a covered hand. “And make shadow animals with my hands in the glow of the light.” He could contain himself no longer and burst into wild laughter.

“I’ll make an alligator and pretend to eat a neighboring house.” He mimed the gesture for my benefit. “Or I might make a rabbit that has amorous desires on a castle.” Again, he gestured with his hands and was beside himself with laughter, to the point of doubling over. “And every now and again, I make a wildly rude hand gesture to the entire town, just to see if they’re paying attention!” At this, he fell out of his chair. No explanatory gesture was needed.

“Well, that does indeed sound rather splendid,” I said watching Elad writhe on the floor. “How does one go about being a lighthouse keeper? Do you find an old one and move in? Do you build one yourself and set up shop? Do we arm wrestle for control of the area?”

After several minutes, Elad finally lifted himself from the floor, wiped away the tears of joy and returned to his chair. “Oh no, my dear fellow. You can’t just set up a lighthouse yourself. There are rules and regulations. You need to apply to the lighthouse conclave, prove your knowledge of lighthouse workings and lore, get issued a certificate of completion and then you get assigned to a lighthouse.”

“There’s a certificate?” I asked excitedly. “I love certificates! Where do I apply? What do I need to study? Point me in the right direction oh wise sage!”

Elad handed me a parchment where I could send for course materials. “Fancy a game of chess before you go?” he asked as I stood to take my leave. “You play like a stableboy, but it’s better than going upstairs and playing with myself.”

“I’m afraid I must decline,” I replied. “I suffered a debilitating chess related injury and severe emotional trauma shortly after we played and was forced to give up the game.”

“Well, that’s too bad. But with your opening moves, I’m not surprised.”

Despite the jibe, I thanked him kindly, finished the tea-chowder and excitedly sent off a message via the town crier. A new vocation was at hand and I was anxious to get started.

As I strode down the dock, I heard a giggling Elad whisking up the stairs to the main light, his hands wringing in anticipation.

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

Deadlines kept me out of Release 41, so I was anxious to get back into Release 42 and continue my routine of keeping the Thugs and Bandits in check, controlling the zombie infestation and letting the Elves know I have my eye on them.

But alas, the joyfullness was short lived. As I confronted the evildoers in Serpent Spine Foothills, I realized they attack with the same vim and vigor, and they’re just as astute at sneaking behind to stab me in the back, yet their weapon, if they’re even carrying one, has gone from the Halberd or Axe to the low ranked Spiked Club.

Fair enough, perhaps these are Thugs in Training, but the same was true of the other foes I faced. After knocking them head first into the dirt and withstanding their paralyzing attack, I used to take great relish in relieving them of their weapons, which I could then sell for ale money or perhaps salvage for my own metal working needs. That sadly is no longer the case.

It seems another avenue of earning potential has been pinched off. I’m beginning to wonder how an adventurer is supposed to make enough coin to afford rent, weapons, armor and furniture. Most people expect a little gold for the goods they sell. Some are willing to work for wishes and dreams, but not many.

Let us not forget that rent for a Village property is 1000 gold per day. As it stands, over 100 thugs will have to be crushed by the Sword of Smiting in order to get the paltry 10 gold they might be carrying. At the current respawn rate, that’s more than an hour of mindless grinding and waiting. For a game that wasn’t supposed to have a lot of grinding, I seem to be finding all of it.

I was under the impression there were adventures to be had and enemies to quell, which has traditionally resulted in gold and loot worthy of being of sold. I’m not entirely sure how the masses are supposed to afford goods and services when there is no coin for the effort.

So clearly I am misguided and seek enlightenment on how visiting the Oracle became the highest paying job in the realm.

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

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