Orconomics (The Dark Profit Saga, #1)

by J. Zachary Pike

In Poldo’s mind, plunder funds were growing a bit too popular. Everybody seemed to love buying up and bundling together the rights to shares of different hoards, creating a new financial product to invest in. The Heroes’ Guild encouraged upfront investment, as it could be used to pay off professional heroes, regardless of the loot a foe had. Investors were keen on spreading the risk over multiple foes’ hoards. Goldson Baggs and its competitors could make a profit selling shares of monstrous hoards before the monsters were slain, and eliminate the risk altogether. Poldo saw the benefits of plunder funds. However, all of those reasons were built on one vulnerable assumption: that shares of the hoards were worth more than what a plunder-fund paid for them.

Arth’s pantheon was essentially a celestial administration that the Creator had left in charge once He decided that His work was good, or at least good enough. Like middle management everywhere, the gods seemed to be mostly concerned with petty conflicts and power struggles.

The Academy of Mages recognized sorcerous duels as a valid method of establishing social standing, or settling personal disagreements, or figuring out whose turn it was to do the dishes.

“Sounds more like something ye’d do, Flinn,” said Gorm. “I know your type. Ye’d kill your own mother for tuppence.” “Ah, you see, that’s where you’re wrong,” said Flinn. “I know the value of a life, usually within a few cents. When I killed my mother, it was for well over five thousand giltin.”

Not all who wander are lost; some are on quests.

“The queen always has three daughters,” said Kaitha. “The babe, the girl, and the maid.” “When the time comes for a new daughter, the babe becomes the girl, and the girl the maid, and the maid moves on,” said Jalana.

“You can’t be an NPC if you used to work for a villain,” said Magrash. “Run around with a bloodthirsty warband of Shadowfolk all you like, and they’ll take you with open arms. But lift some boxes for a Lightling that’s gone foe, and twenty-five years later you’re still unclean. Oh, hang on.”

“They can’t,” said Jynn. “Surely you’re familiar with our gross domestic product.” “Of course I am. Why do ye think I’m drinking imported?” said Gorm, shaking his tankard at the noctomancer. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“No! No hallo Gleebek! Tib’rin! Gleebek is hallo!”

“Impossible!” bellowed Char. “I wore green beads over orange, and my beard—” “But surely,” growled Zurthraka, “you remembered that Lightlings do not read the beads, and green over orange beads would mean nothing to them.” Char faltered. “I … uh … I was true to the path of the aggressive seller.” “You failed to establish your value proposition!” Zurthraka roared, shaking his mighty fists in the air. “You have fallen from the way of aggressive selling! One must always announce one’s purpose in the market to the potential customer!”

“We shape the steel as our ancestors did, when every Orc smithed his own blade, and our greatest craftsmen were our greatest warriors. Our weapons are balanced by hands that know how they should swing. Our ancestors lived and fought and died for ages of unceasing war, and we fold their knowledge, their curses, their spirit, into our steel. Our blades are forged in the fires of our history. They are peerless.” “The secret ingredient is bloodlust,” said Heraldin.

“Aye, but how could ye have been sure those Orcs weren’t going to attack?” “They were wearing green beads over orange,” Thane said, in a manner that suggested it was obvious.

Griffin: It is said that a griffin is a lion with the head, talons, and wings of an eagle, but the Zoological Society of Monchester has determined that a griffin is, in actuality, a giant eagle with a lion’s butt.

Lawyer-monks of Adchul: A reclusive sect of monks who believe that discipline, law, and study represent a non-exclusive method to obtain enlightenment, with no guarantee of enlightenment or of any other goods and services made by said monks.