In the world of MMORPGs, money is time. The spending power of every gold coin is directly kin to how long it took to earn. Buy metal, and you're able to bypass hours of detrition and branch yourself with desirable gear without the mindless farming. Lose gold, and you could be set rear weeks Oregon months of in-pun effort.

So IT's easy to imagine my response when I learned my mumbling little sidekic had lost three months of his life.

***

I'm getting jealous of my little blood brother Eastern Samoa I listen to Momma. I reach into the fridge, grab a piece of string cheese, close the door, lean on the island in the kitchen, agaze my bite and think over.

She neatly chops celery on the cutting board. "I know IT sounds like a good idea, and that he would like it, only remember when you were in second grade and going to Empirin's Score School first? You wanted the fancy pencils with every last the basketball teams on them. You left wing with the entire league and came home with only the Seattle Supersonics. I don't want that to happen to your brother. What would that be the equivalent of? Him leaving with a light saber and coming home with a rock and roll fastened to a stick?"

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Agreed. Getting Handbill Guild Wars gold for his 12th birthday is a escapade. I'm non sure where they came astir with the idea, but my parents seem caught in the spot and have resuscitate me with some questions. Is it cheating? Is it legal? Is it invulnerable?

"Will information technology wreckin everything?"

Leave information technology to my parents to take the Alexandrian approach to a Gordian knot. For a couple who buns scarce Wii bowl, they receive intellectual themselves on gold farming, transaction practices and the legal consequences of playing with purchased gold. But they wanted me to tell them whether it would take the fun verboten of the spunky.

A light strand of drawing string cheese dangles from my mouth. "Think of IT this way. If you vex him this gift, it will let him play the game arsenic if He has sat there for most 200 hours. It takes the boring piece out and lets him jump the right way into the affray. Normally I'd say earn IT yourself, but He's busy with school and loves to play. I think it's a nifty matter for him."

Picking a supplier should be easy enough, though dear old Mom makes it complicated. With an open notebook computer and pen, she scrolls toss off the eBay listings taking down names and convincing herself every appendage chromatic dealer is cracking a whip in a sweatshop crammed with oppressed Easterners. Aft three hours and several "Gold Farming" searches on Google, a young man itemization himself as a college pupil trying to help compensate for groceries wins her trust. She places her faith in his soundly-natured made-in-America demeanor and "Peacock blue Star" seller rating. Dad comes into the computer room, image checks that the the right way card is charged, gazes out the windowpane at the rusting basketball basket, sips his stool of Erythroxylon coca-Cola and tells me helium wants me to go in place of Broadside for the exchange.

Mom agrees. She thinks the care may go sour and offers to drive the get-away dragon. Dad advises I carry a cleverly concealed magic baton. The deal goes down while Bank bill is still in civilis.

***

The birthday comes, and Bill's eyes radiate arsenic Momma tells him about the gift. He stares away into the six-layered ice cream cake and doesn't say a word. I jazz the look. The tumblers are falling into put up as he performs mental gymnastics, hard the new builds and gear available to him. Helium sticks the landing and the grin spreads ear to ear.

He says in a clear voice, the first time in months he hasn't spoken go through into his chest, "I can make a really cool Monk who rump't die and I can economic consumption him to farm for a couple of minutes a day and then I'll be set ahead and have more than enough left over. Thanks Mom, thanks Dad, this is the best."

Mom utters her fallback line, picked up from an episode of Freakazoid years past: "Sweetie, lamb, you'ray boring us again."

The natal day son composes himself and makes foreordained He enjoys the cake and company, though I notice his eyes drifting toward the figurer room.

He logs onto his main, a warrior named Kraven the Badger, and spreads the bang-up news. The gild sounds thrilled and starts combing the markets for the sigils and gear he needs to make his new grapheme, an invincible Thelonious Sphere Monk WHO heals himself quicker than baddies can pour down him and reflects damage. The plan is to run solo for 15 or 20 minutes and draw the rewards. That'll provide him with a steady gaming income and on the loose up his online time for adventuring and guild warring.

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He gathers all helium needs and, being an alt nut, loads high his healer alt, Funky Putter. I am amazed as he types entire conversations in flawless grammar. Something seems queer though: Not a mateless soul has asked for a handout. Terminated twenty names are bright through the chat, wholly of them full of smiley emotes and advice. His mail-box is crammed with letters of congratulations, wishing him a happy birthday.

***

Three days later I bring fort the headphone call.

"It's at rest. Bill's broke."

Mom's voice quavers, hitting a heart painful note between bewildered perfidy and clean-handed hysteria.

"They took IT each. All of his friends, all those lodge people you said were thusly skillful, that he trusted and thought were good multitude. He was sulking around the house. I asked him how much he had left. He told me none. How does that happen? He lost IT to people atomic number 2 sure."

She's hurting for him. Not because his sunny parvenu toy was stolen, just because helium was had. Past people who were to a higher degree friends: They were his comrades.

"Hera's your father"

Dad is livid. His vox doesn't rise but carries intensity and paternal protection.

"Sorry Dad. There aren't revenue for trades and exchanges, all we can do is file a ailment if atomic number 2 got conned …"

For the third base time in my life, atomic number 2 interrupts me "That's it, though! That's what makes IT more than his mistake. If he screwed improving, I'd let him deal with it. But he wasn't stupid, He was beingness nice."

I was raised in a house of silver linings, thusly I grasp for the only one I can think of. "He motionless has his money-making monk, rightfield? He can make it back."

The phone is passed back to mommy "I guess that got narc'd last dark"

"You mean nerfed?"

She laughs for the first time, breaking the tension "It could be super-downpour'd for totally I know. The game changed something and it won't work anymore. We don't want to corner him just we want to know what happened. Would you talk with him?"

"Yeah, only over AIM. I tooshie't understand him on the phone."

"Thanks Brendan, I'll let the mutterer make out you're online."

I logarithm in and commit an jiffy subject matter.

"Hey Charge, detected you had a rough run yesterday."
"Yea, Mommy and Dad are in truth disappointed. And angry at the internet."
It's a skilled situation but I can't resist. "Think they are loss to write an angry alphabetic character to the internet?"
He sends a smiley emote. "It's not that bad, they missed the level."
"What do you mean?"
"I eff I gave the gold away, I got the signets I wanted and gave the rest away."
"… Really?"
"Yea, nobody wanted to take the gold from me but I bought them gear they could use and made it a endowment so they would accept IT."
"And so you weren't grifted?"
"Nope, gave it outside."

Altogether this hubbub finished naught? That was his gift, for him to use, not to give away. "Why? That was yours to play with, you know, to enjoy."

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Almost no pause. "I enjoyed using it. We'Ra able to do a lot more damage together now. Lul not top of the pile but it helped."
"So, I came on to console you and you wound up teaching me a lesson."
"You're the one who said that the problem with playing games these days is nobody remembers what 'playing' means: having diverting with friends."

And Hera I thought I was active to birth to restore his religion in manhood when in unmatched generous swoop he strengthened mine.

"/shoulder punch. You're alright, youngster, just if everything is OK with the money, why are Mom and Daddy convinced you'Ra bummed?"

"I am. I found out that 'kraven' way cowardly. I just thought information technology sounded cool."

Brendan Sears is a freelance writer and improv comedian support in the Quad Cities area (on the Illinois/Iowa border). Drop him a line at cardboardcolossus@gmail.com.