INTERNATIONAL CURRENCY SUMMIT, 26 S.E.

[Slorbin 1774]

INTERNATIONAL CURRENCY SUMMIT

 

A brutish orc sits at the head of the table. He is overwhelmingly large, although much less muscular than one may have assumed. The lime-colored man dons a pink loincloth and vest, overlayed with a slightly-worn tuxedo. His chin is absolutely massive, and his hair is well-styled and long- if a bit oily. 

 

In one hand is a fine cigar, filled with tobacco grown from the tropical forests of Talon’s Grove. In his other hand is a sheet of lined and columned paper, detailing a number of fiscal reports. He taps the paper with his index and middle finger, dusting the ash off his cigar. He puts the cap in his mouth, and pulls one large inhale, his chest slowly rising. The entire cigar quickly turns to glowing ash, save for the head past the stamp, and crumbles into dust. The descendant of Krug sets his hairy fist on the table, his brow furrowing as he addressed his company.

 

“Gentlemen.” He growls out, his voice deep and gravelly. However, it lacks the signature blah which he usually dons. “We’ve experienced ah shortage of caaaash recently.” After his few short statements, he finally exhales the smoke he’s been holding deep within his lungs, billowing gray smog for at least 3 extra minutes.

 

“Oi’ve notic’d that there’s been a lot less Mina on Almaris than any other previous continent. As you know, we work in cash, cold and hard- and these chicken-****..” He holds up a Sutican trade token, before slamming it on the table. “CREDIT tokens are focking worthless to us.” The man responds with a wicked snarl, glaring around to the rest of the trade diplomats, his teeth clenched and bushy brows furrowed. 

 

“We need to make Mina more accessible to the general public. However, there are only a few ways to do this, see?” The man waves his left hand towards the window, smacking the financial records against the glass. He points it towards the bankers outside. “Those cloud temple, dumbass monk fucks control the banks, and the only actual valuable currency we have, since they keep us alive and safe through their god-forsaken magic, and demand exorbitant taxes every elven week, both voidal and from our nations.”

 

The orc sets the figures down and clasps his hands together, leaning over the table as his expression turned sincere. He glanced around the room once more. “We cannot take Mina into our own hands, but we can at least make it easier to work with. Currently, the process of writing out ‘Mina’ in its entirety in fiscal reports leads towards a whopping 1.52% reduction in employee productivity. I believe a new shorthand method would benefit greatly in identifying Mina- a sort of symbol. Originally, we intended to simply mark it as M, but-“ His gaze darts towards the Norlandic ambassador, a scowl on his face. “******* NORLAND decided to claim M for their useless Norlandic MARKS, so we must discover an alternative.”

 

The orc pulls a large piece of posterboard out, putting it on an easel and standing upright. He points towards the markings on it with a large, maple rod.

 

“Much like the Haenseti..” He motions towards a ‘₭’- “Kruwne symbol, I’ve paid a starving goblin half a’ lime to design a currency symbol for Mina. The symbols we can choose from are as follows.”

 

ℳ

₥

ɱ

₼

 

“The choice is yours. I’ve left voting ballots in front of all of you, choose wisely or I’ll feed you to an Olog.”

 

He leaves the trade ambassadors, slamming the door behind him and waiting for them to cast their vote.

 

[Sevastiel 285]

A quiet elf, listening in below, adjusts his glasses. He wonders to himself what those... monks were doing with all that mina. Truly, they must have a stockpiled hoard greater than any dragons, with the amount they took from every nation. 
 

He ponders in his crowded mind, a tongue slipping habitually along sharpened, sensitive canines, why did all the nations bow so easily? Why didn’t they take back what they had worked so hard to gain? After all, they were just a bunch of monks.