I just made a mistake. I screwed up. It was my first chance to provide my camp with a major upgrade, something that might improve the livelihoods of my compatriots, those I’ve come to think of as my friends and family. Lured in by the promise of upgrades to my satchel, I opted to buy an expensive set of leather working tools, dropping around one hundred dollars from my personal savings (more than half of what I had accrued since the disastrous failed robbery) as well as the entirety of the camp’s collective funds on the endeavor. As soon as I’d made the purchase, I regretted it. Buyer’s remorse in a world without refunds. A simple reality dawned on me: I had just chosen to purchase a handful of tools in order to improve my satchel’s capacity to hold herbs, ammunition, food, and other assorted goods. I’d never been out roaming the frontier lands and wanted for extra space on my person before; rather, I had been seduced by the luxurious promise of an upgrade to my personal abilities. I c...