The problem with buying a 180 LP Shadow-Cloak during a period of 300% inflation was that you didn't exactly get what you paid for.
In a normal, stable economy, the base price of 60 LP would likely have procured a sweeping, majestic garment capable of concealing a grown man and all his luggage.
In the War Time Economy, 180 LP bought a cloak roughly the size of a large picnic blanket.
"This is unacceptable," Cassian hissed into the dark.
They were currently standing in a small trench just outside the Northern lines, attempting to put the item on.
"Take it up with the Federal Reserve," Elian muttered, yanking the dark, starless fabric over Cassian's broad shoulders. "Duck down. Your royal posture is exposing our ankles."
Because the cloak was so small, and Cassian was built like a siege engine himself, the only way for both of them to fit completely underneath the magical fabric was to be plastered together.
