It had been three hours. My professional begging career had netted me exactly two copper coins since I started, a numb backside, and a headache that felt like a tiny construction crew was remodeling my skull. I was hovering somewhere between consciousness and a very permanent-looking faint. My body about to drop in hunger. I don't know how long I will be able to take it.
[You think that can buy you a loaf of bread?] the voice in my head echoed, dripping with its usual brand of unhelpful observation.
I picked up the two copper coins and stared at them as they sat in my palm. They were dull, scratched, and freezing cold. "I have no idea," I murmured.
Currency was always a guessing game in these worlds, each of them has their own value unique to them. But if the System wanted ten for a basic quest, two was probably enough for a single toothpick—maybe a used napkin if I was lucky. I just hope they are more than I thought.
A deep, weary sigh drifted from my right.
