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Were all city coins usually this sticky?
Raul had spent a sum total of two hours in Elbion when this particular revelation hit him. One in the outskirts, and the other in the city proper. Only now does he see that he much prefers the outskirts. In fact, the first indicator that the outskirts would've been an ideal place to stay and to get a lay of the land was what led him to pondering on the texture of coins in the first place.
Upon his entrance into the city, and a cursory wandering about to locate at least a few inns, boarding houses, and notice boards, he decided to do as any good bringer of faith should, so the teachings say. He walked away from the- relatively -clean mainstreet he'd trod alongside the hustle and bustle, and went seeking down a street that looked to be an origin of Elbion itself, worn and unkempt, with buildings that remained standing only at the behest of the Gods themselves. The residents of these shoddy lodgings gazed at him suspiciously, he knew. He could feel their eyes burn him from greasy windows and front stoops, to the beggars that glared openly as he walked by. It was only once he had walked past well over a dozen of the broken, battered, and destitute peoples, that he truly realized he had little in the way coin to spare off the cuff. He had pinched his pence in such a way that he had only the large coins he'd obtained over the last six months on his person, to be broken down slowly as he went, and then enough to pay for a loaf of bread and some bits of meat for the evening on top of that.
And so, throat full of guilt, and fingers circled firmly around the gems hanging on his necklace, he made his way out of the other end of the street, to an adjoining alley dotted occasionally with bright burning lampposts to combat the shadows cast by the tight buildings, and finally into the nearest building that seemed to market foods, ramshackle as it was. As least it didn't reek inside, between the soft smell of dirt from several root vegetables laid on a cloth on the floor, and the sweetness of bread wafting through the building from somewhere in the back.
The broad, oaken man behind the small counter crossed his arms as Raul entered, and gruffly asked of him, "What'll it be, Harle?"
"A loaf of bread, and a cut of cured meat oh, yea thick-" he replies, ignoring the association to a jester as he indicates thickness with the tip of his little finger, "-if you have it, and say, a sack of those potatoes your leg in weight. Two tens or so of carrots, and two heads of that leafy green on the table as well, please."
Apparently an unusual measure for the proprietor, considering the chuff he gives as he makes to collect the bread and meat.
"Feedin' an army?" he asks, as he sets down the bread and meat, and picks up a sack to bag potatoes in.
"Only some folks that are surely hungry. Do you break coin?"
The man acknowledges his question with a grunt that only leaves him with more to ask, and falls silent. So Raul preoccupies himself with looking aimlessly around the little shop, while a new layer of smell finds him; poorly brewed alcohol, burning his eyes the longer he waits. Old, rusted farming implements hang on the unused spaces of the battered walls, and the heavy beams running along the ceiling mirror the sturdiness of the proprietor. Raul toys with his necklace and looks through the smudged window, mulling, and only really turns to hear the man stocking his order when he clears his throat behind him.
"Loaf, meat, potatoes, carrots, and collards. I'll break your coins, if I can." the man growls out, and prices everything Raul wants.
"Zydaos and Ohtar bless you." he says swiftly, as he forks over the healthy sum required, followed by the quantity of coin he wants to break. He won't be starving, or sleeping on a bench, so long as he's able to keep up his work.
"Don't mention it, Harle." comes the reply as he deposits a heavy handful of small coins in his palm.
A heavy, sticky handful.
Raul had spent a sum total of two hours in Elbion when this particular revelation hit him. One in the outskirts, and the other in the city proper. Only now does he see that he much prefers the outskirts. In fact, the first indicator that the outskirts would've been an ideal place to stay and to get a lay of the land was what led him to pondering on the texture of coins in the first place.
Upon his entrance into the city, and a cursory wandering about to locate at least a few inns, boarding houses, and notice boards, he decided to do as any good bringer of faith should, so the teachings say. He walked away from the- relatively -clean mainstreet he'd trod alongside the hustle and bustle, and went seeking down a street that looked to be an origin of Elbion itself, worn and unkempt, with buildings that remained standing only at the behest of the Gods themselves. The residents of these shoddy lodgings gazed at him suspiciously, he knew. He could feel their eyes burn him from greasy windows and front stoops, to the beggars that glared openly as he walked by. It was only once he had walked past well over a dozen of the broken, battered, and destitute peoples, that he truly realized he had little in the way coin to spare off the cuff. He had pinched his pence in such a way that he had only the large coins he'd obtained over the last six months on his person, to be broken down slowly as he went, and then enough to pay for a loaf of bread and some bits of meat for the evening on top of that.
And so, throat full of guilt, and fingers circled firmly around the gems hanging on his necklace, he made his way out of the other end of the street, to an adjoining alley dotted occasionally with bright burning lampposts to combat the shadows cast by the tight buildings, and finally into the nearest building that seemed to market foods, ramshackle as it was. As least it didn't reek inside, between the soft smell of dirt from several root vegetables laid on a cloth on the floor, and the sweetness of bread wafting through the building from somewhere in the back.
The broad, oaken man behind the small counter crossed his arms as Raul entered, and gruffly asked of him, "What'll it be, Harle?"
"A loaf of bread, and a cut of cured meat oh, yea thick-" he replies, ignoring the association to a jester as he indicates thickness with the tip of his little finger, "-if you have it, and say, a sack of those potatoes your leg in weight. Two tens or so of carrots, and two heads of that leafy green on the table as well, please."
Apparently an unusual measure for the proprietor, considering the chuff he gives as he makes to collect the bread and meat.
"Feedin' an army?" he asks, as he sets down the bread and meat, and picks up a sack to bag potatoes in.
"Only some folks that are surely hungry. Do you break coin?"
The man acknowledges his question with a grunt that only leaves him with more to ask, and falls silent. So Raul preoccupies himself with looking aimlessly around the little shop, while a new layer of smell finds him; poorly brewed alcohol, burning his eyes the longer he waits. Old, rusted farming implements hang on the unused spaces of the battered walls, and the heavy beams running along the ceiling mirror the sturdiness of the proprietor. Raul toys with his necklace and looks through the smudged window, mulling, and only really turns to hear the man stocking his order when he clears his throat behind him.
"Loaf, meat, potatoes, carrots, and collards. I'll break your coins, if I can." the man growls out, and prices everything Raul wants.
"Zydaos and Ohtar bless you." he says swiftly, as he forks over the healthy sum required, followed by the quantity of coin he wants to break. He won't be starving, or sleeping on a bench, so long as he's able to keep up his work.
"Don't mention it, Harle." comes the reply as he deposits a heavy handful of small coins in his palm.
A heavy, sticky handful.
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