And money; lots and lots of money kept the many wizards curating the castle actually wanting to stay in such a place. shame magic was not as profitable these days.
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It'd been a small thing, but enough for him to notice, so the elf started... curating his stories, so to say. whether in person or through text, or one time over a skype call wherein greg had conspicuously left his webcam off.
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Out the door and down the steps, greeting the normal assortment of passerby and food cart curators, flipping 3 silver coins to the fruit seller for 3 apples as breakfast.
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The richer ones, curators and restaurant owners of the city, tended to use sleek-looking luxury balls in an attempt to swaddle their partners in comfort as they themselves had experienced all their lives.
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The curator asked.
"we'd like a room for the night."
"just one room for the four of you?"
"that's right. we're used to sleeping in the rough and we really haven't the money to spare."
"very well, that'll be a hundred gold pieces."
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