So. The West Britain Bank. Ten times I strode through those doors, chest puffed and coin purse ready. Ten times I was told the vault was "temporarily inaccessible due to spectral interference" or some other nonsense. I'm starting to think the teller, Garth, is just making things up. My quest to deposit three hundred gold pieces has become a legendary tale of persistence... and failure. My feet are tired, my patience is thin, and my gold is still annoyingly heavy. Britannia tests us in the strangest of ways.
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