Okay, look, guys, I realize I just popped into existence here, but why do I, a zombie lying in a fiery pit, have 24 gold pieces? Am I about to skip down to the shops for a fancy hat to wear on Sundays? Ha! Not likely.
Nope, my only job is to lie here in this stupid pit and wait for some idiot hero to come along with a sword that shoots lightning bolts so I can shamble slowly at him until he ends my misery with a single stroke.
Shit, I probably won’t even get my own swipe of the sword. Probably be clipped as a group like a blade of grass, shoulder to shoulder with some other plodding zombie fire pit beings. Or blasted out of existence by a magical fireball or some other crap.
And do you know what my legacy will be? Twenty-four gold pieces. Twenty frickin’ four gold pieces that popped into existence right along with me out of the thin air. No knife, no sword, no axe, just cold hard cash.
I think I would feel slightly better about my impending doom if I at least had a hope of defending myself, but we zombies are nearly always relegated to the lower levels of the game. We can’t help being a slow-moving people, you guys. We’re the undead, not an Olympic God Damned Hurdling Squad.
Ugh, it’s enough to make me sick, if I weren’t already, technically, deceased. I have to go, I think I hear player one coming. Here goes nothing plus 24 gold.