(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

I looked around and furrowed my eyebrows, "I thought this was supposed to
be a huge storehouse."
"Well... yes." The head sounded a little embarrassed. "Only we ran out of
space and there's something a little fishy going on around here and I don't
know what. The gist of the matter is this: We don't really accept items for
storage anymore."
It came as it always did: a distant hum that seemed so familiar, an itch at the
back of my skull, a flicker at the very edge of my vision. Occasionally these
little annoyances occurred when I was simply walking down the streets or
even lying awake at night, too terrified of the yawning void to sleep. But
they came, always, like the pressing urge before a sneeze.
It wouldn't fade away and leave me wanting this time. I seized the echo, and
with will alone began to bind the nostalgia and made it mine.
"Sir?"
"I'd... like to claim something."
"And what was it you were looking for, exactly?"
"I was looking for a large bag of coins."
"We have a bag of coins like the one you describe, sir! I'll just need to find
out one thing from you: How much was in it?"
My cheek twitched as I unraveled the memory. There were no shapes,
sounds, or visions to it, but rather a vague intuition. Somehow, the guess
felt right. "1,123 coins."
With a clink of copper an imp dropped the bag on the counter. "Here you
go, sir! Thanks for storing your goods at Vault of the Ninth World! Can I get
you anything else?"
I smiled. Well... now that it looks like I could withdraw things after all... "I
was told to tell you that I'm here for a loan."
The head sounded immensely cheered, "Ooh! One of my secret passwords!
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