Morning. Sunlight. Sand. Pain.

These facts and others slowly filter into your awareness. You're alive. Skin rubbed raw from saltwater and sleeping on sand, muscles sore from coping with the demands of swimming through a storm, hungry enough to eat a whole whale and thirsty enough to drink the ocean, but... alive. It's a good start. Only slowly do senses other than feeling come to the forefront of your mind. The sound of footsteps. A shadow. The scent of perfume.

"Hi! Want some orange juice?"

That is... not quite what you were expecting. The source of the footsteps sits down cross-legged next to your head and offers you... a fruity beverage. Your first attempt at a response doesn't go so well, a hacking cough from an exceedingly dry throat rather than words. You'd rather have water than something sweet right now, but manage to gesture vaguely with one hand that yes, anything to drink would be preferable to dying of thirst. She props your head up on her lap (you're too weak at the moment to sit up yourself) and presents a jar to your lips. The hand-painted flowers decorating the glass seem fitting.

"Let me guess, nasty storm out of nowhere, shipwreck, only survivor? Well, could be worse. Vailia's hardly a desert, even for penniless castaways."

You try to ask a question but, carefree attitude aside, it seems that she's in a bit of a hurry. She points you back the way she came - a city in the distance - and skips off down the beach. It's a little annoying that she didn't care enough to even give you her name.

After a few more minutes of rest, you feel much stronger. It's a good thing the girl gave you something to drink - without it you doubt your legs could have carried you all the way to the city. It's early evening when you arrive in the docks - despite your bedraggled state, no one pays you much attention. There's cargo to unload before nightfall. You begin to feel very much alone.
You arrive at a city named Vailia and decide to go to the market see if you can get scrap to eat.

The market draws you with delicious smells. Or at least they seem delicious at the moment - it's entirely possible you might be repulsed by mystery-meat-on-a-stick at other times ("Probably not Cat!" the sign proudly proclaims). You're broke though, so your rumbling stomach goes unanswered for the moment. You have a destination in mind: a money changer. You may not have money to change, but anyone who deals in precious metals ought to recognize the value of your pendant, the single item in your possession to survive the shipwreck. You hate to part with it, but desperate times...

You find who you're looking for by the carefully stacked piles of coins (all low denomination, you note - she wouldn't leave real valuables out where someone could snatch and run) and precise scale. She seems to be dozing with her back against a pillar, but opens one eye as you approach. You can't help but notice her eye wanders with a smile from your face downwards.

"You look like a man in need. What can I do you for?"

She's plain of face, though this is made up for by a healthy dose of makeup and an outgoing personality. Not wanting to be taken advantage of, you spend a few minutes asking neutral questions on recent currency fluctuations - the sort of information that would make it easy to cheat a traveler out of their money if they didn't know as much about international trading as you. She seems honest enough, and finally you bring up the subject of selling your pendant. She reaches up with a smile, brushing her hand unnecessarily across your chest to hold it. You take the chain off and hand it over.

She examines the unusual gem - translucent black, save a small pattern seemingly engraved near the center. Even if she's not quite sure what to make of that, the setting is made of solid gold, you explain, but she shoots you a look and you shut up to let her take her time. She names a figure. You counter with a number ten times as high. She looks up, studies your face for a moment, nods.

"Hm, you're right, it probably is worth that much. But since I can see you don't really want to sell it, I'll make you a deal. You come by my house later and have some fun for the evening, I'll lend you the amount you want with this thing as collateral."

She rattles off the idea that you'd sell your body without thinking anything special of it, and you have to blink in surprise. Most people would consider that a last resort, rather than suggesting it casually to a stranger.

"New here?"

She asks, noting your surprise. You nod. She points over to a scene you missed before - a pretty young woman is being led through the market naked by a pair of city guardsmen, leading her to a stockade in the empty center.

"She probably tried to prostitute without a license. Tried to be cheap, now she is cheap. $5 per fuck until she can pay the fine."