Carried away to distant shores
You awake to a seagull stealing your purse. It flaps its wings as it runs across the pebble shore before leaping into the air with all your money clasped in its beak. It circles the pebble shore before striking out across the bay towards the busy docks. The morning sun catches the crest of every wave turning the sea into a blanket of glittering diamonds.
"That's lucky that is," a strange voice says from nearby. "It was going for your gizzard. Liandra smiles on you this morning."
You sit up as the stranger shuffles past you. They have a sack tied to their hip and a short spear in their free hand. Occasionally they jab the tip in the sand before shaking their head in disappointment and moving on. Other people move about the beach, stabbing at the ground and dropping things into their sacks.
"Funny what the tide turns up," the stranger says as they work the short spear under a smooth rock. "Bits of flotsam that would otherwise wander the sea for eternity. Everyone in Dragsmund was flotsam at some point, washed here by storms and bad luck. That's what this city is, the junk that no one else wants. You're one of us now."
You brush your hands on your wet clothes and check your pockets. All your money might be gone but you find the ticket tucked inside your jacket. Turning it over you find a single line scrawled at the bottom 'No refunds'.
"We'll see about that," you mutter to yourself as you set out across the sand towards the city of flotsam.
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