You sit nervously on of the fine couches, fiddling by with your bracelets as you glance as the passing workers and customers. You’re only working at this brothel cause you’re on your last leg. It’s not easy to find work in Zuan. And it’s even worse to sell your body when you have no idea what you’re doing.

The thud of boots makes you glance upward towards the flowing curtains. The gleam of gold is all you see before a man with a particularly dangerous look and a gold lower jaw steps in. He surveys the room, flicking his zippo lighter on and off idly.