A Rambling Tale
What you couldn't pay in coins you paid for in blood and tears. The exchange rate is not favorable.
After a severe beating you drift achingly into consciousness in the back of a cart. In the driver's seat is the large, quiet, debt collector that delivered your beating. Next to him is a smiling, greasy-haired figure. He points the driver towards a certain path. You're somewhere deep in the woods right now.
"Wakey wakey, sleepy-head. My names Ricky, nice ta meecha." He grabs your tender hand and gives it an enthusiastic shake. Ricky's tacky, viscid hand feels like a toddler's favorite toy.
"Oh gosh, ya must be so confused. Boy howdy, I can only imagine. Welp, ya took out a loan from Mr. Shady Grady himself doncha know.
Now his business is as legitimate as they come but ya didn't hold up your end o' the bargain. So naturally, as these things go, we're using ya as an object lesson o' sorts to all tha other debtors we got. Idn't that neat?"
You look around, entertaining the idea of making a break for it but the sharp pain and odd angle of your leg leads you to reconsider.
"Aright, bud, we're here," Ricky directs the driver to drag you out of the cart and toss you over his shoulder. You struggle against it but the grip on you is too strong. Ricky ties your hands and feet together along with a heavy weight. Ricky gives you a friendly wave and motions for the driver to toss you into an icy cold river.