It wasn't supposed to go like this. A simple trip there and back. Calm seas. Hardy ship. But can it ever be that easy? Bul-Kathos woke up on a beach in a place he could vaguely recall from his travels years ago. In a daze, he pulled himself to his feet while alternating between spitting sand and warm, fresh blood. He couldn't tell you how long he had been there. Or how long it had been since their ship capsized. Or where the crew was. He wasn't even sure of his own faint but fluttering heartbeat. The steps weren't coming easy. His balance was terrible. Perhaps the only thing that reminded him he wasn't dead was the pain from every fall. The coarse sandstone scraped his feet as he meandered aimlessly through the streets. Some bystanders stared. Others pushed their children away. He would too, had he been in their situation. There is something unnerving about a nude, battered, bloody man mumbling to himself. He walked underneath an archway into a courtyard and rested on a bench. Rubbing his head, he urged his brain into action. "Think.... Come ON! THINK!" It was as if that was all his mind had been waiting for. With that final yell, his memory came flooding back...
