Goddard Molotov lies on a sand bank with a small grassy plot far northeast of the Torino Kingdom. He does not remember how he got here and he has no clue where here is. All Goddard knows is that he has been here for over a week and that it has been over a week too long. Awake again today and wishing he was asleep.

Today as Goddard scanned the horizon for ships hoping and waiting, the horizon is a pure blue. No landmass visible in any direction, but he holds hope that soon there will be a Marine ship and dreams they will have food and water. Goddard is angry but not about his situation, "better let it go," he thinks. Molotov has a lot of these flashes of unplaceable emotion lately. "It's just hunger messing with your head," he decides to practice making smoke signals again.

On the first day he could remember being here Goddard had taken the hull of his ship and propped it nose to the sky. The wooden arch looked like a shrine giving shade and shelter and it was revered accordingly. The ocean had dragged away the rest of his ship that night. Goddard tried wading into the water on the second day but he froze up and couldn't move again until low tide. He would not be trying that again. But Goddard discovered he could create smoke from nothing, and that it would bend to his will. So that day wasn't a complete loss.

So there our shipwrecked companion sits writing "help me" in smoke, he does a good job for about 10 minutes. After this Goddard gets bored, he begins to write things other than "help" or "SOS". "BUTTS" Floats gently upward into the sky, followed shortly by "PEN ISLAND". It felt good to laugh, he would continue writing juvenile words for the rest of the day.

Lazarus was lulled into a sort of lilting daydream by the gentle, swaying motion of the ship as the Marines sailed their way across the currently calm waters of the South Blue. A balmy breeze and the occasional ocean spray on his skin kept the relentlessly shining sun from becoming too troublesome. Typically, Lazarus would have no qualms about staying inside all day, at least while on land. On a ship however, with his particular set of skills not required at the moment, and the temperature below deck less than comfortable, Lazarus was content to simply lean against the railing at the bow of the ship, taking in the sights. The deep azure of the ocean mirrored the cloudless sky above, both in hue and expansiveness. Which was why the appearance of a milky haze on the horizon managed to catch the attention of Lazarus, rousing him from his listless state. The physician was by no means an expert on meteorological phenomena, but he figured any fog banks should have burned away by now. That, combined with the lack of clouds in the sky made him suspicious that it may not be entirely natural. In any case, their course would pass right by it, so it was only a matter of waiting before his curiosity was satiated.

As the ship drew closer, it became apparent that this was indeed not a natural phenomenon. It seemed to originate from   a small bit of land, not much more than a sandbar. It appeared something jagged stood up out of the ground but he could not yet tell what it was. What had looked like fog he could now more accurately discern to be some sort of smoke. With the absence of any sort of ship, this was beginning to look more and more like someone who had found themselves stranded on this bit of beach in the middle of the ocean, and was using smoke signals to try and draw attention to themselves. A smart move, especially as today seemed to be their lucky day. Lazarus hurriedly alerted his current captain to the situation, asking him to drop anchor near the small sandbar so that he and a few men could take a rowboat out to assess whether or not there may be someone in need of rescue. While not entirely thrilled about a delay on their course, the captain ultimately agreed, and Lazarus left to prepare.

Once the ship had come to a halt about forty meters away from the small stretch of land, the ship dropped anchor and Lazarus, along with two other marines, manned one of the extra rowboats and were deployed from the main ship. He could see the inhabitants of the sandbar more clearly now, namely what looked like a broken piece of a ship and a man propped against it. It still seemed as if the marooned man was moving which was a good sign, but he could see no sign of a fire. The smoke he saw from earlier he could see now formed various shapes and phrases. A somewhat crude rendition of what he supposed was male genitalia joined the hazy cloud above. BUTTMUNCH floated lazily towards them overhead. When finally they grounded ashore, Lazarus could finally see the man up close. A sailor's cap hid unkempt blue hair. Half-lidded, pupil-less eyes told him he must be exhausted and probably had problems with his eyesight. An orange striped shirt and tattered black shorts clung to his emaciated fram. He had no idea how long it had been since this man had had any food or drink at all, but he was alive, and that was enough.

Er, hello there. I'm Ensign Lazarus Lestrange of the Marines. It seems you've been stranded at sea for a good while. Can you tell me how long you've been here?