• The morning of the 3rd day proved, like previous days, to be foggy and overcast. Little sunlight passed these clouds. Half of the sky this morning was a good deal darker than the other half. Mar assumed that another storm was upon him. In preparation he had left the trunk open and empty. if he was to survive rain would need to be captured for drinking water. As the darker portion of the sky began to darken further Mar's mind began to play tricks on him.
    "Maybe it's the dehydration" thought Mar.
    The sky before him was now darker than any sky Mar had ever seen. The storm before him was such a contrast to the sky behind him. The clouds were almost black and took upon a myriad of shapes before directly affronting his tiny raft.
    Mar had taken clothes from the trunk and tying them together had lashed himself to the main support beam. Right when the storm was upon him the fog broke.
    "The calm before the storm" Mar thought.
    With the fog lifted the sun shown down illuminating the tiny raft. Mar looked out at his oncoming storm. What he beheld baffled him. No, not even that. It took his mind and upon questioning his senses sent his imagination on a roller coaster ride he felt he had mistakenly bought too many tickets for.
    A ship? No, a whale? No, a city? No, what Mar stared at was all of the above, and for what it's worth, all of the below. It was a massive half-submerged whale baring a city on its back. It was so massive that no sooner than Mar could confuse himself, it blocked out the sun. He could only stare trying to wake himself from this obviously dehydration induced hallucination.
    "So this is what dieing is like" Mar thought.
    He quickly in defense of his sane mind began disassociating. Dreams of war scorched fields... tea with the baroness... first contact with primitives of the new world.
    "You there, are you alive!?" shouted a voice, areal voice. Mar shot up instantly tangling himself in various clothings. This was no illusion. The tingling sensation of human contact joyously stabbed at Mar's dehydrated soul. These were people and they spoke the emperor's Maltoscalberginian. *

    * Maltoscalberginian is the official blended imperial tongue. It is derived from Berginian grammar with a Maltinavican dialect and Scalcilian loan words.

    At this point most rational folk would think this too much for the human mind's own constitution, but we vastly underestimate the resilience of our basic survival instincts.
    "Yes" came the loud and animated response of Mar, tainted with a dehydrated almost Janis Joplin like rasp.
    "Yes I'm alive, uh I uh how... who are... with the... and... uh yes I'm alive don't shoot!" Mar resounded realizing that the largest assortment of naval artillery stood mounted before him. Beyond the battlements he could see towers and buildings and armaments. He struggled with his own slap-dash lashings and pulled himself up to his full stature.
    "Ahoy!" he called out. "I've not had..." and all went black.
    Later Mar would think back and wonder if it was the lack of water or if he had stood up too fast but he had fallen flat on his raft.