"This is most definitely not home". Only the slightest hint of surprise manifested in Ajax's voice. His face remained stone cold as ever while he examined his strange new surroundings. Last thing he remembered was boarding a refugee ship escaping the coming dragon horde, not because he was scared to fight but because he believed it might finally take him to his homeland. And then there was nothing, a void where his memories should be. Perhaps there were no memories at all? It hurt Ajax's brain to think about stuff like that, so he just dropped it.

He could make no sense of where he was or what had happened to him. He felt...odd. Like he knew some things he shouldn't, but it was little more than a strange instinct buried in the back of his head. He took stock of himself and found nothing out of place. Same clothes, same muscles, same scars. He was himself, Ajax the son of Diagoras, the one called Ajax Aristeus. What deities had seen it fit to place him in this world, for what purpose? Someone else might've wondered if he'd ever get home, but Ajax had killed those demons himself long ago.

He did, however, find himself surrounded by a myriad of strange people. Some talking to themselves, some fighting, all of them very odd-looking, but at least they spoke the common tongue. He approached the seemingly unorganized gathering and addressed them in his best tones. "I am Ajax the son of Diagoras. What is this land? Who is your master and why was I summoned?" he grunted out to no one in particular. A diplomat, Ajax was not.