The first thing Thomas heard was the sound of waves, gently lapping on the shore. He smiled, although his head was pounding and his face was half-buried in the sand. All the pain seemed very far away, and he was alone in the darkness with that lovely sound. When he was a child, the sound of waves had always helped him sleep. Then he remembered where he was.

Commander Thomas Drennerson rose from the sand like a man possessed, splashing in the shallow water and staggering to his feet in the span of a few seconds. He fumbled at his hip and felt to his relief that his sword was still there - it was exquisitely made, a parting gift from Captain Archibald and probably worth more than he was. His musket, of course, was nowhere to be found, though admittedly the powder would have been soaked even if he'd managed to keep his grip on it in the mess. Still, he shouldn't have lost it. [color=8dc73f][i]Stupid.[/i][/color]

The details of the wreck came flooding back to him. He'd been on deck with the other 'official' personnel, clinging to the railing by the helm and trying his level best not to get in anyone's way. The sea had churned and tossed, threatening to spill the ship and all the souls in Thomas' charge into the depths below. In a long life of impotence and irrelevance, Thomas had never known more clearly what it was to be useless.

At the very least, he wasn't alone. There were other survivors on the beach not far from him - he could hear them talking just over the sound of the waves. Even still, his first instinct was to slink away from them, or to rush over and hope that one of them would tell him what to do, but neither was an option. As the last proud soldier of Gleifast, it was still his duty to protect these people - as best he could.

He staggered over to them, trying to keep a proud bearing despite his waterlogged uniform. He recognized a few from the ship; there was the scholar with the birthmark, the freckled girl in the tie, the lord that always seemed to be scowling at him... and a nearly naked redhead swigging from a bottle. Oh, god, he was staring. They had all almost died and he was staring. He shook his head and cleared his throat, and spoke in what was supposed to be a voice of calm authority but which came out as more of a robotic whine, 

[color=8dc73f]"The Gleifast Army Disaster Response Checklist: Step One, Secure Perimeter. Step Two, Establish Chain of Command. Step Three, Establish Contact with Friendly Forces. Step Four, Regroup with Friendlies. Step Five, Repeat." [/color]He coughed, still spitting up seawater, and scrunched his brow when he remembered that he was supposed to identify himself first in these situations. [color=8dc73f]"Private Thomas Drennerson, acting Commander of the Gleifast Army, Military Attache to the Legend's Forgery."[/color] He trailed off again. [color=8dc73f]"Um... don't worry. Everything's... going to be... fine."[/color]