The Baghala or Bugala was the Baneghoran word for a mule. These double masted sailing ships were the mules of the sea. The one Kichirō traveled on was hauling spices, silk and tea from his homeland in Akana. The nation produced other natural resources and finished products as well, but this vessel carried specific items bound for Baneghora.

Kichirō had spent far too much time aboard ship. It did not agree with him. On the first day away from land, he offered up the contents of his stomach to the sea. By the next day he was at least able to keep his food down, but the constant rocking of the deck was certainly unsettling for the Akanan Monk.

Only a handful of Akanans were present on the nine-day voyage from the port of Panchang in southwestern Akana. Most of the travelers appeared to be returning to their homelands. They all had dark hair like his own, with browned flesh and overly round eyes of brown. Their mannerisms appeared barbaric to the clementine Monk. He considered himself somewhat more refined than the Esaadis, Tawrans, and Baneghorans traveling aboard the baghala traveling east towards the Dahardi Continent. Regardless of his personal opinion about himself or his traveling companions he refused to acknowledge them to anyone. They were personal and would remain personal. He extended a liberal benefit of any doubt about the integrity and worth of these people.

At often moments he would query his companions about their language. It was not as though he were aboard ship for months on end, but he did learn enough of the local language to at least get what he wanted. Just in the little over a week voyage, he was able to discuss foodstuff and personal mannerisms as well as polite etiquette.

As the ship neared the dock, Kichirō insured his possessions were close at hand. He didn’t want to leave anything behind. He hoped there would be an alchemy shop in this port city he recently learned was called Kaganja. He heard the city was nothing more than a hasty trading outpost, but already its sandy limestone structures provided evidence that this settlement was so much more. The colorful arrays of tentage, canvas or awnings provided life as people milled about in search of something. They were the life blood of the settlement.

With his bag upon his shoulders, Kichirō strolled down the gangplank returning to firm land by way of a 150-meter-long wooden dock. Several ships of varying sized were moored to the pier. This provided stimulus for the monk to take in with his dark colored eyes as he learned from them just by watching them. Each ship a different color with a crew of different colors busying themselves with whatever mundane task they chose as their own.

At the end of the pier, he found a man selling fish. There were a few pre-cooked fish wrapped in lettuce. Kichirō bought one fish which he quickly stuffed in his backpack. The dock area was crowded with people. He was fascinated by everything he witnessed. It was indeed overwhelming. He hoped and prayed he would be able to find someone less fortunate than himself to help.

Kichirō wondered if his distinctive Arkanan appearance could have a negative impact on how the others perceived him, but he honestly did not fret over such trivialities for very long. He spied a young woman about his height, maybe slightly taller dressed in a blue jacket with headscarf and tanned trousers. Her jacket concealed a white blouse with gold trimming. There was something that drew him to her. The woman appeared to be similar to himself. He considered extending a helping hand, but vacillated in his mind, but figured it would be the right thing to do.

In his best Baneghoran, “Greetings! Welcome to Kaganja.” Kichirō wasn’t sure about the word choice. He thought he had it right. “I just arrive from Arkana. You know if herb or alchemy shop here?”

He figured he got some words wrong. He hoped he didn’t mess the words up too badly. Maybe the woman didn’t speak Baneghoran? Maybe she spoke a more common language he understood as well? That certainly would make things much simpler.

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