A feint rustle in the bushes stirred the morining air. The smell of warm saki bellowed from the bushed as a man rolled slowly out of them.
"Where the hell am I?" The man tried to say without passing out again.
The man was very trim, stood just over six feet, and had the tan skin of an islander. His hair was fairly long and unkept. He was shirtless with bandages covering his forearms and mid-torso and tribal tattoos covering all but his face. The blade on his back looked like a katana but had a slight resemblence to a scimitar.
Krii stood to his feet and swayed a bit as he tried to regain his balance. The events the night before had taken a bit out of him and he needed a place to stay.
He figured he would stumble to the nearest house and pass out for the day...