Dark. It was dark. That was the first thing that the man sensed. The second thing was that he was alone. Alone and nameless in this... No. Not nameless. He had a name. He strained to remember and finally it came to him.

"Domovoi Butler."

He said the name aloud in a harsh whisper. Yes, that was his name. He instantly felt a little better. There was one question answered. But there were a thousand more where that came from. Where was he? Why was he here? He wracked his brain for the answers, but came up with blank after blank. He thought at first that it must be due to the fact that his head was pounding like a snare drum. But gradually he realized that his memory was gone entirely. The only thing he knew was his name, and, all things considered, that wasn't much.

Butler began to investigate his surroundings. He surmised that he must be in a vehicle of some sort, due to the bouncing and swaying of his carriage that sent endless jolts of agony through his aching head, making him feel dizzy and sick. He also found he was bound quite efficiently. The why of both of these things was just as much a mystery to him as everything else.

He discovered as well that the pain was due to a head wound he hadn't known he'd had until hitting on the floor during a series of ruts in the road. Moving slowly and carefully, he felt the back of his head gingerly, where there was a sizable bandage and a dampness of blood. Pain enveloped him, and he slumped, allowing his body to drift into a half-stunned sleep, questions spiraling down through his brain. They had no answers. None at all.