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Backstory

The first thing Edward Deschain knows is pain. The screaming starts before he even opens his eyes. He looks down at the source of his agony, and through his watery gaze sees something uncanny. Something he can't understand, but which fills him with an innate repulsion. Some kind of aquatic monstrosity, with finned tail and spined back and massive fangs, has just bitten the ring and pinky finger off his right hand along with a decent chunk of his palm.

He rolls over, and starts to crawl, away from the shallow water. The creature jumps at him, not interested in losing its prey. It bites into the thick rubber heel of his boot, biting almost the entire heel off. The surprise at this disgusting, inedible bite being so much worse than the first takes the creature by surprise, and gives Edward the chance he needs to escape.

He runs, awkwardly now that one of his boots has been destroyed, and looks behind to see the creature hasn't followed, disinterested in venturing too far away from the water. He slows, now trudging along, just as awkwardly. He waits for his head to clear, for something to come along and wash away the blinding pain of his missing digits, but nothing does.

He looks around, finally taking in this beach he doesn't recognize on this world he doesn't know. "This place might be beautiful," he thinks to himself, "if not for the finger-eaters."

He feels an odd twitching in his ruined hand, and holds it up to see. He lets out a moan of unease and confusion. The mass of bloody flesh... has started to grow? The odd twitching becomes pain anew as some kind of horrifying mass grows in place of what was lost.

"Oh, my..." he trails off as frail, tiny fingers begins begin to shoot forth from the stump. After a few moments his hand is seemingly back to normal. Numb, not so dexterous, but whole.

He looks from his hand to the rest of his body. His shirt is gone, his pants tattered. Two empty... somethings are slung on a belt around his waist. He expects, hopes, that at least some of this will spark some knowledge of who he is. Something other than his name: Edward Dean Deschain. It doesn't.

He looks up, starting to feel truly afraid. He sees buildings in the distance, a bustling population center of some kind, connected to the water.

"I know that. A h- h..." he trails off.

"Holsters!"

He looks down at his belt.

"These are holsters! For guns? Weapons. Which I don't have."

He looks back up the town in the distance, and the word finally comes to him: harbor. He starts toward it. Before long he comes across two fisherman, seemingly safe thanks to their proximity to the city. They look over at him, immediately concerned at his desolate state.

Edward approaches them, one a big man with shaggy hair, the other a short, blond man.

"Hey. Where are we?"