The cool winds blow across the veranda stirring a glass wind chime. A man dressed in a wrinkled brown suit and a pair of pilot sunglasses stirs slightly, beginning to wake to the cool afternoon. With an almost spectacular struggle he manages to get one arm over the edge of the small daybed before sinking back into the cool polyurethane cushions. The man brushes the shades off his face carelessly and struggles to open one eye, making the world seem distorted and blurry. A flag billowing in the wind, attached to the smooth white columns by a small metal mounting bracket, catches his eye and he fumbles for his sword. Of course even in his groggy condition it only takes him a moment to realize he was looking at the red flag that marked the independent territories and not one of the dust cloak bandits he rolled onto his back and waited for his heart to stop pounding.