The pain you felt in your arms and back was like an all-consuming fire. There was no appeasing its licking flames and, what's worse, there was no end in sight.

The oar you had been rowing for the last few months had begun to wear an imprint of your palms. That seemed to keep the callouses from breaking.

You sometimes forgot about the shackles that continually reopened your scabbing ankles. Its too bad the rats weren't so forgetful. If not for their nipping at the blood soaked iron, you might have actually been relieved of a small portion of the pain.

The fire.

You had been through storms before. Hell, you'd been at sea for...well, months. You stopped counting a long while ago.

But that storm was something entirely different. It seemed more wicked and more vengeful than any man or beast could ever be. It ripped the hull apart with incredible force, sprawling shiphands out to sea to be lost in the darkness.

The ship rolled. You had heard of this happening. The entire ship actually capsizes and rights itself again, sometimes drowning the passengers on board.

You were lucky, though. A wave crashed through the hull of the ship and the water drained before it could fill up the rowing stations. That hole, however, let enough water in to slowly sink Salty Death.

The rowmaster began screaming frantically to row, row, row for your lives. You needed no prompting. It was obvious that the ship was done. The only thing you could hope for now was unconsiousness to take you before the ocean's wrath did.

The fire forgotten, the pain only a memory, you rowed harder and faster. The muscles in you backed strained and your arms bulged. You could feel the blood pumping through your veins and arteries, pounding in your ears and flushing your face. Your efforts seemed to be the only thing keeping the ship afloat.

For a while it seemed you had actually managed to stay ahead of the quickly rising water level, but soon all hope faded and the prayers began.

That's when it happened.

The man who had shared a bench with you for the passed uncounted months, whom you knew only as Orif, somehow broke free of his shackles. He was up and running towards the rowmaster. In one fluid movement, the man managed to break the rowmaster's arm and snatch the ring of keys from his belt. Orif ran passed the other begging and pleading slaves to the back of the rowing station where he stopped and freed a younger looking man with an ominous scar running down the side of his face and across his throat. The two helped each other back passed the rest of the row station's occupants. The younger man seemed to be hurt very badly. He could barely walk and favored his right leg. Orif helped the man up the stairs toward the freedom of the upper deck. Almost as an afterthought, he tossed the keys back into the row station.

Eventually, you were freed. The keys were passed from one captive to the next until everyone had abandoned Salty Death altogether. Once on the upper deck, it was obvious that now was the time to either jump ship or go down with her.

You can't remember much of the night. The storm knocked you about quite badly. At one point, you can recall watching the ship's masts sink below the surface and into the deep of the sea.

When unconsciousness took you, you counted it a blessing...

-

-

-

-