He would endure.

Vladko always endured.

He remembered when the heady days of his youth had come to an end, spending time in the frozen straits of Tyvia, trying to eke out a living from the savage waters and the even more savage coast. Frost bears, vikas, sunfish, the whales; he'd seen them all, bled them all out on the deck of his trawler. Knee deep in guts and brine, he had laughed, even as his crew stared at him and made warding signs. He'd laughed, because life was cruel and the sea was hungry and the more time you spent happy the better, because who knew what tomorrow would bring?

Vladko knew what tomorrow had brought. Tomorrow had brought treachery. Mutiny. By the likes of men who had thought him mad, even as they plied waters filled with creatures whose hearts were colder than the furthest peaks of the homeland. Vladko had done what no other man had the spine to do. To teach them fear. Fear of the spear, and of the man wielding it.

If he found any of the bastards who had turned him in again, he would spit them on a harpoon and lower them into a shark's maw, even as they bled out and screamed. The thought brought a smile to his chapped lips.

He was startled out of his memories by the familiar sound of a whip cracking in his ear. Hot blood ran down his neck, but was swiftly cooled by the bitter wind. Soon it would congeal and form a gummy surface, like so many times before.

Vladko turned with difficulty from where he was seated, the splintered bench where his arm chains were shackled to his oar, and cast the culprit a ferocious glare. The man was weak, but loved to abuse the rowers when he was bored. A man like that on his ship would have been tossed overboard.

But, like so many other times, the man had moved on down the galleon, to torment some other poor scoundrel. Vladko gritted his teeth. He did not like being ignored. He would have the man stare at him, jeer, anything, so long as he knew that Vladko Orikos was on this fetid asshole of a ship.

He was going to kill that man, he decided, and told the man beside him.

The young, brown-skinned man gaped at him with broken teeth and jabbered something in his savage tongue. Sniffing in disgust, Vladko turned away and set his mind to rowing. The others would complain and wail of the harshness of their labours, but the waters around the capital of the Isles were like those of a millpond compared to the breakers off The Sorrow in Tyvia. He would endure.

Time passed-as much as it could for the denizens of the hold. Through the tiny porthole, he saw the faint orange of the setting sun, and a tiny slice of land on the far horizon, but he ignored it, just as he ignored the groaning, wheezing, croaking oarslaves around him. Their journey of weeks would soon be over, and he would trade this floating prison for one made of walls and steel. Till then, he would grip the salt-stained wood, ignore the fresh blisters oozing from his palms, and fucking row.

Eventually, however, the call came down from the upper deck, that they were to cease rowing. The engine would be used to guide them into port. Vladko hunched over his oar, unwilling to relinquish his grip. He imagined it was his old whaling club, sturdy and heavy. But instead of the grunts of wild things, he imagined the screams of the whip man as his limbs were broken.

Another smile, another wince in the stench-filled darkness of the lower deck. They had not been taken outside in days, and the clammy air was becoming less of a nuisance and more a struggle. He felt his other limbs atrophying, becoming dull with disuse. Soon he'd be pushed and shoved down city streets. Idly, he wondered how many would survive the journey. Three had died on this voyage alone. The slavers had not been happy about that at all.

He heard the tramp of boots, and let his head drop. He head learned much from over-talkative crew members who had come down to the lower deck. Perhaps they would furnish him with more information.

"It's a load of fucking shit, "one whispered hotly, without preamble. "Mooring fees are bad enough, but tariffs? Over fucking slaves? This city'll bleed us dry of half our profit before we so much as get a chance to kiss the dirt!"

"Next time take a moment to listen, "his companion said calmly. "The captain's taking us out of the way. Dodging the usual scrape-and-shift. We'll be keeping all of our coin on this journey."

"He can do that? Last I heard this place had fucking patrol boats!"

"They're thinned on this side. Rudshore District ain't what it was."

"What? Why's that?"

"Come up here and I'll tell you…"

To Vladko's annoyance, the two men proceeded upstairs. He would learn nothing more sitting down here.

"Rudshore, oh by the Outsider's eyes…"

A querulous voice behind him. Not bothering to turn (he'd tried that once and it had hurt like a bitch), he spoke aloud. "What is this Rudshore district? Why is it of significance?"

He heard the man stutter, and ground his teeth. Did he think, perhaps, that Vladko was some half-wit who could not speak coherently? Ignoring the pain, he twisted his head around and snarled. "Speak, you idiot!"
The man, a skinny wasted thing, spoke in a rush. "Th-the sailors told of a place where the sea wall had broken and the waters swept through. R-Rudshore is the place! It's nothing but ruin and evil things!"

"Be quiet, "Vladko said shortly, turning back. Already he was musing on this new information. A flooded district? Now that would prove interesting. How many would drown in the waters? He would not be among them.

He craned his neck, so that he might see out of the porthole, but night was fast approaching and the only light to see by was from the pale moon that shone over the city. The waves were lit up with an eerie glow, and he frowned. This was a fell night by any man's standards. He would almost have preferred to go via the docks, and chanced the city streets. This city is ill with something.

A clattering on the stairs, and a face swung into view. Vladko saw that it was his tormenter, and bared his teeth. "Hold tight there, you miserable pieces of shit!" the man squawked, rubbing his nose. "We're coming in to dock!" He vanished from view. Another missed opportunity.

I will kill that man. I will crush his nose and pull the lips off his face so he cannot grin any more. I will break his thumb and then his finger and all the other fucking fingers he owns, and then all of his toes, and then I will find a skinning knife and cut his-

Whumph! The galleon came to an abrupt stop as something below the water punched into the bottom of the hull and held them in place. The noise of the engine became a distressed whine and black smoke began to wisp into the hold. Amid the terrified shouts of the oarslaves, strained to hear what was going on upstairs.

"What the fuck-"

"Somebody get below!"

"What did we hit?"

"Must've been a reef or something!"

A reef? This close to shore? Madness. The men above were fools. So were the men below, down here with him. It was far more likely, Vladko reflected, that whatever had stalled their passage, had been a deliberate act of sabotage. Someone wanted this ship, and its cargo too.

He settled back, and kept his eyes trained on the porthole. They were not far from shore now, between fifty and one hundred strokes of the oar now. He could see the ruined buildings, their paint dry and flaking away, and curled his lip in disgust.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"
He whirled, to see a man standing in the aisle, just beside his oarlock. His partner shrieked in sudden fear, so Vladko elbowed him sharply in the ribs. "Stupid savage, "he muttered. He took another look at the man who had appeared as if from nowhere. The other oarslaves whispered amongst themselves, and many made warding signs.

Clad in a thick, black tunic, complete with boots and pouches, he looked like any other man prepared to brave the elements. What made him different was the goggled leather mask he wore, strapped to his face. Vladko felt his skin crawl as the two shiny black circles came to rest upon him.

"Dunwall looks good on a night like this, "the man mused. The mask muffled his words, made him sound like an old lag whose lungs were about to expire. "Anyway. Stay quiet, and soon you'll be free of those chains." The man drew a wide-bladed sword from his hip, and held up a gloved finger. "Shh."

Vladko stared at the man calmly. "What is your name?"

"Thomas."

Vladko nodded. "Thomas. Know that if you strike down the man with red hair and the long nose, I will kill you."

Thomas cocked his head, then laughed lowly. "Fair enough. Not like me to get in the way of a healthy argument. I'll leave him." He raised his sword, and proceeded towards the stairs. "The rest we kill."

"We?" asked a hush voice.

The sound of an explosion, and the shocked screams of men. Then strange noises like the snapping of sailcloth, and the sounds of men being gutted. Thomas had brought friends, evidently.

"To arms, men!" the captain shouted. "To arms-" Then a yell, and the sound of a splash. Vladko pressed his eye to the porthole, and watched the captain of the ship gurgle as the sea pulled him under. He cackled with delight. May the whales gnaw on your bones, fucker.

After about a minute, the sounds of fighting subsided, and boots sounded on the stair. The oarslaves began yelling in fear, knowing whatever doom visited upon those upstairs was coming for them. Vladko merely stared, waiting.

"Quiet!" a voice rang out, and Vladko frowned. That sounded like a woman. A woman had killed the crew? That seemed unlikely…

Two figures descended the steps, and walked slowly down the aisle, eyes scanning the oarslaves. In the dim light, their features were hard to make out, but one was definitely with a woman, with skin the colour of dusk. The other was a man, a scar the only noticeable aspect of his face.
"This all of them, then?" the man asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Full complement." The woman tutted. "Malnourished and overworked. They won't last a week."

"Hmm." The man looked around. "Where's the one Thomas spoke of?"

Vladko spoke up at this point, not wishing to leave his fate in the hands of a masked stranger. "I am he. I am Vladko Orikos and I have business with the last crewmember."

The woman laughed softly, while the man grinned in the darkness. "Vladko Orikos, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. What did that man do to you?"

"He whipped and tormented slaves. He withheld bread and drink, and was responsible for the deaths of three. He stole, he was lazy, he was argumentative. He did not wash. He argued with his captain. He was small-minded and sadistic. I want to kill him."

"Huh. Fair enough." The man bent, and, with a flourish, produced a key. He unlocked the savage's chains, then Vladko's. "You're free to go."

Vladko stood for the first time in days, and rolled his neck. The skin around his wrists were badly chafed, but damn it felt good to stand again. As the brown-skinned man gabbled and carped in his own tongue, no doubt gushing thanks, the man nodded to his subordinate. "See to the rest. Get them on deck."

As the dark-skinned woman set about freeing the other oarslaves (one made to kiss her and received a black eye for his trouble), Vladko glared at the man. "Who are you and why do you do this?"

"My name is Daud, "the man replied dryly. "I do this because slavery is a nasty business and we could use more recruits."

"We?" Behind them, an older man collapsed to the deck and lay still, panting. The woman simply stepped over him and continued her liberation. A steady stream of freed slaves were proceeding to the upper deck, many still dazed and confused.

"My followers and I. We're few in number." The man held out a hand, in a gesture of speculation. "We need strong men and women who are willing to fight."

Vladko sniffed at this….Daud's feeble attempt to win him over. "I do not think you are what I am looking for in a leader. Your second is a woman. What do you expect to gain from her?"

Vladko said no more, because a sword tip had come to rest neatly below his left eye. The woman in question was holding it. "I was going to ask you the same question, "she said coldly. "But right now…" The tip retreated, but then came to rest against his groin. "You stand to lose more than you gain."

"Billie, "Daud said.

She hissed, and sheathed her blade. "Just try me, you shit, "she warned Vladko, and proceeded towards the stairs. Most of the oarslaves were gone already.

Vladko rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. So the woman had fire. The man was cunning, and from the look of him, had seen his share of violence. "You are prepared to do whatever to survive, "he said to Daud. Even risk a woman at his side.

"I am, "Daud said evenly.

"Then perhaps I will consider your offer." Vladko nodded to the stairs. "But for now…" He picked a stray pipe from the floor and hefted it. "I am going to beat that man to a pulp."

Vladko was still confused about a great many things. He did not know this city. He did not know why this man, Daud, was looking for followers. He did not know how a woman had came to be his trusted and first mate. But right now, that didn't matter.

Vladko was just happy to be getting his payback.