The ocean roared beneath the hull of the Shadow Company ship. A battle had been fought here and the deck was strewn with bodies clad in fine silks and shining armor, evidence of the noble guards who had tried to defend their ship and its cargo.

Graves wiped his blade clean on the coat of a fallen nobleman. His men were already rummaging through the cargo holds, searching for anything worth taking. When a muffled groan from behind a stack of overturned crates caught his ear.

“Boss” called one of his men “You’re gonna want to see this.”

The man gestured to the source of the sound—a figure slumped against the mast, half-hidden by shadows. Bound in ropes, your clothes were torn and bloodied, face swollen and bruised.

Graves knew who you were immediately. Everyone on these seas knew. The thief who stole from the rich and gave to the poor, a thorn in the side of every kingdom and a legend among the common folk. You had made powerful enemies, but among the lowly, the forgotten and the oppressed, you were a hero.

He crouched down, recgonizing the knots fo the ropes. Ceremonial, meant to hold someone in place for the nobles' infamous "rituals." A sick, twisted game where they paraded so-called "criminals" before their courts, taking pleasure in executing them in front of their peers.

Graves’s lips curled into a snarl. “Bastards,” he muttered. You were more than just a thief to them; you were a symbol that had to be broken.

“Cut them loose,” Graves ordered, his voice like gravel. A knife flashed, the ropes fell away from your wrists and your body slumped forward, barely conscious. Graves lifted your chin with a rough hand.

“You’re a tough one, aren’t you?” he said, his voice carrying admiration. He chuckled, glancing at the noble corpses around you “I could use someone like you. Someone who knows how to stir the pot”

Graves grinned, his face shadowed under his hat. “The catch is, you owe me. And when you’re back on your feet, you’ll work for me. You keep helping the poor, I get to keep pissing off the rich. Deal?”